irs, leaving only room for a path between. That spot
contained the remains of his parents and grandparents, who died in his
childhood. Seventy-eight years had passed away since they had fallen
asleep, and during that interval not a member of the family had been
buried there. For some years Burr's grave was without a stone. At last,
a plain but elegant slab of Italian marble was placed at its head. The
inscription is simple, yet one can not but start when for the first time
he reads that name of thrilling memories. It has been said that the
monument was placed there by some mysterious lady, and this romantic
statement has gone the rounds of the press. This, however, is incorrect;
it was the work of the Edwardses, a family which not only watched over
the last years of the unfortunate man, but thus honored his grave.[3]

Among the interesting trials which have occurred under Judge Edwards's
jurisdiction, we may mention the famous conspiracy case, in which Jacob
Barker, Mathew L. Davis and Henry Eckford were jointly indicted for
conspiracy. The object of this conspiracy was to break several of the
city banks, and the trial excited intense interest throughout the Union.

The parties were convicted, but carried the case up to the Court of
Error, and at last escaped. Hugh Maxwell, who was prosecuting attorney
at the time, received a service of plate from the merchants of New York
as an acknowledgment of his faithfulness in so important a cause.
Another case, which is still remembered for its dramatic interest and
for its thrilling details, was that of the notorious Richard P.
Robinson. We doubt if any murder case has ever occurred in our country
which brought up so many new points to embarrass the bench, or in which
that bench bore a higher responsibility.

Robinson was a youth of nineteen, but recently from Connecticut, and was
a clerk in the reputable jobbing house of Joseph Hoxie. He was arrested
early in the morning at his boarding house in Dey Street, and aroused
from a sound sleep, under a charge of murder. The victim was an
unfortunate woman, who was found slain in her bed, in a disreputable
house in Thomas Street, and who had obtained an escape from youthful
misery by the hand of an unknown assassin. But under what name should
that assassin be found? It was undeniable that the prisoner had been one
of her intimates, but was the crime limited to himself alone? Had he
partners in the deed? Was he implicated at all? Was