# The Amorous Intrigues and Adventures of Aaron Burr/Chapter 6

CHAPTER VI.
The young widow of First street.—The hypocrisy of Burr.—Temptation, fall, and subsequent distress.
As Aaron Burr had some business to attend to in an adjoining colony, which could not be neglected, he had told Angelina Dudley that they should not be able to meet again under a week. He promised, however, that he would write to her.
He then set out for New York. His business detained him longer than he had expected, and he had been some ten days in the Empire City, when one of the most remarkable events of his life occurred. As this affair is connected with the history of his intrigues, we will endeavor to recount the whole story as it happened.
On a Sunday evening, Burr was sauntering about the streets, and ogling the ladies, when he chanced to hear the singing of a church congregation in his vicinity. He followed the sound till he came to a substantial Methodist meeting house, and having nothing else to do, he dropped in, and took a seat with the rest.
A remarkably eloquent preacher was, at that time, holding forth, having just commenced his sermon. Burr listened attentively, and the stirring discourse of the reverend gentleman appears to have made some impression upon his feelings. The singing which followed was very animated, and being one of those lively tunes common among the Methodists, was to Burr a rarity.
Among those who sang was a young lady, who sat not far from our hero, and her voice could be distinguished from those of the other singers, being peculiarly pure, rich and melodious. Her hair was black as the raven's wing, while her blue eyes were large, and fringed with long dark lashes. As her lips parted, they disclosed small white teeth, very evenly placed. Her features were not of that precisely regular form which is supposed to constitute a perfect beauty, but the whole expression of her countenance, animated as it was with devotion, pleased Burr exceedingly, and he could not keep his eyes from her countenance.
We may as well say, in this place, that the beautiful devotee was a Mrs. Keating, a young widow, who had lost her husband a year before the time mentioned. Her husband was a young man of education and well bred, but had become reduced by his father's failure in business, ​and at the time of his death was a thriving cartman, being constantly employed by our wealthiest merchants. Mrs. Keating had no children by him. On his death-bed, young Keating became much concerned about his future welfare, and a very pious and devoted member of the Methodist persuasion held frequent interviews with him. The scenes in the chamber of death made a lively impression upon the sensitive and naturally intelligent mind of his weeping bride, and especially an exhortation which her husband delivered to her just before the closing of his earthly career.
All the warm feelings of her young and enthusiastic heart which had been given to her husband, the young widow now merged in aspirations for celestial purity and those joys which fade not away.
She became a constant attendant upon the services at the Methodist church, and as her religious zeal was tempered with the utmost amiability and gentleness, she drew the attention of the old professors, all of whom held her in high esteem.
Burr regarded her earnestly as she sang, and when the services closed, and she was about to rise, the partial falling off of her shawl revealed to his gaze a bust of the most beautiful proportions.
If he had received any good impressions from the discourse and other services, it is certain that the sight of this engaging woman soon obliterated them from his heart, or left just enough of their gentle and chastening influence to render him more dangerous to such a being as Mrs. Keating than he would have been without it.
Burr kept his eye upon the lady till he had got into the street with the rest of the congregation. He walked along behind her in the throng till she turned into First street (now called Chrystie,) and then he fell back a little lest he should be suspected of following the woman.
She pursued her way up First street, which was thinly settled, and the houses very soon became few and far between. He then ranged up alongside of her, and said politely:
"Excuse the freedom of a stranger, madam, but I would say that we listened to a fine discourse this evening, one which will not soon be forgotten."
The lady was a little startled at first, but soon recovered herself, and replied:
"I am glad to hear you say so, sir. You were then at our church this evening?"
"I was madam. I have heretofore been rather remiss in my duties, in that respect, but shall hereafter endeavor to be more regular in my attendance upon religious worship. Not only the sermon, but the singing also is calculated to revive in one's memory the sacred precepts of a dying mother, which are too apt to lie slumbering in one's breast."
"Alas! sir. You have lost your mother! Was she pious?"
​"None more so, my dear madam, and," added Burr, speaking in a husky tone, "it was a certain resemblance that I trusted in your voice to hers, while singing, that so powerfully brought back to me the recollection of those days which are passed, and which can never, never return. Some inward monitor seemed to tell me that a few words with you would have a beneficial effect upon my poor tempest-tossed soul, for I have been, first and last, much troubled in my mind on account of religion."
"Thank God for it!" cried she, earnestly; "as it is in that way that God works to bring you to himself. But I fear you have applied to a very weak and unworthy counsellor—"
"Some thing tells me no. Early deprived of both my parents, I am keenly alive to the blessed influences of the society of virtuous females, especially when they are so beauti—pardon me, madam, I was about to bestow a stupid compliment; but it was out of season, for what is the most angelic beauty when compared with inward graces? And I am confident that even if you were a more ordinary woman in personal appearance, you would be just as happy, so that you could
'read your title clear To mansions in the skies.'"
The lady appeared to feel that her personal charms had been highly complimented by one who had not intended to say any thing about them, but who had accidentally let out his real opinion of her feminine graces. Therefore, she did not immediately reply; and when she did so, she was careful not to allude to the last words of her companion.
"I hope, sir, the impressions which you have received at church from the discourse of our minister, will not be obliterated. Mr. S. is not only a great speaker, but he is also a very benevolent man—good to the poor and to everybody. He has no pride."
"I should have known that, dear madam, by his looks. Oh! that I were but half as good as he is!"
"That prayer may be more than answered," said the gentle being at his side, in such tones of sympathizing kindness that Burr inwardly cursed himself for a scoundrel; "for we are told that those who hunger and thirst after righteousness shall be filled. But Mr. S. is far from setting himself up as a model for others. He feels that whatsoever he is, it is only by the free grace of our blessed Lord that his feet are preserved from stumbling. We are all impure in the sight of Him at whose feet the brightest angels continually cast their crowns; and as for the poor creature who now addresses you, she is at a stand to decide whether you should come to her or she should go to you for religious instruction. You are certainly a very tender-spirited young man, and ​show contrition for your neglect of religion heretofore, while I am often hardhearted, and have been sensible that I did not always feel as a christian should towards those who still dwell in the darkness of sin. But here is my home—"
"This then is your house? Ah! madam, after listening to your blessed counsels thus far, can I—must I part so very soon? I fear to go back into the world—my faith is weak, and some few more explanations that I desire—"
"Is it even so, young gentleman? Then, in God's name, walk into my poor tenement, I see that Nancy is still up, and if she were not, God forbid that I should deny any one who comes to me in the name of my Saviour! And may the opportunity be blessed alike to the strengthening of your faith and of mine, for I need it equally with yourself. Walk in."
Burr entered the humble domain of Mrs. Keating, which he found very neat and clean. A large over-grown girl of some eighteen years, was snoring melodiously on a settee, while the candle was flaming in the socket on the mantle-piece.
"Nancy! Nancy?" cried the lady of the house.
No answer. Nancy was in the land of dreams, perhaps toying with her beau, and could not think of leaving such good company to return to the world of cold realities.
"Let her sleep. She is tired no doubt," said the lady, putting a fresh candle in the place of the one that had burned out.
The conversation was renewed. Burr led the way to such topics as were of a melting, soul-subduing character, and ingeniously interwove his religious aspirations with half disguised compliments to the widow herself. Her countenance glowed with feeling, and her lovely bosom rose and fell while Burr talked, and darted into her eyes the tremendous magnetic influence which shot from his own whenever he chose to launch his lightnings at the female heart.
In the midst of their discourse, the sleeping Nancy awoke, sat up on end, glared wildly about her, and perceiving that Mrs. Keating had company, lighted a candle, and staggered off to bed in an upper chamber.
Burr and the lady were now left alone; and by stealthy approaches he had at length succeeded in convincing the lady that he loved her with a pure, exalted passion, at the same time that they were fellow-travelers on the road to Zion.
The young widow possessed warm and tender feelings: her husband had been taken sick before the honey-moon was in its wane, and for a whole year she had not even received a kiss from one of the opposite sex. Her feelings rose higher and higher, till the swelling tide had began to overwhelm her reason. Burr's arm was already around her ​waist, his lips had touched the sweetest and most beautiful bosom that ever fired the soul of man, when she suddenly became conscious of her awful position!
But Burr had expected this: he was on the watch for it; and he had also read in her gentle heart the fact that she was of a forgiving temper, and that nothing could induce her to peril the welfare of a handsome youth, whose only fault was that he loved her to well—for, alas! she knew not the cold, calculating brain which accompanied that fiery heart.
I say that she suddenly became aware of her danger, and started as if her guardian-angel had cried to her in thunder tones:
"Beware!"
In the very moment that she endeavored, with sudden consciousness, to spring from his embrace, and with a mighty effort had writhed from his grasp, Burr threw himself on her exposed breast, and caught the bright red nipple in his mouth. Here he seemed fastened as if for ever, and devoured the fragrance of that white bosom with as keen a relish as that of the Arabian traveler when he quaffs the waters from a well in the burning desert.
All the feminine fire and tenderness of Mrs. Keating at once returned, and though she still strove to free herself, yet she sighed heavily, and her struggles became weaker and weaker. She sank upon the carpet, and Burr threw aside the envious drapery that concealed charms which might have seduced a man of ice.
The cluster of raven threads which heavily covered the mount of Venus, contrasted beautifully with the white round belly and large alabaster thighs, while the two breasts stood up hard and firm, the lovely neck invited his eager lips, and the blue eyes rolled with wild desire and tender impatience.
We need not mention the sequel. Imagination can hardly paint their mutual bliss, which was intensified by respect and admiration.
No sooner had the first transports subsided—no sooner had they risen from the floor—than the heart of the gentle and loving widow was rent with the keenest remorse. Yet it was not on Burr that she launched her censures.
"It is myself," said she—"my guilty self, who am wholly to blame. I know that men are passionate, and cannot always control themselves. But I, who am older than you—I, who have had experience—Oh, sir, it is a fine monitor, a fine advisor that you have chosen! A fine example I have set a young and hopeful Christian! Now is my ruin sealed, for never more can I lift my guilty eyes to thy throne, oh my God! Let the mountains fall now—"
"Cease! cease! dear madam! Angel! blessed woman!" cried Burr. "Accuse not yourself! we have only been led away by our ​feelings. You are young and I am young. Is it strange? You lost your husband while you were in the day of life, and nature—yes, nature itself required relief. No one can ever know—"
"There! there!" cried she pointing upward—"there in yon high heaven, is One who knows!"
Burr stopped her mouth with kisses, and forced her to the floor, when the act was repeated, which so completely enkindled the fervent passions of the lovely widow, that she thought no more of any thing but Burr and his embraces.
She hugged him to that angelic bosom, and murmured the sweetest and tenderest words of love, and their blissful dalliance ceased not till the gray dawn gave signal for separation.
Then Burr took his leave, and left the widow, overflowing with tenderness and sweet recollections, to her repose. She sank to sleep, indeed, but fearful was her waking!
No tongue can describe the heart-rending remorse which seized upon that lovely but betrayed being when she woke from her sleep, and remembered the events of the preceeding night.
But we shall speak of her again. We must now follow Aaron Burr to the mansion of Judge Reeve in New Jersey.