feet of his learned father and godly mother, and I thank Heaven that it came to pass.

"Then you have nothing more to ask for your foster-father's sake?"

"One thing more," said Kate. "When I was staying at Judge Van Ness's house he showed me a sealed packet which he said belonged to Colonel Burr. He told me he knew its contents, but that the Colonel would not consent to their disclosure until fifty years had elapsed after his death. Judge Van Ness is dead and some one else has the packet-but who?"

"It will make little difference to us," remarked Frederic. "I don't imagine that either you or I will live forty-two years longer."

"No," cried Kate. "I wish I were but seventeen and you but twenty-one, for then we could hope to learn its contents. Oh! I wish I knew whether when its seals are broken it will secure for my foster-father a partial or complete vindication. I am weary, Frederic, let us row up the river."

When they returned, the sun was just sinking in the West. Great banks of clouds which had been thrown into most fantastic shapes filled the sky. There were great islands floating in the lofty azure; there were hills and mountain peaks; there were huge castles with battlemented towers and donjon keeps..

Frederic rested upon his oars and the boat drifted slowly towards the sea. A flood of rosy light irradiated the islands, the hills and mountains, and the old feudal castles. Then the hue changed to a deep red interspersed with bars of gold and orange. The sun sank beneath the horizon. A shadow seemed to fall, and the bright tints changed to graver blues and greens. Still lower sank the sun, and the sombre shades melted into vast piles of gray. The sun sank lower still, and, piled high on the western horizon were great masses shading from light to darkest brown.

66

Night is coming on and it is getting cool, Kate, we must get home," said Frederic, as he caught up the oars and sent the boat forward, swiftly, with sturdy strokes.

Kate sat in the stern looking dreamily upward and holding the little bunch of wild flowers idly in her hands. Then she murmured something in a low voice. "What were you saying, Kate?" asked her husband. In a more distinct tone, she repeated pensively:

"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave
Await, alike, the inevitable hour,—

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

Yesterday I completed my book with a quotation from Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." That poem has always seemed to me to establish a closer connection between the mundane and the unseen than any other similar work. It is replete with beauties and truths. It is an epitome of human life, here, and the spiritual life hereafter. To me, an author, the completion of a book is of enough importance to warrant a record being made of the fact in this-my journal of passing events.

Whether a man's memory be good or poor, I think the keeping of a diary is an advantageous mental exercise. Even the best minds are apt to forget apparently inconsequential dates and incidents which may afterwards become of supreme importance. But in such writing, I do not believe in being held down by any arbitrary standard. When one has said what he wishes to say, he should not try to say any more. Aaron Burr's journal of his exile in Europe is a model in diary construction. All should read it. I do not believe in the slavish habit of opening the entry for each day with a description of the weather and the height attained by the thermometer. Let meteorologists attend to that business. I remember reading an old diary which I found in an obscure corner of a garret. It was kept by a young man who had visited a physician and had some medicine prescribed for him in the shape of pills. For a period of more than three months, the entries in his diary closed uniformly with the words "Took a pill and went to bed."

WEDNESDAY, June 2.

I wrote yesterday that my book was completed, but that selfcongratulation was somewhat premature. The book, it is true, is completed, but it is not finished. I knew that Col. Burr gave to Judge Van Ness a sealed packet, with the written injunction that it was not to be opened or its contents made public until fifty years had elapsed after his death. From the descendants of Judge Van Ness, I have learned that the packet was returned to Col. Burr. It was not discovered among his papers at his death and must have been given by him to someone else; but to whom? Then, again, the absolute facts concerning the death of Theodosia Burr Alston are unknown. The generally accepted opinion is that the vessel upon which she sailed from Charleston foundered at sea and she was drowned. There have been rumors that the vessel was captured by pirates and she was made to walk the plank. Others have believed that she was made captive by the pirates and experienced an even worse fate than death. Shall I allow myself to be tormented with speculations about these matters, or, become philosophical, and, admitting them to be unknowable, worry no more about them? This after. on, I became of a practical turn of mind. I visited all the principal book-stores to see if any new works had been published which could throw any light upon these subjects. Result, nil.

THURSDAY, June 3.

I devoted the entire day to groping in musty cellars and dusty book bins for any treasure in the shape of a second-hand book, from which I might, possibly, glean the information of which I was in search. I found nothing new, but I did find some books and pamphlets which corroborated certain points which I had considered to be true. I was glad, of course, to know that my statements could be re-enforced by additional authorities, but I found nothing bearing directly upon the two points which I have mentioned. The twin secrets seemed to be impenetrable. After supper, I came to the sudden conclusion to visit New York. There, I said to myself, I may possibly find that of which I am in search. It will do no harm to try.

SATURDAY, June 5.

Spent yesterday and to-day in the new and second-hand bookstores in a vain quest for information which, evidently, is not in

print.

As I had done in Boston, I found some valuable old pamphlets and one or two rare books.

MONDAY, June 7.

Yesterday I went to church. I do not remember the text, but the gist of the sermon was-there were some things that it were useless for man to try to accomplish unaided; that they require the infinite power of the Almighty to solve or bring them to perfection. This sermon threw me into a line of thought which led me to determine that but one more day should be spent in what seemed an apparently useless undertaking.

TUESDAY, June 8.

Fortune smiled upon me yesterday. In one of the secondhand book-stores, I found the proprietor most genial and obliging. He inquired the object of my search and I told him I was looking for information concerning Aaron Burr and his daughter Theodosia, Alexander Hamilton, James Wilkinson, Harman Blennerhassett and his wife, Margaret. Mr. Cleaves informed me that there was a gentleman living in New York who, for many years past, had given the dealers carte blanche to send him any book or pamphlet relating to those individuals that came into their possession, allowing them to fix their own price. Mr. Cleaves said he had a fine library but, so far as he knew, had never written a book. He offered to give me a letter of introduction, which I gladly accepted. It was directed to Col. Justus Dane, the address being that of a Fifth Avenue mansion. Col. Dane was just going out for a drive, but made an appointment with me for last evening at seven o'clock.

The conversation was largely personal—that is, Col. Dane told me about himself. With his permission, I made copious entries in shorthand in my note-book, a few of which I transcribe here. He has been paralyzed in his lower limbs for the past six years and his only means of locomotion is a roller chair. He was born on July 11, 1804, the day upon which the duel between Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton took place. By the death of his father, who was a ship merchant, he inherited great wealth. His property consisted principally of real estate and the care of it was a great annoyance to him. When about twenty-one years of age, he became acquainted with Aaron