He admired her because she was beautiful and intelligent;—­had she been plain and dull, he would not have cared for her.  He made no return for the affection, warm and generous, which her noble heart lavished upon him, liberal as the sunlight.  Had that earnest love touched, for a single instant, a responsive chord in his heart, he could never have written those foul, foul words to make her blush at the record of her father’s shame.  Nowhere does he express regret for the misfortunes which he brought upon others,—­the bereaved family of Hamilton,—­the ruin of Blennerhassett,—­the victims of his passions and his ambition.  He spoke freely, as if they were indifferent matters, of things which most men would have concealed.  He laughed at his trial,—­alluded to Hamilton as “my friend Hamilton, whom I shot,”—­and used to repeat some doggerel lines upon the duel, which he had seen in a strolling exhibition.  It is said that he was courteous and amiable, and that he did many kind and generous acts.  His courtesy and amiability did not restrain him from perfidy and debauchery; neither did he ever do a kind act when an unkind one would have served his purposes better.

As we have seen, Mr. Parton has described Aaron Burr as suited to many very incongruous conditions in life.  If we were to select an epoch in history and a form of society for which he was best adapted, we should place him in France daring the Regency and the reign of Louis XV.  There, where a successful bon-mot established a claim to office, and a well-turned leg did more for a man than the best mind in Europe, Burr would have risen to distinction.  He might have shone in the literary circles at Sceaux, and in the petits soupers at the Palais Royal.  Among the wits, the litterateurs, the fashionable men and women of the time, he would have found society congenial to his tastes, and sufficient employment for his talents.  He would have exhibited in his own life and character their vices and their superficial virtues, their extravagance, libertinism, and impiety, their politeness, courage, and wit.  He might have borne a distinguished part in the petty statesmanship, the intriguing diplomacy, and the wild speculations of that period.  But here, among the stern rebels of the Revolution and the practical statesmen of the early Republic, this trickster and shallow politician, this visionary adventurer and boaster of ladies’ favors, was out of place.  He has given to his country nothing except a pernicious example.  The full light, which shows us that his vices may have been exaggerated, shows likewise that his talents have surely been overestimated.  The contrast which gave fascination to his career is destroyed; and for a partial vindication of his character he will pay the penalty which he would most have dreaded, that of being forgotten.

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THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE.