to vindicate his memory by making up any deficiency which might occur.  Burr’s letters to Theodosia and her husband are mainly occupied with directions as to the disposal of his property and papers.  The tone of them does not differ greatly from that of his ordinary correspondence.  They do not contain a word such as an affectionate father or a patriotic citizen would have written at such a time.  They do not express a sentiment such as a generous and thoughtful man would naturally feel on the eve of so momentous an occurrence.  There are no misgivings as to the propriety of his conduct, nor a whisper of regret at the unfortunate circumstances which, as he professed to think, compelled him to seek another’s blood.  He addressed to his daughter a few lines of graceful compliment, and, in striking contrast with Hamilton’s injunction to his children, Burr’s last request with regard to Theodosia is, that she shall acquire a “critical knowledge of Latin, English, and all branches of natural philosophy.”

The combatants met on the 11th of July, 1804, at a place beneath the heights of Weehawken, upon the New Jersey side of the Hudson,—­the usual resort, at that time, for such encounters.  Burr fired the moment the word was given, raising his arm deliberately and taking aim.  The ball struck Hamilton on the side, and, as he reeled under the blow, his pistol was discharged into the air.  “I should have shot him through the heart,” said Burr, afterwards, “but, at the moment I was about to fire, my aim was confused by a vapor.”  Burr stepped forward with a gesture of regret, when he saw his adversary fall; but his second hurried him from the field, screening him with an umbrella from the recognition of the surgeon and bargemen.

Hamilton was carried to the house of Mr. Bayard, in the suburbs of the city.  The news flew through the town, producing intense excitement.  Bulletins were posted at the Tontine, and changed with every new report.  Crowds soon gathered around Mr. Bayard’s house, and in the grounds.  So deep was the feeling, that visitors were permitted to pass one by one through the room where Gen. Hamilton was lying.  From the first, there was no hope of his recovery.  This opinion of the most eminent surgeons in the city was concurred in by the surgeons of two French frigates in the harbor, who were consulted.  Gen. Hamilton was a man of slight frame, and a disorder, from which he had recently suffered, prevented the use of the ordinary remedies.  He retained his composure to the last; nor was his fortitude disturbed until his seven children approached his bedside.  He gave them one look, and, closing his eyes, did not open them again while they remained in the room.  He expired at two o’clock on the day after the duel.

He was not the only victim.  His oldest daughter, a girl of twenty, whose education he had carefully directed, and whose musical talents gave him great pleasure, never recovered from the shock of her father’s death.  In her disordered fancy, she visited by night the fatal ground at Weehawken, and told her friends that she crossed the river and returned before morning.  Her mind soon gave way entirely; and only last spring death released her from a total, though gentle insanity of fifty years’ duration.