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BY GARDNER & BARROW. Tim tcEOßtxfA 1112:3^035, Is published every Saturday, in Florence, ■ tewart county, Ga. at IHR EL DODLAR& a year, if paid in advance, or FOLR DOLLARS, if not paid until the end of the year. Ydvertiseaients will be conspicuously inserted atOne Dollar per square, (15 lines) the first, and c ,.|its for each subsequent insertion. Nothing umier 15 lines will be considered less than a s jiiare. A deduction will be made for yearly ad vertisements. \;i i ivertisemants handed in for publication w itlioui , limitation, will be published till forbid, aad charged accordingly. .Sal sos Land and Negroes by Executors, Ad ininistrafors and Guardians, are required by law t ., be advertised in a public Gazette, sixty days ~r viiuis to the day of sale. The sale of Personal property must be adver in like manner forty days. .Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land and Ne cnes, must Ik* published weekly tor four months. OfT® Ail Letters on business must be ros ruo to insure attention. licit 3 EfKrhhJhl'R! &'£f3* From tne Philadelphia Visiter. THE REGICIDE. AN' ORIGINAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS. ur 11. N. MOORE. Author of "Alary Morris" “The Groomsman ,” u)l r . Johnson *•Abelard to Heloise <y.— Xi'r. Tliis tragedy is founded upon incidents in the early pages of French history. Act. 2, Scene .. siniilur —very similar, —to the same act of Sliakspeare’s Macbeth. I would have avoided the coincidence if possible, but found it imprac ticable wititout materially injuring historical truth. It was written, not with the slightest design for theatrical representation, but merely, as pastime 11 rescue the hours from ennui during the sum mer days of 182 b. After its completion it was perused by a circle of intimate friends and sub.- scqueutly laid upon the shelf where it would have remained in manuscript obscurity till the day of ndgmeut perhaps had not the earnest solicitations i t' one or two of the above mentioned friends in duced u» to revive it in its present form. It is as lt IS _.\ do not expect to reap any laurels from the Lublication of it, but intent, hi familiar language, in eivto let it go for what it will fetch. V ii’e yet verv young I imbibed a strong predic • i .toi draiuatic lo Tature. I was a constant visiter ; the it rival representations and read with avidity , very plav. comcdv. melo-dram, tarce or tragedy •. 1 . .11 lav iiiy hands upon. The strength I-A ibis has latterly abated very nmcii. i foriu-rly preferred the style of blank-verse to either that of prose or poetry—my taste hits ch.m- I ged—l now prefer either of the latter; conse quently 1 composed the follow ina pages in prose.’ I am not however without a precedent; I I’izarro by Sheridan, and the Gamester by Edward Moure are wa ll known productions which are de servedly popular upon the stage. DR AMAT IS 1* E RSON IE. [ The King ok France. [De Lara, a nobleman of France. I Hon a venture, another, [Montalt, the intimate friend of the King. I Loth aire, the King’s favourite. St. Piere dcval, abbot of a convent. [Tbaldo, captain of the guard. Three Monks, belonging to the convent. Tiie Queen. Luards, officers, noblemen, ladies, monks, nuns, I citizens, soldiers, sentinels, &c. ACT 1. Scene 1. An apartment in the royal palace. — | The King enters, followed by Lothaire —he ap -1 pears angry, and the actions of the other are I expressive of a desire to appease him. | King. Not injured me ! | Lot. No. Thine ear lias been abused, and I've been wronged by some base slanderer. 1 his tale that thou hast heard is false—’tis false ! —and he s as vile a wretch as ever crawled on earth that fathered it. Where is he? who is he? 1 long to tare the villain, and tell him to his teeth he lies! King, He comes— Lot. Where? what—old Montalt—is he the man ? I King. Yes, —now tell him that he lies—now I piove that he’s a slanderer. I fine King walks back to the other end of the apart- I ; rif, ut, returning to and fro, as not to be out of I faring,.—as Montalt enters he is met by Lothaire I vio addresses him in a tone of mingled blandness : ‘nd deceit.) Lu\ Montalt, good morrow. I have ever con- Sl( ’' re, l thee a friend of mine, andstdl believe thou midst not willingly do me a wrong. But here’s 'm* King accuses me with an adulterous crime— J'uch I denied without a moment’s hesitation and ' fi'.iaanded the name of my accuser. He replied I lie had heard it from thee. Surprised I "°u il have been but the thought at once occurred t 0 me that thou hadst been imposed upon by some pcurilous parasito or interested courtier. Was it not so ? I Mou. No. J B poke the truth, nor was imposed jopon by any one. What 1 informed the King l | s “v ?nd heard. I shrink not from the truth at any time, aor j 0 j fear t 0 tul j a go jo what I rehearsed be| ore die King. Lot, Well—come—what didst thou hear and 7 | Mon. I saw the Queen and thee together—l I saw ye kiss—l heard ye talk of love— Lot. Me! saw me!—and heard me talk of love ? Mon. Ay—thee! Lot. No, never! It is not so, believe me, more than the Queen’s fair haud I never kissed ; nor even presumed to breath, a sentiment ot love to her. •Mon. 1 saw and heard both! Lot. Liar! thou never didst! / kiss the Queen ! 1 would as soon have dared usurp her husband’s throne!-—’Tis false my lieue; and though he binds himself with oaths to it, believe him not. Mon. ’Tis, every word of it the truth. Lot. ’Tis not.—Thou hoary head ! I tell thee to thy lace this grovelling tale is all a falsehood. A ink since tliou’rt base enough to forge a lie luxe this,—come, be brave enough to draw thy sword! (they draw, but are prevented from using their weaj o s by the interference of the king.) King. I’eace, both,—and sheathe your swords again. Lot. Mv liege, believe me—for here 1 solemn ly assert that as to guilt with me the Queen is inno cent. But this old man, presuming on his age has forged the adulterous tale to ruin the little inter est 1 possess at court, and creep a story higher in influence with thee himself—in short to bring about another’s disgrace and rear his fortunes on the wreck of mine! Mon. Liar! King. Peace, 1 say,—peace;—and hark, Lo thaire, what this old man has here disclosed tome, word after word I steadfastly believe in spite of all that thou hast deeply, sworn. T hou hast wronged me—deeply wronged me, to take the advantage of her youth as thou hast done; and that the like may not again occur, that what is folly may not turn to guilt, I herewith banish thee from court and from the realms of France—forever! (Lothaire appears much agitated, instantly chan ging his tone of confidence for one fawning and entreaty.) Lot. Nay—take my life, but do not banish me ! I’d rather be condemned at once to death than exiled from my home and native land. My nature shudders at the thoughts of it! Thou found'st me but a wandering < i Tuan boy, and kind ly didst thou take me by tne hand to favour and to court.— King. I did, and reared thee up to honor and wealth. It is that that aggravates thy guilt! I slept its in a dream,-—the sting though has awak ened me, for now 1 find that 1 have warmed a viper in my breast! I cherished thee,—trusted thee— and used thee as nay son in everything. But see at last the sad mistake l made, for where I hoped to reap a recompense I find but tares and weeds, ingratitude and treachery ! Lot. But make me not an exiledo not ban ish me ! King. Yes,—’tis irrevocably fixed.—Three days are thine within our capital, but afterwards if found in it thou shalt assuredly be put to death. Go-—be a wanderer through all thy days to come —houseless—homeless—desolate! Beg tor a shelter from the midnight storm,---be miserable, be cursed, and think of thy ingratitude,—think then of what thou hast forfeited! (exit hastily, followed by Montalt. Lot. What, doomed to banishment! 'As one perched on a height, and dizzy grown, I teel as if 1 tottered now ! Must then my plots, deceptions, counterplots, and deep-laid schemes, but end in banishment! Must the proud tiara I have sought and labored for, with such anxiety, be never mine ? but banished and adrift, an outcast, must I here after roam through foreign climes, away trom her, from happiness, fame, and all that’s valuable in life. Must 1 ? shall I ? no— (exit to seek the Queen.) Scene 2. Another apartment in the palace of rather a private gallery contrived with a sliding door in the wainscot. Lothaire enters, and af ter gently tapping against the partition, the pan nel is slidden back and the Queen comes through it. Queen, llow now, Lothaire? Lot. I’ve unexpected tidings to communicate. Montalt— that ugly, old and withered wretch, who hangs around the King like a servile dog forever crouching at his master’s heel,---has discovered our intercourse and made it known to the king. Queen. Indeed! Lot. We’ve been suspected, seen and watch ed. The King this morning accused me with it, and sentenced tne to banishment. Queen- To banishment! Lot. Y es. Queen. Didst thou deny it ?—but why do I ask ?of course thou didst. AN ha , discovered ! and thou banished too ! Lot. Ay—banished! condemned to part with thee; forever exiled from my native land; my native land where l have lived and only wish to live, where have passed the happiest hours ot life with thee and steened existence in a dream ot love ! The axo’s glittering stroke that at a single blow divides the body from the head, or even the wheel that mangles our joints, or death in any form, I could have better borne than banishment. My life 1 value not —but no,—l can’t endure the thoughts of lingering lite away in distant lands divorced from thee ! Can I forget—or thou—canst thou forget, how in each other’s arms we’ve passed the time ? The words, caresses, transports, joys— and then to part without the hope of meeting again—’tis sad, 'tis terrible, to think of it. Queen. ’Twere terrible indeed to part from thee—but no we will not part. I’ll hasten before the Kim, try what I can, and perhaps persuade him to revoke his doom. But if refused l’llshare thy banishment. If thou art compelled to wan tlerover the earth, to steal thy shelter from the howling storm, I'll share thy wretched fate—and feel myself far happier with thee amidst thy woes, than here alone residing in this splendid court, where only pomp and pageantry prevail. Yes,— through desolation, storms and fate I’ll suffer with FLORENCE, GA. SATURDAY, AUGUST 11, IS3B. thee; and though the barren earth be our only bed to lay upon, uor botlse nor home to shelter us f*‘om cold and rain, still thus I'll hang around thy neck, still in thy arms my joy shah be, and i’ll bi happy ’midst despair! Lot. Thy kind, thy generous, love I cannot but applaud ; uor yet can help my doubts of thy success if thou dost intercede for me. What, ask thy husband to revoke his sentence ? 1 fear it would not soften his hard heart but only the more exasperafeiii way .ar I will aid on thee th e fpr* voke his anger. ’Tis kiud in thee to otter it, and though I now decline thy otter I feel as much obliged to thee as if I had received the benefit.— llis is a heart by nature hard ami cold—it will not melt like thine at pity’s tale, and words and tears would be of no avail if thou didst plead for tne. Queen. Nay—l feel assured that I’ll prevail with him. I’ll kneel, caress, cajole, and flatter him, till he no longer can resist rny prayers. I’ll laugh and weep alternately use all the arts and all the wiles my pleading sex employ, till he relents and sets thee free again.—Yes—and not a mo ment will I lose, but haste and prostrate at his feet, implore till he complies with my request or posi tively refuses it. Lot. lie will refuse thee, lam confident.— But go—l would not uselessly depress thy hopes. I am as anxious as thyself that thou should pros per in it, and wish thee every possible success. Queen. If he refuses me let him beware—’tis at his peril if he does! I’ll be revenged, as sure as blood flows through these veins! Lot. Vut ho*v revenged 1 thou wilt not murder him ! Queen. Murderhim! no!— let cutthroats ami those that lurk in alleys after night do that;—l’ll find a keener vengeance than the blow of death to inflict! Lot. A keener vengeance ? Queen. Ay! Lot. Name it. Queen. I’ll leave these palace-walls and fol low thee as l have promised. Yes—abandon him, forsake his bed; and leave him at the mercy of the world's contempt!—’Twill mortify his pride and gall his feelings to the quick! like the poisoned arrow to the wound,.so will it rankle in his heart festering—-agonizing ! Lot. Hark I hear a footstep. Queen. Perhaps it is the King. I’ll go and meet him. With sunshine in my face I’ll meet liis frown, aud kneeling humbly at his feet, smile coax and play the hypocrite—like serpents when they coil within a bed of flowers to entice the harm less songster of thesshady wood! If what 1 ask is granted me I’ll rest contented, but if denied let him beware! (exit through the sliding pannel.) Lot. That she is mine I’mnow assured beyond a doubt. But there are times for all when from each other’s arms we both recoil, and shudder at the crime we’re guilty of. She loves me! and has gone to plead for me before the King—before the man that T have robbed of honor;—she’s gone to ask him to revoke his doom, and set her own se ducer free. Strange infatuation! But how if lie refuses her? how then? Must I submit ? must I abandon my ambitious hopes, and give up every hope that ere 1 die I’ll sit upon the throne—the throne of France—and with the royal dust of kings my plebian ashes mix ? These hopes shall I forego? and in obscurity, away from fortunes smiles, must I hereafter plod through life, unheard-of and un known? No,—for by my influential stars, that have as yet been fortunate, I swear to seek the means however desperate and bloody, by which to shun the doom pronounced on me! Ay—for should all else t.fill’d > shall succeed! [drawing a dagger from his bosom as he hastily exits.l Scene 3. ’The same as the first. T ; >~ King is discovered walking up and down the apartment, stopping short at intervals, and evidently agita ted. The Queen enters, approaches him and kneels. King. Why dost thou kneel ? Queen. Oh, he tnercilul my liege—be kind for l have knelt to crave of thee a pardon for the man that thou hast doomed to ban ishment. Nay—start not. Thus humbly on my knees I entreat that tliou’lt recall the sentence passed on him, thatthou’lt restore him to the favour he lias lost, aud take him back to court and thy good-will. King. What receive a traitor back ? Queen. Ay thou wro ig’st him. He is not a traitor. He wears a loyal In art—nor has be for gotten the time when but an orphan-boy he was received by thee, and reared beneath the favour of the court to affluence and tame. lie has not yet forgot how much he owes his king tor favours past. King. If so why wert thou seen within his arms. Queen. Me, within his arms! Kincr. Ay, thee within his arms! why was he seen to kiss thee too, and heard to talk of love to thee? Queen. Who says he did ? King. Ido—l say he did, and know he did ? And durst thou talk to me again of him; dar’st plead for him and ask me to annul his banishment! no more—no more or thou wilt anger me! not all that thou hast said, and yet canst say, can alter mv belief; for I believe he waits the chance to ruin thee, behind his smiles and flatteries secured like a thief who watches his unsuspecting prey, or murderers that dog their victim’s steps. I’ve banished him and he shall go—or die if he re mains! Queen. Nay—nay —(inUwecduigly.) King. No more- I’ll hear thee not. Queen. Yes, thou wilt—thou’lt pardon him I know. Thy heart is naturally not hard but kind ; and mercy is the attribute of kings. For mercy’s sake then pardon him ! King. Never! [She still continues her entreaties by clinging to his robe, kneeling, weeping, &c. notwithstan ding his evident determination to reject her suit. At last he violently pushes her from him, and exits. A pause ensues, during which the feelings of the Queen appear to be acted upon by the alternate emotions of shame aud anger.] Queen. Then be it so!—yes—exited let him be! and I’ll go with him through the world, as -ureas Tam here and breathe, as sure as Heaven’s above or that the sun doth shine. Yes—but ere l go, tbs king of Franee shall feel the retribution of a woman scorned! What pushed away—-de uted my suit—ceutemned —degraded and despised by him! and whilst 1 knelt, whilst to his robes I clung ? ’Sdeath ? it galls and mortifies my pride —but—revenge! ! [enter Lothaire.] Lot. How now ? hast thou succeeded ? Queen. No—my suit has been rejected. Lot. I thought as much. I said so and enter tained indeed but little hopes of thy success. Queen. I pleaded hard but he would uot con sent. I knelt and supplicated earnestly,—clung to his- robes and grasped him by the hand,—but he was obstinate amidst it all, and hurried from my presence. Lot. It but confirms what I have said—his heart is adamant. Thy tears aud prayers no one except himself could witness arid withstand. Thy beauty would have conquered any breast but his. Queen. I’m sorry that 1 humbled to the churl, since it has ended as it has. ’Twill afford him room in which to exult. Ilis treatment of me too—l burn with shame to think of it. Lot. He did not offer violence, or insult, —did he? Queen. Both. Lot. What, to a woman !—the coward. Queen. Not only with disdian did he reject my suit, but whilst I knelt to him, with even brutal force he thurst me fix. m his side! Lot, He did ? Queen. Ay, did he—but by the Holy Church again 1 vow to keep the promise sworn! I’ll leave him and share thy banishment. Yes—l’ll be with thee though thou art an exile;—my only home shall be where thou art;—in all thy wanderings will I participate,—through poverty,—through disease, —and till the hour of death. Lot. Generous woman ! Thy heart is over flowing with its love fur ine, and well I know the value of a « Oman’s love iike thine ;—’tis priceless! but the thou ghts of banishment I dread, and can't but curse inv bitter, bitter , fate ! Queen. But Pll be with thee! In sorrow, sickness, happiness or health, I’ll share and love and cherish thee as fondly as a wife, by night and day, forever at thy side. My presence will be balm to heal thy wounded spirit;—’twill ease thy weary soul of half its care,—thy sorrowings ’twill mitigate,—and shed the beam of joy amidst the storms of destiny, as breads the sunbeam through a cloudy day ! Nay—’tis useless to regret. To banishment we must submit; our guilt is known and there’s no other chance by which we can es cape, unless indeed we part to meet no more. Lot. Part! to meet no more. Queen, Yes—if we love, and together live as we have hitherto done wc must together fly— this very night too—or thou’lt assuredly be put to death. Lot. Be put to death! Queen. If tliou'rt resolved to remain and brook thy fate, yes- for as I said the King’s iuex orable. There’s not a single hope that he’ll recall the sentence he. has passed. When pleading for thee whilst at ins feet 1 knelt, his words were pos itive. He said that he had banished thee and thou shouklst go, or die if thou didst stay! There’s then as I have said no other way by which we can escape! Lot. No other way! Queen. No—none. But why dost thou hesi tate ? why tremble so? why look around these walls with such affright ? thou seem’st to fear the presence of another. Is it so ? or what ? And now thy gaze is fixed on me ! thine eyes are w ild and flaring too ! thy cheek grows pale—thy lips quiver,—and something seems to choak thy spc ch? What wouldst thou ? Speak! L Thv love, —so generous, so kind, 1 would not live without it for the world; — and with affec tion that has no i- rallel in history, thou hast re so'ved to fly witti me, and share my exile. But ah! thou littlYkuow’st the hardships that an exile must endure; and what would be my feelings,— how would it torture tne,—to see thee ' want or in distress! I’ve thought of this; and rather than abide the risk of banishment l have resolved. Quee*. Well—resolved? Lot. Ay—to murder the King. Queen. The King! Lot. Ay,-but why dost thou start? Blood is but blood, and life depends upon a breath. We must all die—’tis a common lot—the king as well as the slave. We wept when we were born and every day shows why. One woe succeeds another, Ac misery is our portion. The soouer then we cease to exist, the better for us—the less we have to endure. His death will benefit us both, the one from ban ishment—the other from the marriage-tie. And this very night the deed must be done—done by thee too! Queen. Me? done by me!—What, make me a murderess? Adultery is a crime that’s bad enough! Why douc by me ? caust thou not do it? Lot. I’ve not the chance thou hast. Queen. Chance? what chance have I ? Lot. The very best that possibly could be— thou sleep ut w ith him. Pretend thou’rt sick to-niglit; seem so before the maids, and do not go to rest with him, but retire to a seperate room ;—sickness will be a plausible excuse.™ When all are hushed in slumber—rise—dress— go to the chamber of the king—take this dauger with thee, and quietly—deeply —plunge it to liis heart.! [he hands her the dagger, which she mechanically receives without noticing it—her looks disor dered—and her eyes fixed upon vacancy, as is usual when the thoughts are absorbed m a re verie.] Queen. Alas! ’tis dreadful but to think of it! V#l. I.—Ne. 20. When it is done will not the sight of it appal my senses ! will it not startle me, when 1 have steep ed and dyed these lily hands in human blood ? And then death, when back to memory I bring ihe thoughts of it. will it not horrow me and lacerate my guilty soul! My heart! my heart! ’twill make a hell of that,—-’twill blast my hopes of hap piness beyond the grave,—and poison every hour of life I have after wards to live. Lot. Hush!—methinks I heard a step. What say’st thou ? wilt thou undertake the deed. Queen. I must 1 have time to think upon it. Meet me here at dark—l’ll be prepared to give an answer then; — Lot. Till then adieu,—do not fail to come. Queen. I’ll uot [rreunl, separately ] ACT 2. Scene 1. In a convent—a gallery, in the cen tre of which a feint light is hanging, suspended from the ceiling. Thunder and lightuing at in tervals during the scene. [enter a Monk hastily.] Monk. Heavens what a night of violence! Gust after gust—around me the doors clap—the thunder’s peal, and the lightning's flash! and hark—the affrighted raven shrieks aloft, w hilst these old walls to their foundations shake! I ant old—but I remember not in all my life a night like this ! Who’s there ? [enter another 3lonk.] U iVIOtIK. "ITb me! aimkfnoti Ly tKo atow, 1 rose from my bed and looked for thee in thy cell, where thou wert not—and glad 1 am to find theo here, for in a night of horror and storm like this w*e need society amidst alarm. The earth aud elements are each at war, and night and uature seems to be convulsed. But where is the abbot. ? 1 Monk. I know not.—Hark!—hush—didst thou hear unearthly groans ? No; ’twas only the murmuring of the wind or any imaginary fears perhaps. (here they are startled by a loud clap of thunder, which bursts over the convent, rolling away till scarcely audible in the distance.) 2 Monk. ’Tis terrible! my knees against each other shake!—and see through yonder casement how the lightning flashes—streak after streak! As hither 1 came i passed through the statue gal lery, and the sculptured dead seemed to glare at me and gibber menaces. 1 know Twas but imagi nary, but yet 1 fled with terror, from the sight, nor, dared to look behind me! But come,—let's seek the abbot and assemble at our prayers. Methinks this storm forbodes no good, and mark my words if by and by we hear of some foul deed. [rireK/t? together—] the storm increases. Scene 2. A corridor in the palace between sev eral sleeping apartments. The doors arc seen on either side, one of w hich to the right is the entrance to the royal chamber. A table in the centre and a Irage arched window back through which lightning occasionally gleams and the violence of the storm is visible—Enter the Queen. In one hand she carries a dagger, and in the other a lighted lamp. Queen. This lamp and dagger both are requi site—both are, for I must light my way with this to do a dark and bloody deed with that. Ere this myhusbaud has retired, has closed his weary eyes in yonder chamber. Sleep on! sleep on! thou shalt not wake again—no, not on earth, but in eternity ! This glitterning blade shall ere an hour be red within thy blood, —and thou shalt be a cold and stiffened corpse, fit only for the worm to feed upon—to coil and crawl around. (the tempest without continues unabated) How the storm rages—'tis a fearful night! the pattering rain against the window drives, and cold and cheerless is the air!—l surely must have more than woman’s fortitude, or else the very thought of my intents, on such a night as this would shrink my soul with fear and send a ihrili of horror through my heart! But no—the King's death we have resolved upon—l’ve sworn irre vocable oaths to it.—and die lie must! But where is my accessary ? why comes he uot ? llarlt! u footsep ! ’tis he! (she places the lamp ami dagger on the table, and at that instant a vivid flash of lightning illumin ates the corridor, causing her to start with fear. Lothario enters and approaching her observes her agititaton,) Lot. Trembling ? Queen. Yes—l am glad thou art come. Wo creep and cringe along these galleries, like mid night thieves for petty plunder, with lived looks and noiseless feet, afraid of our own shadows.— ’Twas a shadow that startled me—Hark! what noise is that. Methouglit I heard a human voice, and on the stairs the tread of heavy feet. Again— hark— Lot. No—all’s hushed except ourselves.— Nothing is echoed here but our whisperings, and still as death it seems between the pauses ot the storm. ' Queen, (in a reverie.) A murderess, what, be a murderess? Alas! my nature shudders at the thought! And then to think of it,—to know that I have yet the deed to do—’tis worse, l'ar worse, than all our fears ot hell—worse, worse, than if the deed were done ! ’Tis as horrible as if the dead could feel the creepings of Ihe worm that feeds upon them!—as horrible as it bare footed. admidst the darkness of a tomb l walked, trampling at every step o’er some disjoined skel eton '—as if my husband w ere already slain.—^, v d his ghost, in bloody shroud, with one b . u ted to his wound and with the othe>-' ,"V„u me \ Methinks I see him now—the b' - * . rott d the sightless eyeball and *’ ,ood--'h w hich he points at r- ate lean long un e * deed as that! ri ’.-must l Such a Lot. H’ f at? that! (she a* ,ush! . ppears wild and convulsed with emo