Mrs. Putnam and her daughters; and on the following day I was introduced by them to General and Mrs. Washington, who likewise made it their study to show me every mark of regard; but I seldom was allowed to be alone, although sometimes, indeed, I found an opportunity to escape to the gallery on the top of the house, where my chief delight was to view, with a telescope, our fleet and army at Staten Island. My amusements were few; the good Mrs. Putnam employed me and her daughters constantly to spin flax for shirts for the American soldiers; indolence, in America, being totally discouraged; and I likewise worked some for General Putnam, who, though not an accomplished muscadin, like our dilletantis of St. James's-street, was certainly one of the best characters in the world; his heart being composed of those noble materials which equally command respect and admiration. * * *

"Not long after this circumstance, a flag of truce arrived from Staten Island, with letters from Major Moncrieffe, demanding me; for he now considered me a prisoner. Genoral Washington would not acquiesce in this demand, saying that I should remain a hostage for my father's good behaviour. I must here observe, that when General Washington refused to deliver me up, the noble-minded Putnam, as if it were by instinct, laid his hand on his sword, and with a violent oath swore that my father's request should be granted. The commander-in-chief, whose influence governed Congress, soon prevailed on them to consider me as a person whose situation required their strict attention; and that I might not escape, they ordered me to Kingsbridge, where, in justice I must say, that I was treated with the utmost tenderness. General Mifflin there commanded. His lady was a most accomplished, beautiful woman; a Quaker,' &c.

เ

"Mrs. Coghlan then bursts forth in expressions of rapture for a young American officer, with whom she bad become enamoured. She does not name him; but that officer was Major Burr. May these pages' (she says) 'one day meet the eye of him who subdued my virgin heart. ***** To him I plighted my virgin vow. ****** With this conqueror of my soul, how happy should I now have been! What storms and tempests should I have avoided' (at least I am pleased to think so) 'if I had been allowed to follow the bent of my inclinations. Ten thousand times happier should I have been with him in the wildest desert of our native country, the woods affording us our only shelter, and their fruits our only repast, than under the canopy of costly state, with all the refinements of courts, with the royal warrior' (the Duke of York) who would fain have proved himself the conqueror of France. My conqueror was engaged in another cause; he was ambitious to obtain other laurels. He fought to liberate, not to enslave nations. He was a colonel in the American army, and high in the estimation of his country. His victories were never accompanied with one gloomy, relenting thought. They shone as bright as the cause which achieved them.'

i

"The letter from General Putnam, of which Mrs. Coghlan speaks, is found among the papers of Colonel Burr.

"This letter is in the hand-writing of Major Burr, and undoubtedly was prepared by him for the signature of the General. Miss Moncrieffe was, at this time, in her fourteenth year. She had travelled, and, for one of her age, had mingled much in the world. She was accomplished, and was considered handsome. Major Burr was attracted by her sprightliness and vivacity, and she, according to her own confessions penned nearly twenty years afterward, had not only become violently in love with, but had acknowledged the fact to him. Whether the foundation of her future misfortunes was now laid, it is not necessary to inquire. Her indiscretion was evident, while Major Burr's propensity for intrigue was already well known.

"Burr perceived immediately that she was an extraordinary young woman. Eccentric and volatile, but endowed with talents, natural as well as acquired, of a peculiar character. Residing in the family of General Putnam with her, and enjoying the opportunity of a close and intimate intercourse, at all times and on all occasions, he was enabled to judge of her qualifications, and came to the conclusion, notwithstanding her youth, that she was well calculated for a spy, and thought it not improbable that she might be employed in that capacity by the British. Major Burr suggested his suspicions to General Putnam, and recommended that she be conveyed to her friends as soon as might be convenient. She was, in consequence, soon after removed to Kingsbridge, where General Mifflin commanded. This change of situation, in the work which she has published, is ascribed to General Washington, but it originated with Major Burr.

"After a short residence at Kingsbridge, leave was granted for her departure to Staten Island. She accordingly set off in a continental barge, under the escort

of an American officer, who was ordered to accompany her to the British headquarters. As the boat approached the English fleet, she was met by another, having on board a British officer, and was notified that she could proceed no further, but that the king's officer would take charge of the young lady, and convey her in safety to her father, who was six or eight miles in the country with Lord Percy. She says, in her memoirs, 'I then entered the British barge, and bidding an eternal farewell to my dear American friends, turned my back on liberty.'

"Miss Moncrieffe, before she had reached her fourteenth year, was probably the victim of seduction. The language of her memoirs, when taken in connexion with her deportment soon after her marriage, leaves but little room for doubt. Major Burr, while yet at college, had acquired a reputation for gallantry. On this point he was excessively vain, and regardless of all those ties which ought to controul an honourable mind. In his intercourse with females he was an unprincipled flatterer, ever prepared to take advantage of their weakness, their credulity, or their confidence. She that confided in him was lost. In referring to this subject, no terms of condemnation would be too strong to apply to Colonel Burr.

"It is truly surprising how any individual could have become so eminent as a soldier, as a statesman, and as a professional man, who devoted so much time to the other sex as was devoted by Colonel Burr. For more than half a century of his life they seemed to absorb his whole thoughts. His intrigues were without number. His conduct most licentious. The sacred bonds of friendship were unhesitatingly violated when they operated as barriers to the indulgence of his passions. For a long period of time he seemed to be gathering, and carefully preserving, every line written to him by any female, whether with or without reputation; and, when obtained, they were cast into one common receptacle-the profligate and corrupt by the side of the thoughtless and betrayed victim. All were held as trophies of victory,-all esteemed alike valuable. How shocking to the man of sensibility! How mortifying and heart-sickening to the intellectual, the artless, the fallen fair!

"Among these manuscripts were many the production of highly cultivated minds. They were calculated to excite the sympathy of the brother-the parent-the husband, They were, indeed, testimonials of the weakness of the weaker sex, even where genius and learning would seem to be towering above the arts of the seducer. Why they were thus carefully preserved, is left to conjecture. Can it be true that Moore is correct, when, in his life of Lord Byron, he says, 'The allusions which he (Byron) makes to instances of successful passion in his career, were not without their influence on the fancies of that sex, whose weakness it is to be most easily won by those who come recommended by the greatest number of triumphs over others? Some of these productions had been penned more than sixty years. They were all committed to the flames, however, immediately after the decease of Colonel Burr. Of them, it is believed, not a wreck remains.'

"The faithful biographer could not pass over in silence this strong and revolting trait in the character of Colonel Burr. It will not again be referred to. From details, the moralist and the good man must shrink with disgust and abhorrence. In this particular Burr appears to have been unfeeling and heartless. And yet, by a fascinating power almost peculiar to himself, he so managed as to retain the affection, in some instances the devotion, of his deluded victims. In every other respect he was kind and charitable. No man would go farther to alleviate the sufferings of another. No man was more benevolent. No man would make greater sacrifices to promote the interest or the happiness of a friend. How strange, how inconsistent, how conflicting are these allusions! They are nevertheless strictly true."

The reader is perhaps surprised to hear young Burr mentioned by the title of Major at so early an age in these extracts; and before closing even this passing notice, it may be but just to turn back a page or two and show how nobly his character for "gallantry," in its better accepted sense, contrasts with that which he was at so much pains to win in the more courtier-like use of the term. Mr. Burr was but nineteen when, fired with a thirst for military glory, he betook himself as a volunteer to Washington's camp at Cambridge. Here he was seized with a fever, of which many of the raw recruits of the patriot army were dying around him.

"One day he heard Ogden and some young men of the army conversing, in an apartment adjoining that in which he was lying, on the subject of an expedition. He called Ogden to his bed-side, and inquired what was the nature of the expedition of which they were speaking. Ogden informed him that Colonel Arnold, with a detachment of ten or twelve hundred men, was about to proceed through the wilderness for the purpose of attacking Quebec. Burr instantly raised himself up in the bed, and declared that he would accompany them; and so pertinacious was he on that point, that he immediately, although much enfeebled, commenced dressing himself. Ogden expostulated, and spoke of his debilitated state -referred to the hardships and privations that he must necessarily endure on such a march, &c. But all was unavailing. Young Burr was determined, and was immoveable. He forthwith selected four or five hale, hearty fellows, to whom he proposed that they should form a mess, and unite their destiny on the expedition through the wilderness. To this arrangement they cheerfully acceded. His friend Ogden, and others of his acquaintance, were conveyed in carriages from Cambridge to Newburyport, distant about sixty miles; but Burr, with his new associates in arms, on the 14th of September, 1775, shouldered their muskets, took their knapsacks upon their backs, and marched to the place of their embarkation."

"A day or two after Burr's arrival at Newburyport, he was called upon by a messenger from his guardian, Timothy Edwards, with instructions to bring the young fugitive back. A letter from his uncle (T. Edwards,) was delivered to him at the same time. Having read the letter, and heard the messenger's communication, he coolly addressed him, and asked "How do you expect to take me back if I should refuse to go? If you were to make any forcible attempt upon me, I would have you hung up in ten minutes." After a short pause the messenger presented a second letter from his guardian, and with it a small remittance in gold. It was couched in the most affectionate and tender language, importuning him to return; and depicting, in the darkest colours, the sufferings he must endure if he survived the attempt to reach Quebec. It affected young Burr very sensibly, insomuch that he shed tears. But his destiny was fixed. He wrote, however, a respectful letter, explanatory of his reasons for accompanying the army, and expressive of his gratitude for the kindness he had experienced.'

The toils encountered by the party to which Burr was attached on this expedi tion have seldom been surpassed in the annals of military warfare. Arriving before Quebec, he volunteered, soon after joining the main body of the force under Montgomery, to lead the forlorn hope in the projected storm of that town. Forty men were allotted to him, and after preparing ladders, he kept these men in constant drill until they could ascend them (standing almost perpendicular) with their muskets and accoutrements, with nearly the same facility that they could mount an ordinary staircase. Burr, after reconnoitering the point of assault night after night, learnt with chagrin that the mode of attack was changed. Upon its failure with the death of Montgomery, Arnold resolved on demanding a surrender of Quebec; and that Burr, who, upon his taking the command, became brigade major, should be the bearer of a sealed message. Major Burr refused without reading the contents, and after reading the letter, considered it unbecoming an American officer, and declined delivering it. Another officer took charge of the despatch. It was received with the contumely which Burr had predicted; and upon his return from the ill-fated expedition, the talents and conduct of the young officer were not less warmly complimented by the country than his coolness and decision. Such was the auspicious commencement of a life which, yielding the fruits of action at a period when one might only have looked for the buds of promise, was protracted far beyond the ordinary mortal term with scarcely a blossom to adorn its prime, and not a leaf to grace its close.

We subjoin a few more anecdotes which speak for themselves, postponing our comments to a future article.

QUELLING A MUTINY.

"Within eight or ten miles of Valley Forge, there was a narrow and important pass, known as the Gulf. A strong body of militia were stationed to defend it. They were in the habit of exciting in the camp false alarms; and the main body, in consequence, was frequently put in motion. When not put in motion, they were greatly disturbed, especially at night. These alarms generally resulted from the want of rigid discipline. General M'Dougall was at Valley Forge, and exceedingly annoyed. Of Burr, as a disciplinarian and a soldier, he enter tained a high opinion; and recommended to Washington that he withdraw from this detachment Burr's seniors, as officers, and give him the command of the post, which was accordingly done. Colonel Burr immediately commenced a rigid system of police, visiting every night, and at all hours of the night, the sentinels; changing their position, &c. During the day he kept the troops under a constant drill. The rigour of this service was not adapted to the habits of militia, who had been accustomed to pass, in camp, a life of idleness, and to act as suited their individual whims and caprices. A portion of the most worthless became restless, and were determined to rid themselves of such a commander.

"Colonel Burr was notified of the contemplated mutiny, in which he would probably fall a victim. He ordered the detachment to be formed that night (it being a cold, bright moonlight), and secretly directed that all their cartridges should be drawn, so that there should not be a loaded musket on the ground. He provided himself with a good and well-sharpened sabre. He knew all the principal mutineers. He marched along the line, eyeing the men closely. When he came opposite to one of the most daring of the ringleaders, the soldier advanced a step, and levelled his musket at Colonel Burr, calling out Now is your time, my boys.' Burr, being well prepared and in readiness, anticipating an assault, with a celerity for which he was remarkable smote the arm of the mutineer above the elbow, and nearly severed it from his body, ordering him, at the same time, to take and keep his place in the line. In a few minutes the men were dismissed, and the arm of the mutineer was next day amputated. No more was heard of the mutiny; nor were there afterwards, during Colonel Burr's command, any false alarms. This soldier belonged to Wayne's brigade; and some of the officers talked of having Colonel Burr arrested, and tried by a court-martial, for the act; but the threat was never carried into execution."

JEU D'ESPRIT.

"After his return from Europe, in 1812, he met a maiden lady in Broadway, somewhat advanced in life. He had not seen her for many years. As she passed him, she exclaimed to a gentleman on whose arm she was resting, 'Colonel Burr!' Hearing his name mentioned, he suddenly stopped and looked her in the face. 'Colonel,' said she, 'you do not recollect me.'

"I do not, madam,' was the reply.

"It is Miss K., sir.'

"What!' said he, 'Miss K. yet!'

"The lady, somewhat piqued, reiterated, 'Yes, sir, Miss K. yet!" "

The following playful letter from Colonel Burr to his wife, exhibits him in a light which will be new to most of our readers.

Albany, August 7th, 1788. 'Oh Theo.! there is the most delightful grove-so darkened with weeping wil lows, that at noonday a susceptible fancy like yours would mistake it for a bewitching moonlight evening. These sympathizing willows, too, exclude even the prying eye of curiosity. Here no rude noise interrupts the softest whisper. Here no harsher sound is heard than the wild cooings of the gentle dove, the gay thresher's animated warbles, and the soft murmurs of the passing brook. Really, Theo., it is charming.

'I should have told you that I am speaking of Fort Johnson, where I have spent a day. From this amiable bower you ascend a gentle declivity, by a winding path, to a cluster of lofty oaks and locusts. Here nature assumes a more august appearance. The gentle brook, which murmured soft below, here bursts a cataract. Here you behold the stately Mohawk roll his majestic wave along

the lofty Apalachians. by sublimer objects. truly charming.

Here the mind assumes a nobler tone, and is occupied What there was tenderness, here swells to rapture. It is

The windings of this enchanting brook form a lovely island, variegated by the most sportive hand of nature. This shall be yours. We will plant it with jessamines and woodbine, and call it Cyprus. It seems formed for the residence of the loves and the graces, and is therefore yours by the best of titles. It is indeed most charming.

But I could fill sheets in description of the beauties of this romantic place. We will reserve it for the subject of many an amusing hour. And besides being little in the habit of the sublime or poetical, I grow already out of breath, and begin to falter, as you perceive. I cannot, however, omit the most interesting and important circumstance; one which I had rather communicate to you in this way than face to face. I know that you was opposed to this journey to Fort Johnson. It is therefore with the greater regret that I communicate the event; and you are not unacquainted with my inducements to it.

'In many things I am indeed unhappy in possessing a singularity of taste; particularly unhappy when that taste differs in any thing from yours. But we cannot controul necessity, though we often persuade ourselves that certain things are our choice, when in truth we have been unavoidably impelled to them. In the instance I am going to relate, I shall not examine whether I have been governed by mere fancy, or by motives of expediency, or by caprice; you will probably say the latter.

'My dear Theo., arm yourself with all your fortitude. I know you have much of it, and I hope that upon this occasion you will not fail to exercise it. I abhor preface and preamble, and don't know why I have now used it so freely. But I am well aware that what I am going to relate needs much apology from me, and will need much to you. If I am the unwilling, the unfortunate instrument of depriving you of any part of your promised gayety or pleasure, I hope you are too generous to aggravate the misfortune by upbraiding me with it. Be assured (I hope the assurance is needless) that whatever diminishes your happiness equally impairs mine. In short, then, for I grow tedious both to you and myself, and to procrastinate the relation of disagreeable events only gives them poignancy; in short, then, my dear Theo., the beauty of this same Fort Johnson, the fertility of the soil, the commodiousness and elegance of the buildings, the great value of the mills, and the very inconsiderable price which was asked for the whole, have not induced me to purchase it, and probably never will: in the confidence, however, of meeting your forgiveness,

Affectionately yours,

'A. BURR.'"

The New-York Book. 1 volume, 8vo. George Dearborn.

HERE is a work, whose name at least will appeal to the bosom of every son of St. Nicholas throughout the state from which it takes its name; of St. Nicholas, we say, for as he was the earliest patron of the quondam Dutch Commonwealth, we presume his name is still cherished in the hearts of its people. The NewYork Book is a collection of fugitive poetry, selected from the annuals and periodicals, and other sources, intermingled with extracts from the poems of Drake, Sands, Paulding, Leggett, Nack, and others, whose poetical writings have been heretofore published in other forms; all the writers being native New-Yorkers. It is a remarkable thing, that in the compilations heretofore made in various parts of the country, Drake is almost the only native of New-York whose name appears, and of his verses, "The American Flag" is the only one selected; and it will doubtless surprise many to see an array of upwards of forty names in the volume before us. Even these, we are persuaded, form by no means a fair representation of the poetical resources of the state: but we trust that the appearance of this volume will arouse those who have collections of occasional verses, to fnr