I can conceive of some hushed and gracious home-spirit walking restless by night because the heart and head of the house was afar or in danger.

And a house so charged with personality as that on Richmond Hall must have had many a ghost,--of fireside and of garden close,--who wept for fallen fortunes as they had rejoiced for gaiety and bright enterprise.
Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton were born antagonists: their personalities, their ideals, their methods, were as diverse and as implacably divergent as the poles.

Hamilton, as a statesman, believed that Burr was dangerous; and so he was: sky rockets and geniuses usually are.

Hamilton did his brilliant best to destroy the other's power (it was chiefly due to his efforts that Burr missed the Presidency), and, being a notably courageous man, he was not afraid to go on warning America against him.
And so it all came about:--the exchange of letters--haughty, courteously insolent, utterly unyielding on both sides--then the challenge, and finally the duel.
I am glad to think that Theo Alston was safe among her husband's rice fields at that time.

She worshipped her father, and everything that hurt him stabbed her to her devoted heart.
It was in an early, fragrant dawn--Friday the sixth of July, 1804--that Burr and his seconds left our beautiful Richmond Hill, where the birds were singing and the pond just waking to the morning light, for Weehawken Heights on the Jersey shore.
At about seven, Burr reached the ground which had been appointed.