about the name of Hamilton. Monuments
have been erected to his memory, his statue has been given high
place in the Capitol. The hour of his fall was that of his
exaltation.

The self-same hour witnessed the ruin of his antagonist. From the
fatal field, unharmed in body, he turned away, henceforth to the
followed by the execrations of his countrymen. Past services were
forgotten, brilliant talents availed nothing. His desperate attempt
to found a rival government by the partial dismemberment of the
one he had helped to establish was thwarted, and after years of
poverty and misfortune abroad, he returned to die in neglect and
obscurity in his own country. As was truly said: "He was the last
of his race; there was no kindred hand to smooth his couch, or wipe
the death-damp from his brow. No banners drooped over his bier;
no melancholy music floated upon the reluctant air."

The Hon. Hamilton Spencer, one of the ablest of lawyers, gave me
an interesting account of an interview he had with Colonel Burr in
Albany not long before his death. Notwithstanding his advanced
age, broken health, and ruined fortunes, he deeply impressed Mr.
Spencer as a gentleman of most courteous manners, dignified bearing,
and commanding presence such as he had rarely seen.

The one object of his love was his daughter, the beautiful Theodosia.
Her devotion to her father increased with his accumulating misfortunes.
The ship in which she sailed from her home in Charleston, South
Carolina, to meet him in New York, never reached its destination.
In all history, there are few pictures more pathetic than that
of the gray-haired, friendless man, with faded cloak drawn closely
about him, day after day wandering alone by the seaside, anxiously
awaiting the coming of the one being who loved him, the idolized
daughter whose requiem was even then being chanted by the waves.

One of the men I occasionally met in Washington was Joseph C.
McKibben, a former representative in Congress from the Pacific
coast. He was thoroughly familiar with the history of California from
its cession to the United States at the close of the Mexican War.
He had been an active participant in many of the stirring events
occurring soon after the admission of the State into the Union.

"Men, except in bad novels, are not all good, or all evil."

Colonel McKibben was the second of David C. Broderick in his
duel with Judge Terry. At the time of the duel, Broderick was a