queror. The Sheik Koraim was an able and enterprising man, whom Bonaparte, with equal effrontery and dissimulation addressed in the following terms: I have taken you in arms, you have, however, behaved with courage, and, as I think bravery inseperable from honour, I give you back your arms, and I think that you will be as faithful to the republic as you have been to a bad government.'

Having secured the possession of Alexandria, Bonaparte set out to meet the only enemies he pretended to oppose, viz. the Mameluks. The army, after suffering severely from thirst and fatigue in passing through the desert, at length came to the banks of the Nile; and such was their ardor to drink that they threw themselves into it, with their clothes on, and drank most copiously. The heat of the day was excessive, and the French army were almost overcome. Destitute of the necessary means to refresh them, the commander in chief employed such methods as their untoward circumstances could supply. When the troops of Bonaparte halted to enjoy a little repose, the army of Murad Bey appeared, and were instantly formed in order of battle. There was something impressive and awful at that moment. The French were sensible of their own superiority, both in numbers and military skill, and they did not despond, but they were situated in an enemy's country, where every thing was different from those scenes of Europe where they had fought and conquered.

The army of Murad Bey consisted of 6,000 Mameluks, together with a multitude of Arabs, fellahs, and other attendants. The armour of the Mameluks, and the accoutrements of their steeds, were costly and splendid. They sparkled and shone amidst the radiance of the sun, and the horses foamed and pawed with eagerness for the battle. Over the right of the army were beheld the city of Grand Cairo, the castle, which overtops the town, and the mountain of Makattem rising in proud eminence behind. Over the left of the Mameluk army, the pyramids of Gaza appeared in awful grandeur, on the brink of the Lybian desert, and, at a distance, in the rear,

were the plains where Memphis once stood. The scene was all clothed in the majesty of ancient importance, and the whole circumstances were striking and awful. When Bonaparte had given his final orders, he said to the soldiers, Push on, and recollect that from the summit of these monuments forty centuries watch over us!'

The army of the French was formed in divisions, and so arranged as to assist and protect one another. The word of command was given to advance, and when the Mameluks observed the enemy in motion, they rushed forward with impetuous courage. They seemed as if they would attack the centre, but, suddenly changing their course, they poured with incredible swiftness upon the divisions of Regnier and Desaix, which formed the right of the French army. Those veteran columns of the republic stood unmoved till the cavalry of Murad Bey had advanced within half range of musketshot, and then a steady fire from the ranks wounded many and killed numbers. Still the Mameluks pushed forward, and rushed upon the well-directed bayonets; but their impetuous rashness was the forerunner of destruction, for their ranks were thinned, and the field was covered with the slain. While the divisions of Regnier and Desaix were thus engaged, those of Bon and Menou, in connection with Kleber's troops, which General Dugua commanded, made an attack upon the village of Embaba. Masked batteries were opened upon the French soldiers; but they soon took possession of the entrenchment, and spread such desolation, that Grand Cairo itself trembled.

The brave and unfortunate Mameluks erred in venturing into a pitched battle. They ought to have retired before the French to the right bank of the Nile, and contented themselves with harassing them. Nothing, in short, but a blind reliance on their own courage, and a total ignorance of the European manner of fighting, could have induced between five and six thousand men (for this was their utmost number) to attack 24,000 of the best troops of France, furnished with

artillery, and bristled with an impenetrable fence of bayonets. That they should be defeated is not so wonderful as that they should be able to do injury at all to the French.

Bonaparte, in his dispatch to the Directory, represented the plunder of Mourad's camp as being immense. The Mameluks,' says he, shewed great bravery. They defended their fortunes, for there was not one of them on whom our soldiers did not find three, four, and five hundred louis!' Yet in a letter to Kleber, written at the same time, he complains of having no resource for paying his troops but the plundered ingots of Malta, which he had therefore sent to the mint at Cairo.

The first thing after the taking possession of Cairo was to settle something like a government, but what was given to the wretched natives hardly deserved that name. Its first object, like that of most other governments, was to raise money, and the soldiers were to be the tax-gatherers. A divan of seven persons was appointed in every province, who, assisted by the French troops, were to repress sedition, collect the taxes formerly paid to the Beys, and enlighten the people.' It may here be enquired what was become of the Scavans, to whom the latter duty seemed exclusively to belong: perhaps they did not like the soldiers for their coadjutors, and thought that though men may be silenced, they cannot be enlightened by the bayonet.

Bonaparte having now secured the possession of Cairo, set out to finish the conquest of Egypt, and pursue the refractory Beys who had fled before him. Ibrahim, the principal of them, had taken refuge in the deserts of Syria. Mourad Bey was closely pursued by General Desaix; but though his troops were chiefly dispersed by the various engagements he had sustained, he was neither taken nor vanquished.

On the 1st of August, Admiral Nelson having discovered the French fleet, bore down to the attack, and with undaunted courage and unequalled dexterity, broke the enemy's line, by directing part of his vessels between their fleet and that very sand-bank which the republican Admiral had viewed

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as a complete protection on that quarter. The French ships were in succession exposed, on both sides, to a cross and destructive fire, eleven sail of the line were either taken or destroyed, and above three-fourths of their crews were also either killed or wounded. Thus the schemes of France received a deep blow, and the current of their victories was stopped in its course. So unfortunate a project would, in any situation of the republic, have damped the spirits of the people; but in the distracted state of the French nation, at that period of its history, so disastrous an event was calculated to increase its confusion, and augment its dangers. The reigning powers, being weak and unpopular, were scarcely able to withstand the shock which the news of an enterprize, so unfortunate and calamitous, would unavoidably produce; and another faction, by starting into power, might occasion new changes, and prolong the horrors of revolutionary movements. Bonaparte was not indifferent to the fate of his own character; he had fought successfully with the armies of France, and was then the favourite hero of the republic; but former victories might be forgotten among the splendid deeds of some new champion, and the verdure of the laurels, which adorned his numerous triumphs, might fall into decay before the blasting influence of the late misfortunes.

Though he was not personally engaged in the fatal contest at Aboukir; yet to him was entrusted the care of the expedition, and his fame was unquestionably involved in its failure or success. Conscious of the dangerous situation in which he was placed, Bonaparte endeavoured, with considerable address, to remove the blame from himself, and fix it upon Admiral Brueys, who commanded the fleet. It would naturally be asked, why the French fleet did not return to the harbour of Corfu or Malta, since they could not enter the ports of Alexandria, nor occupy a station which could protect them from the danger, of the British ships? The commander in chief of the French army ascribed to the republican admiral that course of conduct which detained him upon

the Egyptian coast, and induced him to anchor in the bay of Aboukir. That respectable officer was then dead, and could not repel the ungenerous accusation; but in various parts of the intercepted letters, it appears unequivocally evident, that he was commanded, by the express orders of Bonaparte, to remain for a while on that station. Meeting with such opposition in Egypt, it was not deemed expedient to let the means of escaping from the country be taken away; and perhaps it might be concluded, that the French fleet were in more safety, anchored in line of battle upon the coast of Egypt, than running the chance of encountering the British squadron at sea.–

Such was the perplexing situation in which Bonaparte was placed, when he received information of the defeat at Aboukir. This momentous battle had been fought while the commander in chief was in pursuit of Ibrahim Bey, in his flight to Syria; and the hero of Italy returned from his expedition in deep distress, and entered Grand Cairo under great depression of spirits. The prospect toward Alexandria was gloomy, and foreboded evil. The British were masters at sea; Egypt itself was hostile to the French republic; and every scheme was pregnant with alarm. The resources and firmness of General Bonaparte were now called into rigorous exercise; and he must either establish his authority in Egypt, or surrender himself and his army to the power of Britain.

The letter which Bonaparte addressed to the widow'of Admiral Brueys shews, that if he cannot feel himself, he knows what other people feel. A gentleman has attempted to transfuse the beauties of this epistle into the English language; but they cannot be transfused into any language, it is therefore not to be wondered if he has failed.

'Your husband was killed by a cannon ball in fighting nobly for his country he died without suffering for a moment, and his death is envied by all good soldiers. I feel sincerely for what you must suffer. The moment which separates us from the person whom we love is ter rible; it insulates us from every thing around us, and causes conval