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Minnehaha.-Laughing Water-a water-fall on a stream running into the Mississippi between Fort Snelling and the Falls of St. Anthony. The Arrow-maker's daughter was named after this fall.

Dacotahs.-Better known as the Sioux Indians, inhabiting Nebraska, Wyoming, &c.

Nokomis. A grandmother. She was mother of Wenorah, Hiawatha's mother.

Muskoday.-Meadow.

Wawa. The wild goose.

Chibiabos.-The musician-a friend of Hiawatha.

Kwasind. The strong man.

Ojibways.-A tribe of North American Indians, inhabiting Michigan, Wisconsin, &c. They were bitter enemies of the Sioux or Dacotahs.

WILLIAM TELL.

[SHERIDAN KNOWLES, a celebrated Irish Dramatist, was born in 1784. His principal plays are "Caius Gracchus," "Virginius," "William Tell," and "The Hunchback." Relinquishing the stage, he became a Baptist Minister. He died 1st December, 1862.]

TELL, ALBERT (his Son), GESLER, and SARNEM.

Sar. [to Tell.] Behold the Governor! Down, slave, upon thy knees, and beg for mercy.

Ges. Does he hear?

Sar. He does, but braves thy power. Down, slave, and ask for life.

Ges. [to Tell.] Why speak'st thou not?

Tell. For wonder!

seem'st a man.

Yes, for wonder-that thou

Ges. What should I seem ?

Tell. A monster.

Ges. Ha! Beware!—think on thy chains.

Tell. Think on my chains! How came they on me?

Ges. Dar'st thou question me?

geance.

Tell. Can it more than kill?

Beware my ven

Ges. Enough; it may do that.

Tell. No, not enough:-it cannot take away the grace of life—the comeliness of look that virtue gives —its port erect, with consciousness of truth—its rich attire of honourable deeds-its fair report that's rife on good men's tongues :-it cannot lay its hands on these, no more than it can pluck his brightness from the sun, or with polluted fingers tarnish it.

Ges. But it may make thee writhe.

Tell. It may, and I may say "Go on!" though it should make me groan again.

Ges. Whence comest thou?

Tell. From the mountains; there they watch no more the avalanche.

Ges. Why so?

Tell. Because they look for thee.

The hurricane

comes unawares upon them: from its bed the torrent breaks and finds them in its track

Ges. What then?

Tell. They thank kind providence it is not thou !Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked. There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but the thought of thee doth wither to a curse-as something they must lose, and had far better lack.

Ges. 'Tis well. I'd have them as their hills—that never smile, though wanton summer tempt them e'er so much.

Tell. But they do sometimes smile.

Ges. Ah!-when is that?

Tell. When they do talk of vengeance! and the true hands are lifted up to Heaven on every hill for justice

on thee!

Ges. [To Sarnem.] Lead in his son. Now I will take exquisite vengeance. [To Tell.] I would see thee make a trial of thy skill with that same bow.

said thy arrows never miss.

Tell. What is the trial,

'Tis

Ges. Thou look'st upon thy boy as though instinctively thou guessest it.

Tell. Look upon my boy! What mean you? Look upon my boy as though I guessed it!-Guessed at the trial thou wouldst have me make !-Guessed it-instinctively! Thou dost not mean-no, no-Thou wouldst not have me make a trial of my skill upon my child? Impossible! I do not guess thy meaning.

Ges. I'd see thee hit an apple on his head, three hundred paces off.

Tell. Creat Heaven!

Ges. On this condition I will spare his life and thine. Tell. Ferocious monster! make a father murder his own child!—'Tis beyond horror! 'tis too much for flesh and blood to bear.

Ges. Dost thou consent?

Tell. My hands are free from blood, and have no gust for it, that they should drink my child's. I'll not murder my boy for Gesler!

Boy. You will not hit me, father. You'll be sure to hit the apple. Will you not save me, father?

Tell. Lead me forth-I'll make the trial.
Boy. 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 thunder muttered at the deed, and sent a bolt to stop it. Give me my bow and quiver.

Ges. When all is ready.

Sarnem, measure hence

the distance three hundred paces.

Tell. Will he do it fairly?

Ges. What is't to thee, fairly or not?

Tell. Oh, nothing! a little thing! a very little thing!

I only shoot at my child!

[Sarnem prepares to measure.]

Villain, stop! You measure 'gainst the sun.

Ges. And what of that? What matter whether to

or from the sun?

H

Tell. I'd have it at my back. The sun should shine upon the mark, and not on him that shoots: I will not shoot against the sun.

Ges. Give him his way.

[Sarnem paces and goes out.]

Tell. I should like to see the apple I must hit.

Ges. There, take that.

T'ell. You've picked the smallest one.

Ges. I know I have. Thy skill will be the greater if thou hittest it.

Tell. True!-true! I did not think of that. I wonder I did not think of that. A larger one had given me a chance to save my boy. and quiver.

Give me my bow

a single arrow. Let me see my

Ges. [To an attendant.] Give him Tell. Looks at it and breaks it.] quiver. It is not one arrow in a dozen I would use to shoot with at a dove, much less a dove like that. Ges. Show him the quiver.

[Sarnem takes the apple and leads out the boy to place them; meanwhile Tell conceals an arrow under his garment. He then selects another arrow.]

Tell. Is the boy ready? Keep silence now for Heaven's sake, and be my witnesses, that, if his life's in peril from my hand, 'tis only for the chance of saving it. For mercy's sake keep motionless and silent! [He aims and shoots in the direction of the boy. Sarnem enters with the apple on the arrow's point.] Sar. The boy is safe-no hair of him is touched! Tell. Thank Heaven!

[As he raises his arms the concealed arrow falls.] Ges. Unequalled archer!-Ha! why this concealed? Tell. To kill THEE, tyrant, had I slain my boy. KNOWLES.

William Tell, the great Swiss patriot, lived during the first half of the fourteenth century. The incident referred to in the extract happened in 1307. He died about 1350.

HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.

1. THE bark that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves rolled on;

And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?

He lived-for life may long be borne
Ere sorrow break its chain ;

Why comes not death to those who mourn?—
He never smiled again!

2. There stood proud forms around his throne,
The stately and the brave;

But which could fill the place of one,—
That one beneath the wave?
Before him passed the young and fair,
In pleasure's reckless train;

But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair :-
He never smiled again!

3. He sat where festal bowls went round,
He heard the minstrels sing;
He saw the tourney's victor crowned
Amidst the knightly ring:

A murmur of the restless deep

Was blent with every strain,

A voice of winds that would not sleep :

He never smiled again!

4. Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured;

And strangers took the kinsman's place
At many a joyous board;

Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,

Were left to heaven's bright rain ;

Fresh hopes were born for other years :

He never smiled again!

MRS. HEMANS.

He never smiled again.--This poem is founded on the tradition that Henry I. of England was never seen to

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