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His time of service expiring, Mr. Burr again returned to the exercise of his profession with a facility which would induce a belief that his legal pursuits had never been interrupted.

Such are the outlines of the character of the man who, cultivating literature himself, loved to encourage it in others; and who, with a condescension little known to patrons, sought out my obscure lodgings in a populous city, and invited me to his house.

I found Mr. Burr at breakfast, reading my translation over his coffee. He received me with that urbanity which, while it precludes familiarity, banishes restraint; and discovered by his conversation, that he was not less skilled in elegant literature, than the science of graciousness and attraction.

Mr. Burr introduced me to his daughter, whom he has educated with uncommon care; for she is elegant without ostentation, and learned without pedantry. At the time that she dances with more grace than any young lady of NewYork, Miss Theodosia Burr speaks French and Italian with facility, is perfectly conversant with the writers of the Augustan age, and not unacquainted with the language of the Father of Poetry. Martel, a Frenchman, has dedicated a volume of his productions to Miss Burr, with the horatian epithet of "dule decus."

Fortune had now opened to me les entrees of

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the house of Mr. Burr, to whose table and library I had the most unrestrained access. But Mr. Burr did not stop here: he proposed to me the study of the law, which I imprudently declined, and thus neglected to take that flood in the tide of my affairs which led immediately to fortune. A student of the law could not have formed himself on a better model than Mr. Burr; for at the same time that he was perhaps the most skilled of any man in the practice, he was also the most eloquent :

Το και απο γλώσσης μελίτος γλυκιων ρεεν αυδή.

The favorable reception given to the campaign. in Italy, of which the whole impression was soon diffused through the different States of the Union, animated Caritat with courage for another publication; and few men knew better how to gratify present curiosity, by directing his attention. to temporary subjects.

In the preceding winter an occurrence had happened of which the public had not abated their eagerness to know the particulars. A German by the name of Ferdinand Lowenstoff had become enamoured of a young girl named Elizabeth Falkenham, a native of New-York. Ferdinand was forty, but Elizabeth had scarcely seen sixteen summers. Ferdinand, notwithstanding the disparity of their years, found means to win the affections of Elizabeth, who consented to marry him; but it was judged expedient to defer their marriage till the return of Elizabeth's brother-in

her care.

law, from Germany, who had left his child under In the mean time love prevailed over prudence, and the lover unloosed the virgin zone of his yielding fair. At length the brother returned from Germany, but would not consent to the marriage, and to release himself from the importunities of Ferdinand, confined his sister-inlaw to her chamber. The indignation of the lover was inflamed, and to banish from his mind. an object whom he could not obtain, he marricd a French lady from Guadaloupe, remarkable for the beauty of her person, and the vivacity of her conversation. But the charms of a newer object, however lovely and eloquent, could not obliterate the impression which Elizabeth had made: he pined for her in secret, and became a victim to melancholy.

In this harassed state of mind Ferdinand continued some months, when a letter was privately delivered him, in the superscription of which he recognized the hand-writing of Elizabeth. It was short, but emphatical: I am pregnant, and resolved on death!-Ferdinand, far from discouraging, fortified Elizabeth in her resolution, by professing an earnest desire himself to share her fate, and seek an oblivion also of his own wocs in a voluntary death. The reply to the letter in which Ferdinand desires to die with this unhappy girl, is an injunction to break without delay his union with visible nature; to rush before his

Maker" with all his imperfections on his head." It goes further; it proposes to add the crime of murder to that of suicide.

"But why recal your resolution because of "the child of my womb? Let it not see the light "of a world that has nothing but misery for its σε portion; come to me this night! Bring with "thee poison! Bring with thee pistols! And "when the clock strikes twelve we'll both become "immortal!"

From this it is plain that Ferdinand was at first held in suspense between contrary impulses; but his mind was not long diverted from its purpose, for contriving an interview with Elizabeth the same night, he first shot her with a pistol, and afterwards himself. The fatal event took place at a house in the Bowery, where the lovers were found weltering in their blood, and letters explaining the motive of their rash conduct were placed on a table. Such deliberate suicide was perhaps, unexampled, and the letters that had passed between the unhappy pair, I dilated into a volume, which Caritat published to the emolument of us both, and, I hope, without injury to the world.

Far be it from me to insult over the ashes of the dead; but I consider it a species of moral obligation to make mention that Ferdinand was not only insensible to all the purposes of piety, but rejected all belief in Revelation. Let the reader impress this circumstance on his mind; let him

contemplate the wretchedness of Deistical principles. Had he given to piety an early ascendancy over his heart, he might have withheld Elizabeth from plunging into the vale of misery; he would have sounded in her ears the holy admonition, Return and live, for why wilt thou die!

To the memory of these unfortunate lovers I wrote an elegy, which, produced from sympathy for their fate, may, perhaps, excite the softer emotions in the breasts of my readers.

ELEGY to the Memory of FERDINAND and ELIZABETH.
WHERE wand'ring ghosts their vigils keep at night,
And dance terrific by the moon's pale light;

Where gloomy yews their sable branches wave,
And cast their shadow o'er the rising grave,
Together rest in death's profound repose
These hapless victims to love's tender woes.

That form which once with every charm was blest,

To touch the heart, and break the gazer's rest;
Those eyes that sparkled once with love's bright fire,
That voice which sung responsive to the lyre:
That face which once, with sweetly-soothing smiles,
Beam'd forth expression, and display'd its wiles,
Now lifeless rests beneath the clay-cold ground,
O'er which grim spectres take their nightly round;
Where the hoarse raven flaps his leaden wing,
Where Philomel was never heard to sing,
But where the owl, with melancholy strain,
Does to the moon in solitude complain.

O! you, whose breasts have felt the pangs of love,

If e'er my verse your sympathy could move,

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