 insidious tyranty who voluntarily shut his heart alike to reason, virtue, and nature?—Devoted to self-interest, vain of a petty talent at deceiving, contemptible in every rank, but infamous in the highest, he meanly watched the generous impulses of my heart, and wrought out of them my ruin.—Yet why do I name myself?—Alas, of what importance is it to her who no longer wishes to live where heaven or its arbitrary delegate shall have appointed her to die?—It is for thee, my daughter! for thee alone my soul thus overflows with inexpressible anguish.—Rescued, in yet unconscious childhood,

from slavery, neglect, and obscurity, fortune at one moment seemed willing to restore all the rights of your birth, when a weak, credulous, unfortunate, mother assisted the cruel wretch who Was pre-determined to entomb you, and annihilate every trace, every memorial, of our dear and honored progenitors.—Nameless—dishonored—your blooming youth must wither in an unknown prison—blighted by the tears of a parent who can never pardon herself the extravagant error produced by over-fondness.—I knew the King to be mean, base, subtle, yet I madly delivered into his treacherous hands every thing on which our hopes, nay, even our vindication, must be grounded."— "Hear me, in turn, my dear, my honored mother, cried my sweet girl, bathing my hands with tears of veneration and fondness. Alas, the order of nature is inverted, and I am obliged to become the monitor.—Recollect the maxim you have so deeply impressed upon my mind—that the malice of man would in vain strive to make us wretched, did not our

own ungovernable passions aid his artful machinations. Oh, let us respect even error when it has its source in virtue.—To have distrusted the King were to deserve to be rejected—leave him then to the contemptible satisfaction of having wrested from the widow and the orphan the last treasure of their lives, and let us examine what he has been compelled to leave us. Have we not yet the power of looking down on his throne, and all its specious advantages, even from that obscure prison where his authority confines us?—Have we not the pride of reviewing our own hearts without finding aught in either unworthy of our Creator or ourselves?—For the vain grandeur of that name of which he has unfairly deprived us, can it be worth regretting while he lives to dishonor it?—Fortunately no favorite view depended on its attainment, consequently no hope is blighted by the deprivation. Have I not often heard you say, a noble mind can
