dern form and appearance, so
utterly out of keeping with the rest of the tombs, that the visitor at
once turns to it, and is none the less startled to find that it marks
the last resting-place of that other Aaron Burr, the traitor, the
duellist, the libertine, whose remains, brought hither in the night,
were surreptitiously buried at the feet of his venerated father, and
this monument placed over them, years afterwards, in the same manner.
And for his father's sake, there they were suffered to remain. 'After
life's fitful fever he sleeps well,' in the midst of these old grey
stones, and surrounded by the honored dead. The monument bears no
record, except his name, the dates of his birth and death, and the
statement that he was Vice-President of the United States from 1801 to
1805. It is as if it said,--

'No further seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.'

Not a quarter of a mile from where his dust thus reposes, there sleeps,
in a neglected grave in a small grove of trees behind the college, one
of his hapless victims, a young lady of Philadelphia, who died, as the
mouldering headstone, half sunken in the turf, informs us, 'at the early
age of twenty-two.'

The next point of interest is the spot where seven or eight elegant
shafts of white marble, erected by their class-mates, mark the graves of
students who have died during their collegiate course. They are all
remarkable for the beauty and chaste simplicity of their design, and the
appropriateness of their inscriptions. No historic interest attaches to
them; no well-earned fame gilds them with a halo of glory; but a feeling
touching and sad creeps over the heart as we read on the tomb the name
of each sleeper's distant home, and think of the poor young man dying in
the midst of strangers, while doubtless

'There was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,
With watching many an anxious day,
Were sorrowful and dim.'

Passing on, we reach the graves of the three Alexanders, father and two
sons, whose writings are dear to so many Christian hearts. Side by side
they repose, under three slabs of pure white marble, inscribed with
appropriate epitaphs. That of the father, Archibald Alexander, for fifty
years professor in the Theological Seminary, is a simple, unadorned
record of his personal history; that of the younger brother, Joseph
Addison, who was a man of immense learning, able to read, write, and
converse