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—the hero, the great man! And now, Sir, what has all come to? That spirit of fire has indeed displayed itself! broke out with a vengeance—and produced glorious fruits indeed!—Observe that admired openness of character,—now confirmed audacity: That tenderness of feeling,—awake only to the allurements of the wanton: sensible only to the charms of a Phryne! Where now is that bright genius?—Is the oil which supplied that resplendent lamp quite extinguished?—Have six short years consumed it to the dregs? And where is now your hero? a spectre,—a body without life, that walks the earth, whom the mob shall point at as they pass along, and, scoffing, say, "'Twas love, forsooth, that made him so." See now that spirit of enterprise, which has planned and executed such schemes, that the exploits of a Cartouche vanish before them. But when these splendid blossoms come to their full maturity,—for how can one expect perfection at so early an age,—perhaps, Father, you may have the satisfaction of seeing him at the head of one of those troops that chuse the hallowed recess of the forest for their abode, and humanly ease the weary traveller of a part of his burden!—Perhaps, before you go to the grave, you may have it in your power to make a pilgrimage to the monument