Hamilton was carried to the house of Mr. Bayard, in the suburbs of the city. The news flew through the town, producing intense excitement. Bulletins were posted at the Tontine, and changed with every new report. Crowds soon gathered around Mr. Bayard's house, and in the grounds. So deep was the feeling, that visitors were permitted to pass one by one through the room where Gen. Hamilton was lying. From the first, there was no hope of his recovery. This opinion of the most eminent surgeons in the city was concurred in by the surgeons of two French frigates in the harbor, who were consulted. Gen. Hamilton was a man of slight frame, and a disorder, from which he had recently suffered, prevented the use of the ordinary remedies. He retained his composure to the last; nor was his fortitude disturbed until his seven children approached his bedside. He gave them one look, and, closing his eyes, did not open them again while they remained in the room. He expired at two o'clock on the day after the duel. He was not the only victim. His oldest daughter, a girl of twenty, whose education he had carefully directed, and whose musical talents gave him great pleasure, never recovered from the shock of her father's death. In her disordered fancy, she visited by night the fatal ground at Weehawken, and told her friends that she crossed the river and returned before morning. Her mind soon gave way entirely; and only last spring death released her from a total, though gentle insanity of fifty years' duration.