The Sun.
London, England, 1859-05-19 00:00:00

A SENTIMENTAL SUICIDE.

We derive the touching facts recorded below from
the Dayton (0) Journal (U.S.). Our hand trembles
as we make up the sad record.
On Wednesday last a " good-looking and well-
dressed" man appeared at the Phillips House, in
the fragrant and lovely city of Dayton, and regis-
tered his name "A. V. Lamartine. Sweet name,
isn't it ? We think we would love a man on sight
who enjoyed the happiness of such a name. And
if we should hear that the initials A. V. stood for
Albert Victor (as in this case they actually did !)
our emotions would have been, to say the least,
strong. His handwriting was " very handsome."
He was assigned an apartment. Presently the
clerk was terrified by receiving the following
epistle:—

" Phillips House, Room 24.
"To the Clerk.—Dear Sir,—l am• very unwell, and do
not expect to recover ; will you be so kind as to send for a
minister to come to me ? I care not of which denomina-
tion so he is a true Christian, and a_pious man.—Yours
respectfully, "A. V. LAMARTINE."

Gracious, what a sensation there was ! The Day-
ton Journal don't half do the pathetic the case
called for. Wasn't there " pale lips," "pallid
brows," "hurrying to and fro !" Rev. Mr. Conrad
boards at the house (Phillips), and was called in
at once. The amiable young gentleman told
him that he had taken poison. A sagacious
doctor (Dr. Davis), who also boards at the Phillips,
told Lamartine that he had taken laudanum. La-
martine owned to the laudanum, and "showed the
bottle." Somehow the doctor didn't think Mr.
Lamartine had killed himself, and would not give
him any emetic, and, bless him, Mr. Lamartine
didn't die.

But there was a letter on the table addressed to
whom do you think ? Why, "To the Unfeeling.
World." That's you. Herr* is the document

" Phillips House, April 18, 1859.
"To THE UNFEELING WORLD,—CaII me not a self-mur-
derer, for it is you that has driven me to this extremity.
The public is my murderer, for it has denied me business,
and without that I should be cast upon the world a beggar.
God forbid Quite out of funds, and no business, what am
Ido ? To beg? No, lam too spirited. To defraud my fel-
low-men ? No, my conscience will not permit me. Death,
then, is a welcome expedient. Yes, let me die and be for-
gotten. Like poor Byron, ' I do not regret what I have
done, so much as what I might have done.' I have
been an easy-going, melancholy man—engrossed with
books and not with money—' oving not man the
less, but nature more I' Virginia is my nati-
vity—Cleveland my adopted home. As my name.
indicates, lam of French extraction. My family was good,
aid I tenderly raised. lam an orphan—few relations.
Bury me here, and should I ever have a tomb let this be
my epitaph—
" 'Tar from home, in a land of strangers, he died,—pre-
ferring death to dishonour.'
" Broken-hearted Herbert, gallant and immortal Rusk.
pathetic M'Clung (who sung 0, death, come soon 1') I
lea% this cold, selfish ball of corruption and depravity to
join you. I have had this in my mind for some time. I
have many warm friends, to whom I tender a last and final
adieu. I have recommendations from the best of men, to
whom lam grateful. As to death, lam not afraid to die.
I never was calmer than now. I could write much more,
but I will stop. One word, however, the last I shall ever
write—' Agnes.'

"ALBERT ITICTOIL LAMARTINE."
And this letter caused feeling on behalf of the
fellow. He was kindly taken care of, and 25 dols.
and a railroad pass to Indianopolis, were presented
to him. And presently it was ascertained that the
fellow had taken poison at Sandusky, where 40
dols. and a pass to Dayton had resulted.