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was sent to Burr, who found and preserved this affecting composition.
We cannot conclude our narrative more fitly than by transcribing the
thoughts that burdened the heart of Theodosia in view of her departure
from the world. First, she gave directions respecting the disposal of
her jewelry and trinkets, giving to each of her friends some token of
her love. Then she besought her husband to provide at once for the
support of "Peggy," an aged servant of her father, formerly
housekeeper at Richmond Hill, to whom, in her father's absence, she
had contrived to pay a small pension. She then proceeded in these
affecting terms:--

"To you, my beloved, I leave our child; the child of my
bosom, who was once a part of myself, and from whom I shall
shortly be separated by the cold grave. You love him now;
henceforth love him for me also. And oh, my husband, attend
to this last prayer of a doting mother. Never, never listen
to what any other person tells you of him. Be yourself his
judge on all occasions. He has faults; see them, and correct
them yourself. Desist not an instant from your endeavors to
secure his confidence. It is a work which requires as much
uniformity of conduct as warmth of affection toward him. I
know, my beloved, that you can perceive what is right on
this subject as on every other. But recollect, these are the
last words I can ever utter. It will tranquillize my last
moments to have disburdened myself of them.

"I fear you will scarcely be able to read this scrawl, but I
feel hurried and agitated. Death is not welcome to me. I
confess it is ever dreaded. You have made me too fond of
life. Adieu, then, thou kind, thou tender husband. Adieu,
friend of my heart. May Heaven prosper you, and may we meet
hereafter. Adieu; perhaps we may never see each other again
in this world. You are away, I wished to hold you fast, and
prevented you from going this morning. But He who is wisdom
itself ordains events; we must submit to them. Least of all
should I murmur. I, on whom so many blessings have been
showered,--whose days have been numbered by bounties,--who
have had such a husband, such a child, and such a father. O
pardon me, my God, if I regret leaving these. I resign
myself. Adieu, once more, and for the last time, my beloved.
Speak of me often to our son. Let him love