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ed and swearing like watermen, preaching massacre, and setting the example of rapine. Crowds of people surround the courts of justice, and vociferate their threats against the judges, who are thought too tardy in the condemnation of innocence. The prisons are gorged with public functionaries, with generals, and private individuals, of characters that graced and ennobled humanity: a zeal to accuse is received as a proof of civism, and the search and detention of persons of merit and property, comprehend all the duties of an ignorant and unprincipled magistracy.

The victims of Orleans are fallen. Charlotte Corday has not produced the smallest movement in a city which did not deserve to be delivered from a monster. Brissot, Gensonné, and a multitude of other members, still remain under impeachment: proofs are wanting, but the fury of their enemies knows no bounds; and for want of reasons to condemn them, an appeal is made to the perverted will of the sovereign people, who impatiently expect their heads, as a wild beast awaits his prey. Custine is no more; Robespierre triumphs; Hebert marks the victims; Chabot counts them; the tribunal is in haste to condemn, while the populace is preparing to accelerate and generalize the work of death.

In the mean time, famine invades the land; pernicious laws put an end to all industry, stop the circulation of commodities, and annihilate commerce; the public money is squandered; disorganization becomes general; and in this total overthrow of the public fortune, men, devoid of shame, wallow in ill-acquired wealth, set a price upon all their actions, and draw up a bill of rates for the life and death of their fellow-citizens.

FORCE OF TALENTS.-Dwight.

TALENTS, whenever they have had a suitable theatre, have never failed to emerge from obscurity, and assume their proper rank in the estimation of the world. The jealous pride of power may attempt to repress and crush them; the base and malignant rancour of impotent spleen and envy may strive to embarrass and retard their flight: but these efforts, so far from achieving their ignoble purpose, so far from producing a discernable obliquity in

the ascent of genuine and vigorous talents, will serve only to increase their momentum, and mark their transit with an additional stream of glory.

When the great Earl of Chatham first made his арpearance in the House of Commons, and began to astonish and transport the British Parliament and the British nation, by the boldness, the force, and range of his thoughts, and the celestial fire and pathos of his eloquence, it is well known, that the minister, Walpole, and his brother Horace, (from motives very easily understood,) exerted all their wit, all their oratory, all their acquirements of every description, sustained and enforced by the unfeeling 'insolence of office,' to heave a mountain on his gigantic genius, and hide it from the world.-Poor and powerless attempt!— The tables were turned. He rose upon them, in the might and irresistible energy of his genius, and in spite of all their convulsions, frantic agonies, and spasms, he strangled them and their whole faction, with as much ease as Hercules did the serpent, Python.

Who can turn over the debates of the day, and read the account of this conflict between youthful ardour and hoary headed cunning and power, without kindling in the cause of the tyro, and shouting at his victory? That they should have attempted to pass off the grand, yet solid and judicious operations of a mind like his, as being mere theatrical start and emotion; the giddy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy! That they should have had the presumption to suppose themselves capable of chaining down to the floor of the Parliament, a genius so etherial, towering, and sublime, seems unaccountable! Why did they not, in the next breath, by way of crowning the climax of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend from its exalted and appropriate region, and perform its splendid tour along the surface of the earth?

Talents, which are before the public, have nothing to dread, either from the jealous pride of power, or from the transient misrepresentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spite of opposition from any cause, their buoyant spirit will lift them to their proper grade.

The man who comes fairly before the world, and who possesses the great and vigorous stamina which entitle him to a niche in the temple of glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate result: however slow his progress may be, he will, in the end, most indubitably receive that

distinction. While the rest,' the swallows of science,' the butterflies of genius, may flutter for their spring; but they will soon pass away and be remembered no more. No enterprising man, therefore, (and least of all, the truly great man) has reason to droop or repine at any efforts, which he may suppose to be made with the view to depress him. Let, then, the tempest of envy or of malice howl around him. His genius will consecrate him; and any attempt to extinguish that, will be as unavailing, as would a human effort to quench the stars.'

DIALOGUE.-Murphy.

MELANTHON AND PHILOTAS.

Mel. YET a moment, hear; Philotas, hear me.
Phil. No more: it must not be.

Mel.

Obdurate man!

Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distressed,
A good, a virtuous, venerable king,

The father of his people, from a throne,

Which long with every virtue he adorned,
Torn by a ruffian, by a tyrant's hand,
Groans in captivity? In his own palace
Lives a sequestered prisoner? Oh! Philotas,
If thou hast not renounced humanity,
Let me behold my sovereign; once again,
Admit me to his presence; let me see
My royal master.

Phil. Urge thy suit no further;

Thy words are fruitless. Dionysius' orders
Forbid access; he is our sovereign now;

'Tis his to give the law-mine to obey.

Mel. Thou canst not mean it his to give the law! Detested spoiler! his! a vile usurper!

Have we forgot the elder Dionysius,

Surnamed the tyrant? To Sicilia's throne
The monster waded through whole seas of blood.
Sore groaned the land beneath his iron rod,
Till, roused at length, Evander came from Greece,
Like Freedom's genius came, and sent the tyrant,
Stripped of the crown, and to his humble rank

Once more reduced to roam for vile subsistence;
A wandering sophist, through the realms of Greece.
Phil. Whate'er his right, to him in Syracuse
All bend the knees; his the supreme dominion,
And death and torment wait his sovereign nod.
Mel. But soon that power shall cease; behold his walls
Now close encircled by the Grecian bands;
Timoleon leads them on; indignant Corinth
Sends her avenger forth, arrayed in terrour,
To hurl ambition from a throne usurped,
And bid all Sicily resume her rights.

Phil. Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon; now,
Grown dim with age, thy eye pervades no more
The deep laid schemes which Dionysius plans.
Know, then, a fleet from Carthage even now
Stems the rough billow; and, ere yonder sun,
That, now declining, seeks the western wave,
Shall to the shades of night resign the world,
Thou 'It see the Punic sails in yonder bay,
Whose waters wash the walls of Syracuse.

Mel. Art thou a stranger to Timoleon's name?
Intent to plan, and circumspect to see
All possible events, he rushes on

Resistless in his course! Your boasted master
Scarce stands at bay; each hour the strong blockade
Hems him in closer, and ere long thou 'lt view
Oppression's iron rod to fragments shivered!
The good Evander then-

Phil. Alas, Evander

Will ne'er behold the golden time you look for.
Mel. How! not behold it? Say, Philotas, speak;
Has the fell tyrant, have his felon murderers-
Phil. As yet, my friend, Evander lives.

Mel. And yet

Thy dark, half-hinted purpose-lead me to him;
If thou hast murdered him-

Phil. By Heaven, he lives.

Mel. Then bless me with one tender interview.
Thrice has the sun gone down since last these eyes
Have seen the good old king. Say, why is this?
Wherefore debarred his presence? Thee, Philotas,
The troops obey, that guard the royal prisoner,
Each avenue to thee is
open; thou

Canst grant admittance: let me, let me see him.

Phil. Entreat no more; the soul of Dionysius
Is ever wakeful, rent with all the pangs
That wait on conscious guilt.

Mel. But when dun night

Phil. Alas! it cannot be but mark my words.
Let Greece urge on her general assault;
Despatch some friend, who may o'erleap the wall,
And tell Timoleon, the good old Evander
Has lived three days, by Dionysius' order,
Locked up from every sustenance of nature;
And life, now wearied out, almost expires.

Mel. If any spark of virtue dwells within thee,
Lead me, Philotas, lead me to his prison.

Phil. The tyrant's jealous care hath moved him thence Mel. Ha! moved him, sayest thou?

Phil. At the midnight hour,

Silent conveyed him up the steep ascent,
To where the elder Dionysius formed,
On the sharp summit of the pointed rock
Which overhangs the deep, a dungeon drear,
Cell within cell, a labyrinth of horrour,

Deep caverned in the cliff, where many a wretch,
Unseen by mortal eye, has groaned in anguish,

And died obscure, unpitied and unknown.

Mel. Clandestine murderer! Yes, there's the scene Of horrid massacre. Full oft I've walked,

When all things lay in sleep and darkness hushed;
Yes, oft I've walked the lonely sullen beach,
And heard the mournful sound of many a corse
Plunged from the rock into the wave beneath,
That murmurs on the shore. And means he thus
To end a monarch's life? Oh! grant my prayer :
My timely succour may protect his days;

The guard is yours-

Phil. Forbear; thou pleadst in vain ;
And though I feel soft pity throbbing here,

Though each emotion prompts the generous deed,
I must not yield; it were assured destruction.

Farewell! despatch a message to the Greeks;

I'll to my station; now thou knowst the worst. [Exit.
Mel. Oh! lost Evander! Lost Euphrasia too!
How will her gentle nature bear the shock
Of a dear father, thus in lingering pangs
A prey to famine, like the veriest wretch,

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