Olando frequently occupied a seat next to Burr on the gallery, and in after-years the interested visitor could always induce him to relate his memories of this time. The favorite among his stories was of Mrs. Webb's arrival at the inn to obtain a last look at the face of her old friend the morning after his death. Olando had prepared the body for its final resting-place the night before and was still in charge of the remains. Mrs. Webb came heavily veiled and accompanied by her small daughter. In the hall they waited until the chamber of death was deserted, and then timidly crossed its threshold. When the passionate tears of this noble woman fell on the withered face of the dead, the heart of her observer was touched, and he gazed on the scene with wet eyes. Several times during the months of July and August Burr took rides back into the country. The Ogden chaise, drawn by a bay horse, would stop at the Inn in the afternoon while the sun was still high. Tommy, the lad who kept the garden path clean for the soft crinolines that caressed it in the late afternoon and early evening, never neglected an opportunity to leave the slouching weeds for the excitement of running up the steep steps and hammering the heavy knocker, calling out in the shrill trumpet tones of youth, "Here's the chaise for Colonel Burr! Here's the chaise." The buxom calico-clad figure of one of the Misses Winant would open the door, and through the hall and up the narrow winding staircase would rush the boy. Out on the gallery, in the depths of the old cushioned draught chair, an expectant figure always sat waiting for the near approach of those eager, clattering feet. With the boy's help he rises tremblingly, and we see him there in the sunlight,--a slight, emaciated old man in a Continental blue coat, a thin, worn face which has lost all the beauty of his famous likeness given to the world by Stuart's brush, but eyes still lustrous and ofttimes full of fire. Into the shadows, down the staircase and the porch, the strong young arms of the boy almost carry him. After them comes the faithful Miss Winant with Burr's great-coat, carefully treading on tiptoe lest she should attract his attention to her heavy burden. With the united efforts of the coachman, the boy, and his landlady, Burr is seated in the chaise. The coachman cracks his whip over the plodding mare, and the old-style vehicle bearing its precious burden rounds the corner into a world of green. A pathetic and almost tragic picture of Burr has been recorded on one of these drives. On a gray, melancholy afternoon, while being driven through a neighboring village, he passed a group of rustic militia attempting a drill. His old eyes lighted up as he gazed upon them, and his mind went back to the time when he wore regimentals in the service of his country. Calling out to the wind, for no one was by his side, he is said to have exclaimed,--