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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

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,

Here give your sorrows; o'er the ashes weep
Of these sad lovers, lock'd in death's cold sleep.

Sunk are those hearts that once with vivid glow,
Melted in mutual tenderness of woe
Clos’d are those eyes that, bright with living fire,
Spoke the sweet eloquence of soft desire :
Mute are those lips, that oft-times would disclose
The moving story of impending woes :
Now lifeless rest, yet bleeding from the wound,
This hapless pair beneath the mould'ring ground,

Ah! cruel brother of a charge too good,
'Twas you who caus'd this pair to shed their blood,
To seek an end to weight of human woe,
To plunge despairing in the vale below,
To court a death that weeping crouds lament,
Ah! could not beauty make thy soul relent ?
Could not the plaints of love once reach thy heart?
Could not the weeping eye a grief impart ?
Could not Eliza's voice thy pity move;
But, must her choice thy furious lips reprove ?
Oh! when thy eyes death’s horrid form shall meet,
And when thy hearse moves slowly through the street,
May not a tear thy memory demand,
But call reproaches from this gen'rous land!
A land, where love's inflicting power extends,
Where the proud youth at beauty's altar bends
Where the muse smiles, when Barlow strikes the lyre,
In bold sublimity of epic fire.

Yet shall each muse her tuneful tribute bring,
Sweep the sad harp, and mournful touch the string;
Rehearse the woes that mingled with their love,
And ev'ry heart to tears of sorrow move.

Ye swains and nymphs, with health and beauty crown'd,
Scarce let your footsteps press the hallow'd ground,
When the loud bell, slow-echoing from the walls,
Your minds to worship or to prayer calls ;
But, treading lightly o'er the lover's grave,
Drop the sad tear their mem'ries from you crave.

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My occupations at New-York, however agreeable, did not repress my desire to explore the continent before me; and I thought it best to travel while I had some crowns left in my purse. I felt regret at the thought of separating from the Doctor, whom I was attached to from habit; but the Doctor soon relieved me by saying, he would accompany me whithersoever I went; that no man loved travelling better than he, and that he would convert his medicines into money to defray his expences on the road.

But tell me, said the Doctor, are you fond of walking ? I assured him no person could be more so. Then, resumed he, let us each provide ourselves with a good cudgel, and begin our journey on foot. I will put a case of instruments into my pocket, and you can slip into your's the campaign of Buonaparte in Italy.

But whither, replied I, do you propose to go ; and what, I beseech you, is the object of your travelling ? To see the world, assuredly, said he; to eat, drink, and laugh away care on the road. How Doctor, said I, would you approve of a walk to Philadelphia ? I should like it of all things, said the Doctor. In our way to it we should go through the place of my birth ; you have heard, I guess, of Hackinsac ; and at Philadelphia I could get somebody to introduce me to the great Doctor Rush. All we have to do is to send on our trunks in the coach, and trudge after them on foot.

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Our resolution was no sooner taken than executed. The Doctor got an apothecary, who lived opposite, to purchase what few drugs were contained in his painted drawers; and having dispatched our trunks forward by the coach, we began our journey to Philadelphia.

Having crossed the Hudson, which separates York-Island from the shore of the Jerseys, we were landed at a Tavern* delightfully situated on the bank of the river, The Doctor having once reduced a fractured leg for the landlord, proposed dining at the Tavern : he will certainly charge us nothing, said he, for I once reduced his leg, when the Tibia and Fibula were both badly fractured. It was a nice case, and I will put him in mind of it.

But you charged him! Doctor! did you not, said I. No matter for that, replied he. I should have been expelled from the College of Whigs, had I not put

in
my

claim. I represented to the Doctor that no man who respected himself would become an eleemosynary guest at the table of another, when he had money to defray his wants. That to remind another of past services discovered a want of humanity; and that a mean action, though it may not torment the mind at the moment it was done, never fails afterwards to bring compunction : for

* Every public-house in the United States, however contemptible, is dignified by the name of Tavern.

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