And placed it on the sounding thong
The tough yew arched.

He drew the bow, whilst all around
That thronging crowd there was no so; nd,
No step, no word, no breath.

All gazed with an unerring eye,
To see the fearful arrow fly;
The light wind died into a sigh,
And scarcely stirred.

Afar the boy stood, firm and mute;
He saw the strong bow curved to shoot,
But never moved.

He knew the daring coolness of that hand
He knew it was a father scanned

The boy he loved.

The Switzer gazed-the arrow hung,
"My only boy!" sobbed on his tongue;
He could not shoot.

"Ha!" cried the tyrant, "doth he quail? Mark how his haughty brow grows pale!" But a deep voice rung on the gale

Shoot, in God's name!"

Again the drooping shaft he took,

And turned to Heaven one burning look, Of all doubts reft.

"Be firm, my boy!" was all he said.
The apple's left the stripling's head;
Ha ha! 'tis cleft!

And so it was, and Tell was free.
Quick the brave boy was at his knee,
With rosy cheek.

His loving arms his boy embrace;
But again that tyrant cried in haste,
"An arrow in thy belt is placed;

What means it? Speak!"

The Switzer raised his clenched hand high,
Whilst lightning flashed across his eye
Incessantly.

"To smite thee, tyrant, to the heart,
Had Heaven willed it that my

Had touched my boy."

dart

"Rebellion! treason! chain the slave!"
A hundred swords around him wave,
Whilst hate to Gesler's features gave
Infuriate joy.

But that one arrow found its goal,
Hid with revenge in Gesler's soul;
And Lucerne's lake

Heard his dastard soul outmoan

When Freedom's call abroad was blown,
And Switzerland, a giant grown,

Her fetters brake.

From hill to hill the mandate flew,
From lake to lake the tempest grew,
With wakening swell,

Till proud oppression crouched for shame,
And Austria's haughtiness grew tame;
And Freedom's watchword was the name
Of William Tell.

"PAX

PAX VOBISCUM!

AX VOBISCUM!" Peace be with ye! Hark the Independence bells!

On the breeze of summer morning how their joyous

clamor swells!

Let them shout with brazen voices! Let the bellowing

cannon roar!

Through the Old World, through the New World, golden Peace is crowned once more!

Pax Vobiscum! Dark Rebellion, sworn to turn Time's dial back,

Sinks and dies, while Freedom's sunrise flames along its noonward track!

Fiery Gaul and matchless Teuton bleed no more on Europe's plains,

Torn Italia, throned by Tiber, now from Blanc to Etna reigns!

Pax Vobiscum! Bold Columbia, stern Britannia, jarring

long,

One in blood and speech and freedom, one in holy faith more strong,

Both too great to brook an insult, both too noble to be

wrong,

Yield their strifes to law and justice, sheath the sword and join in song!

Pax Vobiscum! Christ hath conquered! "Know all men," writes iron Grant,

"Know all men," writes proud Victoria, "Deathless olive here we plant!"

Glorious Daughter! Glorious Mother! Join the stars and cross on high!

Cheer the Lion! Cheer the Eagle! Send the echo through the sky!

Pax Vobiscum! Hands of blessing part the cloudless blue above!

God's great hands of benediction o'er the nations spread in love!

"Te Deum laudamus!" humbly swells our grateful, glad

refrain;

"Gloria in Excelsis!" angels whisper, rapturous Amen! GEORGE LANSING TAYLOR

A TRAGEDY.

How many acts are there in a tragedy? Five, I be

lieve.

ACT I.-Young man starting from home. Parents and sisters weeping to see him go. Wagon passing over the hill. Farewell kiss thrown back. Ring the bell and let the curtain drop.

ACT II.-Marriage altar. Bright lights. Full o gan. White vail trailing through the aisle. Prayer and congratulations, and exclamations of "How well she looks!" Ring the bell and let the curtain drop.

ACT III.-Midnight. Woman waiting for staggering steps. Old garments stuck into broken window panes. Many marks of hardship on the face. Biting the nails of bloodless fingers. Neglect, cruelty, disgrace. Ring the bell and let the curtain drop.

ACT IV.-Three graves in a very dark place. Grave of a child, who died from want of medicine; grave of husband and father, who died of dissipation; grave of wife and mother, who died of a broken heart. Plenty of weeds but no flowers! Oh! what a blasted heath, with three graves! Ring the bell and let the curtain drop.

ACT V-A destroyed soul's eternity. No light; no music; no hope! Despair coiling around the heart with unutterable anguish. Blackness of darkness forever! Woe! woe! woe! I cannot bear longer to look. I close my eyes at this last act of the tragedy. Quick! Quick! Ring the bell and let the curtain drop.

T. DE WITT TALMAGE

I

KATYDID.

LOVE to hear thine earnest voice,

Wherever thou art hid,

Thou testy little dogmatist,

Thou pretty Katydid!

Thou 'mindest me of gentle folks-
Old gentle folks are they,-
Thou sayest an undisputed thing
In such a solemn way.

Thou art a female Katydid!
I know it by the trill

That quivers through the piercing notes,
So petulant and shrill.

I think there is a knot of you
Beneath the hollow tree,-
A knot of spinster Katydids:
Do Katydids drink tea?

Oh, tell me, where did Katy live?
And what did Katy do?

And was she very fair and young,
And yet so wicked, too?
Did Katy love a naughty man,
Or kiss more cheeks than one?
I warrant Katy did no more
many a Kate has done.

Than

Dear me!

I'll tell you all about

My fuss with little Jane,

And Ann, with whom I used to walk

So often down the lane,

And all that tore their locks of black,
Or wet their eyes of blue:

Pray, tell me, sweetest Katydid,
What did poor Katy do?