In short I think 'tis proved, as clear as lead,
That Louis Capet ought to lose his head.
And that upon his neck, for ours unfit,
The crown of martyrdom will nicely sit.
And let calumniators recollect,.

That 'tis a greater mark of true respect,
That a mild king, for reasons wise and good,
Should thus be tapp'd and lose a little blood,
Than vile Egalite, that monster fell,
That scourge of man, that inmate fit of hell,
That prince of robbers and his equal clan
Should bid him off at four pence to a man.*

* The Echo acknowledges that there is a sublime obscurity in this part of the text, which it is difficult to comprehend, but in responding it literally its beauties will at least be faithfully transmitted to the public ear.

Portrait of Philip Egalite, ci-devant Luke of Orleans, taken from a Lon», don paper. "The life of this man has been the scandal of his age. A swin dler and debauchee, in early youth he corrupted and destroyed his brother. in-law the Prince de Lambelle, and afterwards accused and caused to be assassinated the Princess his wife, whom he had before contrived to plunder of the greatest part of her fortune. He carries in his bosom the pestilential germ of corruption, and after dishonouring his own bed he dishonours that of another, and blasts what little remains of the family of the celebrated Buffon, whose daughter he made the instrument of his debauchery. In his attempt to build the Palais Royal he plunged thousands of families into ruin, who had entrusted him with their property, by a fraudulent bankruptcy, which he committed with the most cynical impudence. His treasures and his fortune have been employed to pay the crimes of the tenth of August, second of September, the fifth of October and the twenty-first of January. Thus has heaven been lavish of its favours only to render vice more conspi. He was educated in dignity, that his villainy might be more prominent; he was rich and powerful only that his vices might be more numerous and despised; he was stationed near the throne only to overturn it with more public disgrace, and thus offer a terrible lesson to nations and to kings.His friends and his agents were homogeneal with himself. La Clos, the author of Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Sillery de Genlis, a man the most

cuous.

And let each heir of this auspicious land,
Where infant FREEDOM led her daring band,
With grateful bosoms call to mind the hour,
When generous Louis raised an arm of power,
Stretch'd forth his hand a sinking world to save,
And snatch'd its honours from an early grave.

deeply depraved of any of the present age, figured in his councils in conjunc tion with that execrable and atheistical priest, who at the end of the eigh. teenth century disgraces the name of Perigord. To these we may add that villain La Touche, and Biron, enlarged from an English prison, to appear at the head of the armies of the revolution. Such were the colleagues of Philip Egalite such were his coadjutors in that series of guilt which wanted nothing to its completion but calling in to his assistance the butcher Le Gendre, Robespierre, the nephew of Damiens, and the malefactors of every country. Such were his secretaries, his directors, his chancellors, his familiars and his bosom friends."

By thee accused, &c. The following beautiful and pathetic lines upon the unfortunate Princess de Lambelle, who was barbarously murdered by a ferocious populace on the memorable second of September, 1792, are extracted from the New-Years' Verses for the American Mercury for 1793, and are the production of a much regretted friend, as estimable for the virtues of his heart, as distinguished for his literary talents, who in the fatal fever of 1798 in New-York, fell a victim to his active benevolence in the exercise of his professional duties, and his humane attention to an unfortunate foreigner of distinguished literary acquirements. Some passages in a few of the earlier Echoes were likewise furnished by the same hand.

"Rage, Rapine, Horror stalk around;
The palace thunders to the ground;
Babes, parents, patriots glut the grave;
Nor could imperial beauty save
Thy form where long she joy'd to dwell,
Loved, lost, unfortunate Lambelle !"

ECHO.....NO. XIII

THE text of this Echo was a publication under the signature of "MIRABEAU," which appeared in one of the Philadelphia papers in the spring of 1793. This was a virulent attack on the Federal Printers in the Eastern States, particularly those of Hartford, and contained many illiberal general reflections. The Echo itself was nearly completed when some circumstances induced the authors to lay it aside, and it was never after resumed. As specimens of the manner in which it was written the following passages are given; the first being an Echo of the writer's attack on New-England, and the second the portrait of a conspicuous public character in our national councils.

WELL may the name of sycophant agree
With all opposed in sentiment to me;

And chief New-England's sons deserve that name,
Those foes of primal right and native claim,
Who think that sober government should bind
In vile restraint the passions of mankind,
And that e'en legal justice has a claim

On those inspired with Freedom's holy flame.

But ne'er in Pennsylvania's unkind soil
Will those rank weeds reward the planter's toil,
But fix'd in Hartford, with attentive care
Rear'd in her hot-bed, nurtured by her air,
With rapid growth their towering heads shall rise,
Above the dwarfish plants of southern skies,
And in wide-spreading majesty expand
A grateful shade o'er each congenial land:
While HARTFORD COURANT, like a pedlar's cart,
Shall lug their goodly fruits to every part.
Hartford! curst corner of the spacious earth!
Where each dire mischief ripens into birth,
Whence dark cabals against our statesmen rise
And spread a black'ning cloud o'er eastern skies!
Whose impious sons, by decency unsway'd,
Nor check'd by prudence, nor by fear dismay'd,
Each solemn thing have turn'd to constant jest,
From John Monier to Boston's civic feast,
From Pokahontas' breed, prime lords of all,
To Hancock glorious at his Negro ball:
For still proud Echo wakes the tuneful strain,
And ****** pun and C****** prints in vain.
Hartford detested more by faction's race
Than harden'd sinner hates the call of grace,
Not more the owl abhors meridian light,
Not more the generous steed the camel's sight,
Not more the skulking thief the fatal tree,
Than Faction's brood abhor thy sons and thee!