A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
THE BOY ARCHER.
SHERIDAN KNOWLES.
The fire and energy of Tell contrasts nobly with the youthful
ambition of his son's young and noble heart. It is a charming
exercise, and exceedingly effective when well delivered:
SCENE.--_Exterior of_ TELL'S _cottage. Enter_ ALBERT (TELL'S _son_)
_with bow and arrows, and_ VERNER.
_Verner._ Ah! Albert! What have you there?
_Albert._ My bow and arrows, Verner.
_Ver._ When will you use them like your father, boy?
_Alb._ Some time, I hope.
_Ver._ You brag! There's not an archer
In all Helvetia can compare with him.
_Alb._ But I'm his son; and when I am a man
I may be like him. Verner, do I brag,
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.
_Ver._ May you be such
A man as he--if heaven wills, better--I'll
Not quarrel with its work; yet 'twill content me
If you are only such a man.
_Alb._ I'll show you
How I can shoot (_goes out to fix the mark._)
_Ver._ Nestling as he is, he is the making of a bird
Will own no cowering wing.
_Re-enter_ ALBERT.
_Alb._ Now, Verner, look! (_shoots_) There's within
An inch!
_Ver._ Oh, fy! it wants a hand. [_Exit_ VERNER.
_Alb._ A hand's
An inch for me. I'll hit it yet. Now for it.
_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!
_Alb._ Ah!
My father!
_Tell._ You raise the bow
Too fast. (ALBERT _continues shooting._)
Bring it slowly to the eye.--You've missed.
How often have you hit the mark to-day?
_Alb._ Not once, yet.
_Tell._ You're not steady. I perceive
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!
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.
_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!
_Alb._ I will.
_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? Thou must travel
All night.
_Alb._ I'm ready; say all night again.
_Tell._ The mountains are to cross, for thou must reach
Mount Faigel by the dawn.
_Alb._ Not sooner shall
The dawn be there than I.
_Tell._ Heaven speeding thee.
_Alb._ Heaven speeding me.
_Tell._ Show me thy staff. Art sure
Of the point? I think 'tis loose. No--stay! 'Twill do.
Caution is speed when danger's to be passed.
Examine well the crevice. Do not trust the snow!
'Tis well there is a moon to-night.
You're sure of the track?
_Alb._ Quite sure.
_Tell._ The buskin of
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.
A VENTRILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH.
HENRY COCKTON.
"Now then, look alive there!" shouted the coachman from the
booking-office door, as Valentine and his Uncle John approached. "Have
yow got that are mare's shoe made comfor'ble, Simon!"
"All right, sir," said Simon, and he went round to see if it were so,
while the luggage was being secured.
"Jimp up, genelmen!" cried the coachman, as he waddled from the office
with his whip in one hand and his huge way-bill in the other; and the
passengers accordingly proceeded to arrange themselves on the various
parts of the coach,--Valentine, by the particular desire of Uncle
John, having deposited himself immediately behind the seat of the
coachman.
"If you please," said an old lady, who had been standing in the
gateway upwards of an hour, "will you be good enow, please, to take
care of my darter?"
"All safe," said the coachman, untwisting the reins. "She shaunt take
no harm. Is she going all the way?"
"Yes, sir," replied the old lady; "God bless her! She's got a place in
Lunnun, an' I'm told--"
"Hook on them ere two sacks o' whoats there behind," cried the
coachman; "I marn't go without 'em this time.--Now, all right there?"
"Good by, my dear," sobbed the old lady, "do write to me soon, be sure
you do,--I only want to hear from you often. Take care of yourself."
"Hold hard!" cried the coachman, as the horses were dancing, on the
cloths being drawn from their loins. "Whit, whit!" and away they
pranced, as merrily as if they had known that _their_ load was nothing
when compared with the load they left behind them. Even old Uncle
John, as he cried "Good by, my dear boy," and waved his hand for the
last time, felt the tears trickling down his cheeks.
The salute was returned, and the coach passed on.
The fulness of Valentine's heart caused him for the first hour to
be silent; but after that, the constant change of scene and the pure
bracing air had the effect of restoring his spirits, and he felt
a powerful inclination to sing. Just, however, as he was about to
commence for his own amusement, the coach stopped to change horses. In
less than two minutes they started again, and Valentine, who then felt
ready for anything, began to think seriously of the exercise of his
power as a ventriloquist.
"Whit, whit!" said Tooler, the coachman, between a whisper and a
whistle, as the fresh horses galloped up the hill.
"Stop! hoa!" cried Valentine, assuming a voice, the sound of which
appeared to have travelled some distance.
"You have left some one behind," observed a gentleman in black, who
had secured the box seat.
"Oh, let un run a bit!" said Tooler. "Whit! I'll give un a winder up
this little hill, and teach un to be up in time in future. If we was
to wait for every passenger as chooses to lag behind, we shouldn't git
over the ground in a fortnit."
"Hoa! stop! stop! stop!" reiterated Valentine, in the voice of a man
pretty well out of breath.
Tooler, without deigning to look behind, retickled the haunches of his
leaders, and gleefully chuckled at the idea of _how_ he was making a
passenger sweat.
The voice was heard no more, and Tooler, on reaching the top of the
hill, pulled up and looked round, but could see no man running.
"Where is he?" inquired Tooler.
"In the ditch!" replied Valentine, throwing his voice behind.
"In the ditch!" exclaimed Tooler. "Blarm me, whereabouts?"
"There," said Valentine.
"Bless my soul!" cried the gentleman in black, who was an exceedingly
nervous village clergyman. "The poor person no doubt is fallen down
in an absolute state of exhaustion. How very, very wrong of you,
coachman, not to stop!"
Tooler, apprehensive of some serious occurrence, got down with
the view of dragging the exhausted passenger out of the ditch; but
although he ran several hundred yards down the hill, no such person of
course could be found.
"Who saw un?" shouted Tooler, as he panted up the hill again.
"I saw nothing," said a passenger behind, "but a boy jumping over the
hedge."
Tooler looked at his way-bill, counted the passengers, found them all
right, and, remounting the box, got the horses again into a gallop, in
the perfect conviction that some villanous young scarecrow had raised
the false alarm.
"Whit! blarm them 'ere boys!" said Tooler, "'stead o' mindin' their
crows, they are allus up to suffen. I only wish I had un here, I'd pay
_on_ to their blarmed bodies; if I would n't--" At this interesting
moment, and as if to give a practical illustration of what he would
have done in the case, he gave the off-wheeler so telling a cut round
the loins that the animal without any ceremony kicked over the trace.
Of course Tooler was compelled to pull up again immediately; and after
having adjusted the trace, and asking the animal seriously what he
meant, at the same time enforcing the question by giving him a blow on
the bony part of the nose, he prepared to remount; but just as he had
got his left foot upon the nave of the wheel, Valentine so admirably
imitated the sharp snapping growl of a dog in the front boot, that
Tooler started back as quickly as if he had been shot, while the
gentleman in black dropped the reins and almost jumped into the road.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the gentleman in black, trembling with
great energy; "How wrong, how very horribly wrong, of you, coachman,
not to tell me that a dog had been placed beneath my feet."
"Blarm their carcases!" cried Tooler, "they never told _me_ a dog was
shoved there. Lay _down_! We'll soon have yow out there together!"
"Not for the world!" cried the gentleman in black, as Tooler
approached the foot-board in order to open it. "Not for the world!
un-un-un-less you le-le-let me get down first. I have no desire to
pe-pe-perish of hydropho-phobia."
"Kip yar fut on the board then, sir, please," said Tooler, "we'll soon
have the varmint out o' that." So saying, he gathered up the reins,
remounted the box, and started off the horses again at full gallop.
The gentleman in black then began to explain to Tooler how utterly
inconceivable was the number of persons who had died of hydrophobia
within an almost unspeakable short space of time, in the immediate
vicinity of the residence of a friend of his in London; and just as
he had got into the marrow of a most excruciating description of the
intense mental and physical agony of which the disease in its worst
stage was productive, both he and Tooler suddenly sprang back, with
their feet in the air, and their heads between the knees of the
passengers behind them, on Valentine giving a loud growling snap, more
bitingly indicative of anger than before.
As Tooler had tightly hold of the reins when he made this involuntary
spring, the horses stopped on the instant, and allowed him time to
scramble up again without rendering the slow process dangerous.
"I cannot, I-I-I positively cannot," said the gentleman in black, who
had been thrown again into a dreadful state of excitement, "I cannot
sit here,--my nerves cannot endure it; it's perfectly shocking."
"Blister their bowls!" exclaimed Tooler, whose first impulse was to
drag the dog out of the boot at all hazards, but who, on seeing the
horses waiting in the road a short distance ahead for the next stage,
thought it better to wait till he had reached them. "I'll make un
remember this the longest day o' thar blessed lives,--blarm un! Phih!
I'll let un know when I get back, I warrant. I'll larn un to--"
"Hoa, coachman! hoa! my hat's off!" cried Valentine, throwing his
voice to the back of the coach.
"Well, _may_ I be--phit!" said Tooler. "I'll make yow run for't
anyhow--phit!"
In less than a minute the coach drew up opposite the stable, when the
gentleman in black at once proceeded to alight. Just, however, as
his foot reached the plate of the roller-bolt, another growl from
Valentine frightened him backwards, when falling upon one of the
old horse-keepers, he knocked him fairly down, and rolled over him
heavily.
"Darng your cloomsy carkus," cried the horse-keeper, gathering himself
up, "carn't you git oof ar cooarch aroat knocking o' pipple darn?"
"I-I-I beg pardon," tremblingly observed the gentleman in black; "I
hope I-I--"
"Whoap! pardon!" contemptuously echoed the horse-keeper as he limped
towards the bars to unhook the leaders' traces.
"Now then, yow warmint, let's see who yow belong to," said Tooler,
approaching the mouth of the boot; but just as he was in the act of
raising the foot-board, another angry snap made him close it again
with the utmost rapidity.
"Lay down! blarm your body!" cried Tooler, shrinking back. "Here, yow
Jim, kim here, bor, and take this 'ere devil of a dog out o' that."
Jim approached, and the growling was louder than before, while the
gentleman in black implored Jim to take care that the animal didn't
get hold of his hand.
"Here, yow Harry!" shouted Jim, "yare noot afeared o' doogs
together,--darng un, _I_ doont like un."
Accordingly Harry came, and then Sam, and then Bob, and then Bill; but
as the dog could not be seen, and as the snarling continued, neither
of them dared to put his hand in to drag the monster forth. Bob
therefore ran off for Tom Titus the blacksmith, who was supposed to
care for nothing, and in less than two minutes Tom Titus arrived with
about three feet of rod-iron red hot.
"Darng un!" cried Tom, "this ere 'll maake un _quit_ together!"
"Dear me! my good man," said the gentleman in black, "don't use that
unchristian implement! don't put the dumb thing to such horrible
torture!"
"It don't siggerfy a button," cried Tooler, "I marn't go to stop here
all day. Out he must come."
Upon this Tom Titus introduced his professional weapon, and commenced
poking about with considerable energy, while the snapping and growling
increased with each poke.
"I'll tell you what it is," said Tom Titus, turning round and wiping
the sweat off his brow with his naked arm, "this here cretur here's
stark raavin' mad."
"I knew that he was," cried the gentleman in black, getting into an
empty wagon which stood without horses just out of the road; "I felt
perfectly sure that he was rabid."
"He 's a bull-terrier too," said Tom Titus, "I knows it by 's growl.
It 's the worsest and dargdest to go maad as is."
"Well, what shall us do wi' th' warment?" said Tooler.
"Shoot him! shoot him!" cried the gentleman in black.
"O, I 've goot a blunderbus, Bob!" said Tom Titus, "yow run for 't
together, it 's top o' the forge."
Bob started at once, and Tom kept on the bar, while Tooler, Sam, and
Harry, and Bob held the heads of the horses.
"He 's got un; all right!" cried Tom Titus, as Bob neared the coach
with the weapon on his shoulder. "Yow 'll be doon in noo time," he
added as he felt with his rod to ascertain in which corner of the boot
the bull-terrier lay.
"Is she loarded?" asked Bob, as he handed Tom Titus the instrument of
death.
"Mind you make the shot come out at bottom," shouted Tooler.
"I hool," said Tom Titus, putting the weapon to his shoulder. "Noo the
Loord ha' marcy on yar, as joodge says sizes," and instantly let fly.
The horses of course plunged considerably, but still did no mischief;
and before the smoke had evaporated, Valentine introduced into the
boot a low melancholy howl, which convinced Tom Titus that the shot
had taken effect.
"He 's giv oop the ghost; darng his carkus!" cried Tom, as he poked
the dead body in the corner.
"Well, let 's have a look at un," said Tooler, "let 's see what the
warment is like."
The gentleman in black at once leaped out of the wagon, and every one
present drew near, when Tom, guided by the rod which he had kept upon
the body, put his hand into the boot, and drew forth a fine hare that
had been shattered by the shot all to pieces.
"He arn't a bull-terrier," cried Bob.
"But that arn't he," said Tom Titus. "He 's some'er aboot here as dead
as a darng'd nail. I know he 's a corpse."
"Are you sure on 't?" asked Tooler.
"There arn't any barn door deader," cried Tom. "Here, I'll lug um out
an' show yar."
"No, no!" shouted Tooler, as Tom proceeded to pull out the luggage.
"I marn't stay for that. I 'm an hour behind now, blarm un! jimp up,
genelmen!"
Tom Titus and his companions, who wanted the bull-terrier as a trophy,
entreated Tooler to allow them to have it, and, having at length
gained his consent, Tom proceeded to empty the boot. Every eye was, of
course, directed to everything drawn out, and when Tom made a solemn
declaration that the boot was empty, they were all, at once, struck
with amazement. Each looked at the other with astounding incredulity,
and overhauled the luggage again and again.
"Do you mean to say," said Tooler, "that there arn't nuffin else in
the boot?"
"Darnged a thing!" cried Tom Titus, "coom and look." And Tooler did
look, and the gentleman in black looked, and Bob looked, and Harry
looked, and Bill looked, and Sam looked, and all looked, but found the
boot empty.
"Well, blarm me!" cried Tooler. "But darng it all, he must be
somewhere!"
"I' ll taake my solum davy," said Bill, "that he _was_ there."
"I seed um myself," exclaimed Bob, "wi' my oarn eyes, an' didn't loike
the looks on um a bit."
"There cannot," said the gentleman in black, "be the smallest possible
doubt about his having been there; but the question for our mature
consideration is, where is he now?"
"I 'll bet a pint," said Harry, "you blowed um away?"
"Blowed um away, you fool!--how could I ha' blowed um away?"
"Why, he _was_ there," said Bob, "and he baint there noo, and he baint
here nayther, so you mus ha' blowed um out o' th' boot; 'sides, look
at the muzzle o' this ere blunderbust!"
"Well, of all the rummest goes as ever happened," said Tooler,
thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, "this ere flogs
'em all into nuffin!"
"It is perfectly astounding!" exclaimed the gentleman in black,
looking again into the boot, while the men stood and stared at each
other with their mouths as wide open as human mouths could be.
"Well, in wi' 'em agin," cried Tooler, "in wi' 'em!--Blarm me if this
here arn't a queer un to get over."
The luggage was accordingly replaced, and Tooler, on mounting the
box, told the men to get a gallon of beer, when the gentleman in black
generously gave them half a crown, and the horses started off, leaving
Tom with his blunderbuss, Harry, Bill, Sam, and their companions,
bewildered with the mystery which the whole day spent in the alehouse
by no means enabled them to solve.
THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND TO-NIGHT.
Recite this in a simple unaffected manner; carefully
avoiding anything like _rant_. At times the voice should sink
tremulously low, as the good dame recalls memories of her
departed children:
An old wife sat by her bright fireside,
Swaying thoughtfully to and fro,
In an ancient chair whose creaky frame
Told a tale of long ago;
While down by her side, on the kitchen floor,
Stood a basket of worsted balls--a score.
The old man dozed o'er the latest news,
Till the light of his pipe went out,
And, unheeded, the kitten, with cunning paws,
Rolled and tangled the balls about;
Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair,
Swaying to and fro, in the firelight glare.
But anon a misty tear-drop came
In her eye of faded blue,
Then trickled down in a furrow deep,
Like a single drop of dew;
So deep was the channel--so silent the stream--
The good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.
Yet he marvelled much that the cheerful light
Of her eye had weary grown,
And marvelled he more at the tangled balls;
So he said in a gentle tone,
"I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow,
Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."
Then she spoke of the time when the basket there
Was filled to the very brim,
And how there remained of the goodly pile
But a single pair--for him.
"Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light,
There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
"I cannot but think of the busy feet,
Whose wrappings were wont to lie
In the basket, awaiting the needle's time,
Now wandered so far away;
How the sprightly steps to a mother dear,
Unheeded fell on the careless ear.
"For each empty nook in the basket old,
By the hearth there's a vacant seat;
And I miss the shadows from off the wall,
And the patter of many feet;
'Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight
At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
"'Twas said that far through the forest wild,
And over the mountains bold,
Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves
Were gemmed with the rarest gold;
Then my first-born turned from the oaken door,
And I knew the shadows were only four.
"Another went forth on the foaming waves
And diminished the basket's store--
But his feet grew cold--so weary and cold--
They'll never be warm any more--
And this nook in its emptiness, seemeth to me
To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea.
"Two others have gone towards the setting sun,
And made them a home in its light,
And fairy fingers have taken their share
To mend by the fireside bright;
Some other baskets their garments fill--
But mine! Oh, mine is emptier still.
"Another--the dearest--the fairest--the best--
Was ta'en by the angels away,
And clad in a garment that waxeth not old,
In a land of continual day.
Oh! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light,
While I mend the one pair of stockings to-night."
A LOVE OF A BONNET
(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)
CHARACTERS.
MRS. CLIPPER, a Widow.
KITTY, her Daughter.
AUNT JEMIMA HOPKINS, a leetle inquisitive.
MRS. HORTENSIA FASTONE, very genteel.
DORA, her Daughter.
KATY DOOLAN, Irish Help.
SCENE.--_Room in_ MRS. CLIPPER'S _House. Lounge_, L.; _Chairs_, C.;
_Table and Rocking-chair, Looking-glass_, R.
_Enter_ MRS. CLIPPER _and_ KITTY, R.
_Mrs. C._ But really, Kitty, I cannot afford it.
_Kitty._ O, yes, you can, mother; just this once. It's such a love of
a bonnet! it's so becoming! and it only costs fifteen dollars.
_Mrs. C._ Fifteen dollars! Why, child, you are crazy! We cannot afford
to be so extravagant. The income derived from the property your dear
father left will only allow us to dress in the most economical manner.
_Kitty._ But this bonnet is not extravagant. Dora Fastone wears a
bonnet which cost twenty-five-dollars, and her father has failed five
or six times. I don't see why I can't have a new bonnet as well as
that proud, stuck-up--
_Mrs. C._ Hush, my child! never speak ill of our neighbors because
they dress better than we do. If they spend money foolishly, we should
endeavor to use ours to better purpose. I am sure I should be glad to
gratify you, but we have so many expenses. Your music lessons cost a
great deal of money; and your brother Harry, off at school, is really
suffering for a new suit of clothes. I must send him some money
to-day.
_Kitty._ O, he can wait; he's only a boy; and no one cares how he
looks; but young ladies must dress, or they are thought nothing of. O,
you must let me have the bonnet, mamma!