_Tell._ If thou canst bear it, should not I?--Go, now, My son--and keep in mind that I can shoot-- Go, boy--be thou but steady, I will hit The apple--Go!--God bless thee--go.--My bow!-- [_The bow is handed to him._] Thou wilt not fail thy master, wilt thou?--Thou Hast never failed him yet, old servant--No, I’m sure of thee--I know thy honesty. Thou art stanch--stanch.--Let me see my quiver. _Ges._ Give him a single arrow. _Tell._ Do you shoot? _Sol._ I do. _Tell._ Is it so you pick an arrow, friend? The point, you see, is bent; the feather jagged: [_Breaks it._] That’s all the use ’tis fit for. _Ges._ Let him have another. _Tell._ Why, ’tis better than the first, But yet not good enough for such an aim As I’m to take--’tis heavy in the shaft: I’ll not shoot with it! [_Throws it away._] Let me see my quiver. Bring it!--’Tis not one arrow in a dozen I’d take to shoot with at a dove, much less A dove like that.-- _Ges._ It matters not. Show him the quiver. _Tell._ See if the boy is ready. [_Tell here hides an arrow under his vest._] _Ver._ He is. _Tell._ I’m ready, too! Keep silent for Heaven’s sake and do not stir--and let me have Your prayers--your prayers--and be my witnesses That if his life’s in peril from my hand, ’Tis only for the chance of saving it. [_To the people._] _Ges._ Go on. _Tell._ I will. O friends, for mercy sake, keep motionless And silent. [_Tell shoots--a shout of exultation bursts from the crowd--Tell’s head drops on his bosom; he with difficulty supports himself upon his bow._] _Ver._ [_Rushing in with Albert._] The boy is safe,--no hair of him is touched. _Alb._ Father, I’m safe!--your Albert’s safe, dear father,-- Speak to me! Speak to me! _Ver._ He cannot, boy! _Alb._ You grant him life? _Ges._ I do. _Alb._ And we are free? _Ges._ You are. [_Crossing angrily behind._] _Alb._ Thank Heaven!--thank Heaven! _Ver._ Open his vest, And give him air. [_Albert opens his father’s vest, and the arrow drops. Tell starts, fixes his eye upon Albert, and clasps him to his breast._] _Tell._ My boy!--My boy! _Ges._ For what Hid you that arrow in your breast?--Speak, slave! _Tell._ To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my boy! ADDRESS TO THE SURVIVORS OF THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. DANIEL WEBSTER. DANIEL WEBSTER, one of the greatest of American statesmen, was born at Salisbury, N. H., in 1782. His father, Ebenezer Webster, was a farmer and Justice of the County Court. He had been an officer in the Revolutionary war. [Illustration] Daniel received his early instruction from his mother, a woman of rare intellectual powers, and from the country school which he attended during the winters.