way he should go. At the mention of his mother, Colonel Burr appeared to be deeply moved, and he listened to all the remarks of his visitor with every appearance of interest. The doctor paused at length, and waited for him to speak.

"Perhaps," said Burr, "you would like to proceed. You know we are to speak without restraint; I take it all well, for I know it is well meant.

The doctor answered that there was another subject to which he wished to allude, and yet scarcely knew how to introduce it. "I wish to hear you," said Col. Burr.

The clergyman then cut deeply into the heart of the bereaved and solitary man, by speaking to him of his lost daughter, whose voice, he said, ought to speak to him from the deep, warning him to repent.

While Dr. Mathews was upon this subject the heart-broken father moaned and wept to such a degree that his visitor paused, and there was a long silence. Then Burr spoke as follows:

"You are doing nothing more than your duty, and I am the more pleased with you for doing it so fully. This is a new scene for me. You have opened fountains that have long been dry, and that, perhaps, I may have thought were dried up forever. It is true, it is true, judgments have followed me for years,— judgments in every form, in the heaviest form, till I am left alone of all that loved me, as father or near relative. There is a desolation here,” laying his hand on his heart, "that none but the Searcher of Hearts can understand."

Even these pathetic words did not induce the clergyman to spare him. He asked him if there was not something in the desolation of his own household which called to mind another household which his own hand had desolated.

Burr's eyes flashed fire, but the expression passed away in a moment, and he asked, with a tone and look of sorrow:

"What would you have me do? How and where would you have me turn?"

The clergyman then urged him again to repentance; advised him to return, like the prodigal son, to attend church, and devote his future life to good works.

Col. Burr interrupted his visitor, and said:

"You don't seem to know how I am viewed by the religious public, or by those who resort to your churches. Where is there a man among all such whom I would be willing to meet, and who would welcome me into his pew? Of your own congregation, would —, or or , give me a seat? These are our merchant princes, - men who give tone to Wall Street, and fix the standard of mercantile morals in our city. Would they make Aaron Burr a welcome visitor to your church? Rather, indeed, I may ask, would you yourself do so? How would you feel walking up the aisle with me, and opening your pew door for my entrance?"

Dr. Mathews replied that such an event would give him great pleasure.

"Then," said Burr, "you would indulge your feelings of kindness at the expense of your usefulness as the minister of your congregation. Do you believe that such gentlemen as I have named would be pleased, or rather that they would not be highly displeased, at seeing you do anything of the kind?"

As he said these words, he rose from his chair, and paced up and down the room, his heart evidently swelling with indignation and pride. Then, losing his self-control, he said, passionately: :

"There are men who join in this system of proscription who ought to be well aware that I know enough of them and their condition to hurl them into poverty, if I would only undertake the task. I could strip them of the very houses in which they and their families live, and turn them into the street. The title to much of the property now held by the rich men of our city would not bear to be sifted. I know all about it, and I may be induced some day to show what I am able to do in the matter."

The doctor observed that he was not competent to judge of such affairs, which were far removed from the object of his visit.

Burr instantly sat down again, and, with the most exquisite politeness, apologized for his warmth, adding, that his mind was so chafed at times by the circumstances in which he found himself, that he was not always as self-possessed as he could wish.

"Once," said he, "I had the credit of such self-possession that nothing could disturb or overthrow it. I have less of it now. Age and sorrow combined wear away the strength of the strongest."

The minister then most earnestly renewed his exhortation, and implored him to repent, and begin a new life. Burr heard him patiently, and said, in reply:—

"This is all true, and how strongly it reminds me of my early days! It seems as if I heard good Dr. Bellamy again speaking to me. But I fear such appeals will have as little effect upon the old man as they had on the wayward youth. If there is any such good yet in store for me as you, sir, seem to desire, it must reach me at last in virtue of my birth from religious parentage, which, you justly observed, it has been my lot to have as a birthright."

By this time it was late in the evening, and the clergyman rose to take leave. Burr looked Dr. Mathews steadily in the face, and spoke as follows:

"I am far from being wearied of this conversation. On the contrary, I shall preserve a grateful recollection of it. I sincerely thank you for this visit, and, if it does me no good, I am anxious it should do you no harm. I hope that you will not mistake my motive in what I am about to say. I know who some of the men are to whom you sustain intimate relations. They entertain the most unfavorable opinion of me in every respect, and would not fail to mark it against any one who should treat me with any open avowal of good-will or civility. It would be to your detriment if such men should see you accost me in the public street with the expression of regard that your kindness might prompt. When we meet in any of our great thoroughfares, it is best that we should not see each other. Do you understand me?"

Dr. Mathews replied that he appreciated his motive, though he could not see the necessity of such a course, but that he would regulate his conduct by the wish Col. Burr had expressed.

"Excuse me," said the old lawyer, "I am the best judge." He accompanied the clergyman to the door, and, at parting,

gave him his hand, which was as cold as a dead man's, and the doctor left him, feeling that his visit had been in vain.

In Aaron Burr there was no repentance. To the end of his life he cherished the delusion that the obloquy under which he rested was utterly unjust, and he often laughed at the public for being so imposed upon by his "enemies" as to believe that Aaron Burr was anything but a gentleman and a man of honor. The threat which, in his excitement, he let fall, respecting the estates of some of the rich men of the city, he delayed not long to execute, and he gained large sums by bringing suits of cjectment against men who had never doubted the sufficiency of their titles. Many of these suits were decided in his favor, and he took a share of the recovered property as his fee.

CHARLES AVERY.

In the sketch of the French fanatic, Deacon Paris, we have seen how a Frenchman of the last century interpreted his duty to God and man. Deacon Paris supposed he was pleasing his Creator by self-inflicted suffering, as well as by denying himself innocent pleasures. Let us now observe in what manner an American citizen of the present time behaves when his conscience is awakened, and he sets about doing his whole duty as a human being.

A short time ago, as I was wandering in the beautiful cemetery of Pittsburgh, I came upon a monument which far surpassed, both in costliness and beauty, any that I remember in the western country. It was composed chiefly of Italian marble. Upon the summit, high in the air, stood an admirable full-length statue of the person in whose honor the structure was reared.

He was a stout gentleman, comfortably dressed in the modern style, with the face and bearing of a prosperous man of the world. Below, on the tablet, was a fine bas-relief in which the same gentleman figured with ships and other indications of commercial activity. What was my surprise to be informed, by the superintendent of the grounds, that this stately monument had been erected to the memory of a Methodist preacher, Charles Avery, of Pittsburgh! However meritorious Methodist preachers may be, it is so unusual for them to be honored after their death by such elegant structures as this, that I was curious to learn what this man had done in his life that he should be so commemorated.

Charles Avery was born in Westchester county, New York, in 1784. His father was the owner of a small farm, and the father of many children; none of whom, therefore, had any