The age-herald., 1898-01-16

HE lO NeW 1Ofk HlIn her guns SlOHeu in the hold. Mrs. Alston, her physician and maid occupied the entire cabin, and the doomed party sailed for the port they were never to reach Dec. 90, 1872. The wind was fair, and it was expected that the passage would not be longer than five or six days. The Patriot was never seen or heard of again.
 That fatal and perfidious bark.
 Built in the eclipse and rHged with curses
 dark
 undoubtedly went down with all on board in a great storm which prevailed off Cape Hatteras a few days after departure.
 As the days drifted into weeks, bringing no news of the missing vessel, the agony of the father and the husband can only be imagined by those who have passed through similar experience. The letters they exchanged during this period of tor turing suspense move the dullest heart even now after the lapse of more than eighty years. For months after suspense had become terrible certainty the poor father could not walk upon the then fash ionable promenade of the Battery without scanning the approaching ships with eager eye, and hoping against hope that some of them might bring tidings of his lost darling. Stories began to be circulated and they reappear every few years, even to this day-that the Patriot had been cap tured by pirates, and all on board mur- dered except Mrs. Aston, who was car ried away a captive. Burr never gave them the least credit. No, mo-" he said; 'she is indeed dead She pershed in the miser- able little pilot boat in which she left Charleston. Were she alive, all the prisons in the world could not Keep her from her father. When I realized the truth of her death, the world became a blank to me, and life had them lost all it's value" To his son-in-laW he wrote: "I feel myself severed from the human race" To friends who had lost a dearly loved child he said, in note apologizing for not seeing them
 Ever since that event which separated me from mankind, have been able neither to give nor receive consolation" Gov. AL ston never recovered from the loss of his wife. He fingered a few years a hopeless, broken-hearted man, to whom death was blessed relief, Col Burr long outlived him, dying Sept. 14, 1886, at the age of S0 He is buried in the little cemetery at Princeton, N. J., close by his illustrious grandfather, Jonathan Edwards, his father, Aaron Burr, the first president of Princeton College, and his mother, Esther Edwards, a gentle saint who little dreamed the fate in store for her precious boy, over whose cradle she had breathed so many earnest prayers Far, far had he strayed from the straight and narrow path in which she prayed he might walk, but he lies at her feet at last
 Who made the heart, 'ts he alone
 Decidedly can try us;
 He knows each chord-its various tone,
 Each spring-its various bias;
 Then at the balance let's be mute,
 We never can adjust it;
 Whats done we partly may compute,
 But know not what's resisted.
 A long prelude to 8 short anecdote which the enterprising biographer has not yet captured and probably never will. It has one merit at least that all anecdotes do not ossess-authenticity.
 L. Many years ago I had the pleasure of knowing Miss Theodosia Burr Davis, of New York. She was a sister of the late Col. George T. M. Davis prominent mem- Der of the Illinois bar half a century ago, aid de camp to Gen. James Shields in tho Mexican war, and secretary to Gen. Quit man when the latter was military governor of the City of Mexico after it's capture by the American army. Subsequently he was for a short time a resident of St. Louis. The father of the brother and sster-once American cousul at Malta-ded young, leaving his children to the guardianship of his brother, Matthew L. Davis, the int- mate friend and first biographer of Burr. Miss Davis lost her lover, a naval officer, when she was very young, and never mar ried. When knew her she was quite old, but retaining all the vivacity of youth, was much more attractive socially than most of the youthful members of her sex whom have met. One day I said to her,
 Aunt Theo" (so she was always called in the family where I was then guesD, "did you ever see Aar4pr Burr?' "Yes I saw him twice; and whatever else I may forget, I shall never forget that" 'Tel me about it," and this is what she told me, as nearly as I can remember her words:
 You know, of course, that my uncle and guardian, Matthew L. Davis was the
 closest friend of Burr, especially in those days when he most needed friends and had the feWest of them. think I owe my name to that friendship. I was spending a short school vacation when quite a little girl at Uncle Matthew's house, and on @ certain m bla morning in 1D- stairs. He came to the foot of the stairs and called to me, 'Theodosa, come down; there is some one here who desires to see you I don't know why was afraid, but I surely was, for did not obey the request.
 Then he called again, and in more per emptory tone, Come down! So I went down, tremblingly, and Uncle Matthew took into the parlor. There on the sofa sat stranger to me, little old man, dressed in the costume of a former gen. l eration, with his snow-white hair drawn | back from his forehead and tied in cue behind. Such eyes never saw in hu man head; large, dark and as bright as the brightest of diamonds. Uncle Matthew | led me up to the stranger, and said, with | the stately courtesy of the ancient regime, "Col Burr, this is the child of whom I spoke. I need not tell you whose name | she bears." The old man rose, and taking | one of my hands in each of his, held me out l at arms length and looked at me; looked | at me with those wonderful eyes, which 1 frightened while they fascinated me, and | seemed to see to the very depths of my soul. He held me thus perhaps a minute, l though it seemed an hour, and then ex- claimed in voice broken by suppressed l emotion: Take her away, Matthew; I l cannot bear it!
 Some time after this interview I was walking down Broadway alone, and saw | Burr approaching from the opposite direc- 1 ton. He did not seem to see me, and I 1 hoped he would not, and so slipped by him | as quietly and quickly as possible. But | could not resist the temptation to look back 1 He had seen me, and was standing still in 1 the middle of the pavement, following me | with those wonderful, wonderful eyes! | never saw him again; but I can see him l now and shall always see him as YiYidlY