Although acquitted, Burr was a ruined man. His day of receptions and popularity was over. His sad but splendid career came to an inglorious close. Feeling unsafe in his own country, he wandered abroad, at times treated with great distinction wherever he went, but always arousing suspicions. He was obliged to leave England, and wandered as a fugitive from country to country, without money or real friends. At Paris and London he suffered extreme poverty, although admired in society. At last he returned to New York, utterly destitute, and resumed the practice of the law, but was without social position and generally avoided. He succeeded in 1832 in winning the hand of a wealthy widow, but he spent her money so freely that she left him. After the separation he supported himself with great difficulty, but retained his elegant manner and fascinating conversation, until he died in the house of a lady friend in 1836, and was buried at Princeton by the side of his father and grandfather. Our history narrates no fall from an exalted position more melancholy, or more richly deserved, than his. Without being dissipated, he was a bad and unprincipled man from the start. He might have been the pride of his country, like Hamilton and Jefferson, being the equal of both in abilities, and at one time in popularity. The school-books have given to him and to Benedict Arnold an infamous immortality, comparing the one with Cain, and the other with Judas Iscariot. The most important measure connected with Jefferson's long administration was the Non-importation Act, commonly called the Embargo. It proved in the end a mistake, and shed no glory on the fame of the President; and yet it perhaps prevented a war, or at least delayed it.