Gazette Of The United States, & Philadelphia Daily Advertiser

MURDER OF BONNIER AND ROBERJOT.

IT is an ill wind that blows nobody good; and if the Directory themselves were not the contrivers of the murder, (no offence I hope to revolutionary humanity) it was certainly a most lucky event for them. The national enthusiasm was gone, and no stimulus remained for the preservation of the Republic. Philanthropy exhausted by its millions of murders—the guillotine thrown aside like a coat cut off sault—Sanctulo tim no longer presenting an image of glory—the car of the nation grown weary of muckhe, and Gaconade done over with the army of England, what resource was left for the salvation of the tyrants? They still indeed drew a hope from the Hero of Egypt; and it must be conceded, he did his best to keep them from despair. Camels and Caravans, Mamelukes and Arabs, Alexandria, Rosetta, Cairo, Pompey's Pillar and the Pyramids, dance through his letters in all the mazes of Jacobinic confusion, affording a most delicious regale to the frivolity of Frenchmen. But their frivolity, like their stomachs, requires vanity, and with the capriciousness of an infant, cries for new rattles. They now look for conquests and trophies, and the national vanity can no longer be flattered by unimportant, and often unsuccessful frays with a handful of Arabs.

But what can be done by the Directory and Councils? A most terrible coalition acting against them, without a friend in the world, and scarcely a dupe left for cajolery! They try the old cant—but in vain. They shake their robes but it will not do. Peste! Austria, England, Turkey and Russia come thundering upon them They fight, but are every where beaten. They trump up the worn-out tale of an expiring soldier crying "Vive la Republique;" but their warriors, it now seems, like the notion of living themselves. Le Diable! What shall they do now? When lo! the virtuous Jean De Brie, the philanthropist who had proposed a Legion of 1200 assassins to murder the monarchs and aristocrats of Europe, sends them a whining detail of the assassination of his concitoyens. Instantly, as if blood and murder were as rare to a Jacobin as rain to an Egyptian, they vote it the most horrible outrage that ever was perpetrated, and decree a funeral fete to the manes of the butchered innocents. Heaven and earth are invoked to avenge the deed, and the national energy developed amidst the reiterated cries of Vengeance! Vengeance! Vive la Republique!

Ah! Oh!