Every age must have a political scapegoat, one upon whose head is placed symbolically the sins of the period, and after he is sent into the wilderness of obscurity it becomes a social and political crime to befriend him.  There have been several such in our country’s history, and there will be others.  Aaron Burr suffered more than any other simply because the glory from which he departed was greater.

On March 2, 1805, Aaron Burr, vice-president of the United States, and president of the senate, retired from the chair two days before his term expired.  He made a farewell address, which produced a greater impression upon that body than any other words ever spoken there.  Every senator was weeping, and for a long time no one could leave his seat or propose any business.  It was a sight for the nation to look upon and wonder.  For fourteen years he had been one of the most conspicuous members of that body.

Aaron Burr’s ultimate ruin was wrought by his colonization experiment in Louisiana.  In popular opinion, there was something traitorous in that unsuccessful venture of his.  In 1805 Mr. Burr paid $50,000 for 400,000 acres of land which had been purchased of Spain in 1800, before it passed to France and then to the United States in 1803.  Of the motive of Colonel Burr we must always be ignorant; that he was not guilty of any crime in connection therewith we are certain, for the highest tribunal of the land acquitted him.  President Jefferson and the entire political force of the administration were bent upon his conviction, but Chief Justice Marshall, as capable, honorable, and incorruptible a jurist as the country has known, would not have it so.  Unfortunately, the brilliant arraignment by William Wirt was printed and read for half a century, while the calm rulings of Chief Justice Marshall never went beyond the court room.

Why did a man of his capabilities, upon retirement from the vice-presidency, attempt, at fifty years of age to start life anew under such unpromising conditions?  Because he was suddenly politically and professionally ruined.  Ruined because he had killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel.  Why did he do it?  It is a long story.

To make it intelligent, his life must be reviewed.  After a brilliant military career, which began when he was nineteen and left him an heroic colonel, he studied law and practiced in Albany.  At the age of twenty-eight he was a leader in the New York legislature, and was chairman of the most important committees, always with the people, against the aristocracy—­an unpardonable mistake in those times.  At thirty-four he was attorney-general of the state, and his great decisions were accepted by all other states.  At thirty-four he established the Manhattan bank of New York city.  He was the only man with the ability or courage to find a way to establish a bank for the people, and the solidity of that institution for a hundred years is an all-sufficient vindication of his plan.  At thirty-five he was appointed and confirmed as a supreme court judge of New York state, but he declined the honor, and was the same year elected to the United States senate.  He was re-elected, serving in all fourteen years.