# The Amorous Intrigues and Adventures of Aaron Burr/Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.
Birth and parentage of Aaron Burr.—His infancy.—Early display of spirit and impudence.—Loss of his parents.—Runs away to go to sea.—His college life.—A visit to Connecticut.—His acquaintance with Adelaide King, and the fatal consequences.
The renowned Aaron Burr was a standing argument against the old saying, that "none but fools fall in love with women." This talented, heroic, and energetic man was an adorer of the fair sex. From the age of puberty to the day of his death, (which occurred in his eightieth year,) Aaron Burr was keenly alive to the fascinations of the fairer portion of creation, and esteemed their smiles as sunny rays darted from heaven.
It is reported of him, that he had "a flattering tongue," but that is probably a vulgar prejudice. Let others try the flattering system, and they may find that, in a majority of cases, they will only be laughed at for their pains.
It is more probable that Burr felt all he said—that he praised women because he adored them, and they knew he was in earnest. It is well enough for men who are feebly endowed, and whose love for women is at best lukewarm, to attribute to heartless flattery the success which they have vainly sought to obtain, and which is readily due to a genuine love for the charms of woman.
We are not, however, apologizing for the faults of Aaron Burr; we shall only aim to give him his due; and we shall also do justice to the charms of woman, when we remember that Burr was neither a fool nor a poet.
​He was no dreamer, who invested the fair sex with the bright creations of a vivid fancy, but a man of sound, cool, and accurate judgment, keen discrimination, and one who possessed great knowledge of human nature. As a lawyer he was pre-eminent, and as a statesman he had no superior. He was a man of great benevolence, and impoverished himself by his liberality to those who stood in need of pecuniary aid; but among the women, it must be confessed, that he was often led away by the warmth of his temperament.
The infancy and boyhood of Aaron Burr passed under the most favorable circumstances. They were such as to give him an exalted opinion of that sex which is so capable of imparting to us the keenest enjoyments, both of a physical and moral nature. He associated with none but respectable young ladies of family and of education.
The grandfather of Burr was a German of noble lineage, and his father, the Rev. Aaron Burr, was educated at Yale College, and was subsequently appointed the President of the New Jersey College, known afterwards as Nassau Hall.
President Burr, father of our hero, was married, in his 38th year, to the daughter of Jonathan Edwards, the celebrated metaphysician and divine. President Burr was celebrated for his eloquence and his piety, and was also noted for his eccentricity.
The mother of our hero, Esther Burr, thus speaks of him in a letter to her father, President Edwards:
"My little son [then twenty months old] has been sick with the slow fever since my brother left us, and has been brought to the brink of the grave. But I hope, in mercy, God is bringing him up again."
Aaron not only recovered, but possessed a good constitution, great muscular power, and an independent, self-relying mind. This he evinced by running away from his preceptor, when only four years of age.
Aaron Burr was born on the 6th of February, 1756, in Newark, State of New Jersey. His father died in August, 1757, and his mother during the following year, leaving two children, Aaron and his sister Sarah. Sarah married Judge Tappan Reeve. Colonel Burr inherited a handsome estate on the death of his father.
Although deprived of his pious and highly respectable parents, Burr fell into good hands.
Aaron and his sister were transferred to the family of Timothy Edwards, their mother's eldest brother, who lived in Stockbridge, Massachusetts.
In 1762 Mr. Edwards removed to Elizabethtown, New Jersey. A ​private tutor was engaged for Aaron and his sister, Judge Reeve occupying that station for a considerable time.
When ten years old, Aaron ran away from his guardian, and went to New York for the purpose of going a sea voyage. He engaged himself on board a vessel as cabin-boy. He was pursued by Mr. Edwards, who found him on board; but the young hero was determined not to be taken until he had made terms of peace with his guardian, and ran up the rigging to the top-gallant-mast head, where he remained till he had received a promise that he should not be molested, if he returned home.
In the year 1769, Burr entered Princetown College, where he soon distanced all competitors, and gave ample proofs of an o'ermastering intellect. He was sixteen years of age when he graduated, and received the highest academic honors that the faculty could bestow.
No doubt the pure life led by Burr, under the tutelage of the good and virtuous, contributed much to preserve his intellectual faculties in all their force, and as he was never led into any improper habits, he retained his vigor till he was old enough to go into society, and form attachments for such of the fair sex as pleased his taste.
From the best authority to which we have recourse, we believe that Burr never gratified the sexual passion till he was seventeen years of age.
There was, in the neighborhood of Bethlehem, Connecticut, a girl of eighteen years, named Adelaide King.
Burr, who appears to have had some concern to the subject of religion about the time he left college, and some months afterwards, called upon Rev. Dr. Bellamy, who lived at Bethlehem. This was in the autumn of 1773, and there he first saw Adelaide King.
Adelaide had not had the advantage of a strict or a genteel education. Her father was a man of taste, but he paid little attention to his family, and the mother and child may be said to have run wild, and to have paid little attention to appearances. Perhaps it was for that very reason that Adelaide drew the attention of Aaron Burr. Her total want of affection, united to extreme beauty, both of form and feature, and the most soft and feminine manners, combined with the brusque style of the "Nose" school, interested him exceedingly.
There was some thing so original in a beautiful, tender-hearted girl, expressing brilliant sentiments in the unadorned and unaffected manner of the lower orders, with the occasional use of a slang phrase in musical tones, and coming from the sweetest lips that were ever formed, that Burr listened to the conversation as if it had been the tone of an angel's lyre.
Careless of her dress, she was yet cleanly, and appeared to Burr more engaging in her village bonnet and checked apron, tripping on ​on the green, than the ladies of refinement whom he had known, attired in "silks and satins new."
With a small waist, Adelaide had rounded, voluptuous hips, full calves, and a small foot. Her limbs were, indeed, models for the statuary. Her eyes were blue, and peculiarly expressive. A kind and gentle heart manifested itself in all that she said and did; though there was no mawkish sensibility, no pretension to feeling, nor, indeed, pretension of any kind.
While with one ear Burr listened to the ghostly teachings of his reverend friend, the other was open to the harmonious tones of the entrancing Adelaide. It would appear that the latter carried the day. The priestly divine was no match for the divine Adelaide, who so fired the imagination of young Burr, that he could think of little else during the latter part of his sojourn in Bethlehem.
Burr had become acquainted with Adelaide King, at the parties of the young, which were then held with little regard to precedence. Nearly all classes mingled in the dance, the ring-play, and the corn-husking. It is true that Burr was not expected to form acquaintance among the common people; but having seen Adelaide at church, he made the necessary inquires, and found that she might be met with once or twice a week at the parties.
It does not appear that Adelaide observed the young student till he met her at the house of a Mrs. Lewis, who had several daughters of her own. Though she must have met him sometimes in the road, he did not particularly attract her attention. Perhaps this may be accounted for by the fact that Burr's appearance was that of one of the members of the upper class, and Adelaide was not troubled with worldly ambition. She seemed satisfied in her humble sphere. Besides this, Burr was small in stature and in frame, and women generally notice men of larger growth.
No sooner, however, had Burr addressed her at the house of Mrs. Lewis, and shown by word and looks that he admired her, than Adelaide became fully sensible of the honor done her.
The Misses Lewis had given a party, and as young men dropped in on such occasions, without waiting for "an invite," Burr made his appearance among the rest.
The girls, generally, knew Burr by sight, as young man of wealth and talent cannot make his debut in a country village without occasioning a flutter among the gentle sex.
When Burr entered the room, every eye was turned upon him. The plays partially ceased, and there were earnest whisperings among the pretty girls for some minutes.
Finally, however, the ring-play went forward again with spirit. A ring is formed by the company, who pass around two or three lads or ​lasses in the centre, singing some popular song. At the conclusion of the singing, those in the centre choose partners from the ring, when they kiss, and the latter then take their places in the centre, and choose in turn. They began to circle around him, singing:
"Come, Philanders, lets be a marching, Every one speaks from his heart-string, Choose your true-love, now or never, And see that you do not choose any other!"
The eyes of the girls glistened as they were turned towards young Burr, each one hoping to be selected by the "gentleman," but they were not left long in suspense.
Reaching forth his hand, Burr seized that of Adelaide King, and drawing the beautiful girl to him, he pressed her plump bosom forcibly to his own, and inflicted a dozen kisses on her dainty red lips.
As soon as Burr left her to take his place in the ring, Adelaide blushed deeply, cast down her eyes, and sighed. It was evident that the honor of being chosen by Burr was wholly unexpected by the young beauty, while the ardor with which he embraced her, testified to the peculiar admiration with which she had inspired him.
This choice was unexpected by Adelaide, because she did not know how beautiful she was, and because there were other girls present, whose fathers owned large farms, and who felt themselves above her. She had supposed that young Burr would, at least prefer the wealthiest people in the village, where all were below him in social position. But the fact was, that Burr could perceive little difference between villagers, save in beauty and intelligence. Those who possessed the largest farms, were sometimes the most deficient in those qualifications.
The plays continued till three o'clock in the morning, and often did Burr lead Adelaide into the centre of the ring, and inhale the sweetness of her virgin charms, though he sometimes choose others for the sake of appearances.
Between the plays, Aaron continued to place himself by the side of Adelaide, and found a singular charm in her conversation, and the untaught grace of her manners.
"How exceedingly white and pretty your hands are!" said he. "Can it be possible that you do any kind of work?"
"I spin, sir, and I card wool," returned she, looking down at the hand which he had extolled, and turning them over for examination, as if she had never before observed any thing peculiar about them; "and I wash, and husk corn, and do many other kinds of work, sir. But," added she, smiling, and exhibiting as she did so the loveliest pearls, "some say that women's work isn't nothing; but it's so constant!"
​"Constant! Yes, that's natural," returned he, "for constancy is a great virtue in a woman."
"Oh, yes, constancy is very good, but that is very different from constant work."
"But constancy leads to constant work, sometimes, I should think," said Burr, laughing.
"Yes, sir, when they get married. Though we all work in the country."
"Who do you think is the prettiest girl in the room?" said Burr.
"Penelope Shattuch has that name—the girl in the pink frock yonder, talking to the tall young gentleman."
"What, she! Why, her form is not much."
"I don't know. Here they say that beauty consists in black eyes, red cheeks, and a slim figure."
Burr burst forth into shouts of laughter, which quite astonished Adelaide.
"My own sweet seraph!" cried he, "there's not a girl in the room who can compare with yourself, and you have neither black eyes, red cheeks, nor a slim—ah! yes, you have a small waist undoubtedly, but otherwise you are full; with the most enchanting bust that nature ever fashioned."
"You think so, sir? I don't think that I am handsome."
"Then you pronounce me no judge of beauty! I hope that you err on that head, at least."
"Oh, no, I wouldn't be willing to tell any gentleman that he is no judge of beauty—"
"Ay, ay, I understand. You only think that I am fond of deceiving and flattering the ladies—of speaking what I do not think."
"Oh, no, by no means. Not that, but—"
"But what? Why do you pause?"
Well, I don't know—only, I never was called handsome."
"Then it is high time that you were. Many homely girls have been told that they were handsome, and it is a hard case if one so beautiful as you must never hear the truth."
By this kind of conversation with Adelaide, Burr made more progress than he was aware of, for Adelaide was not one of those girls who are easily led to express their feelings; nor was she ready to believe that Burr was in love with her.
It was enough that she soon knew she was in love with him, whether he was sincere in his profession of admiration for her or not.
This, then, was the first love adventure in which Aaron Burr was engaged. He was seventeen years old at the time.
Long years have passed since then, and long years had passed at the time of Burr's death on Staten Island, since Adelaide King had been ​consigned to the old grave-yard of Bethlehem. Yet Burr never could hear the mention of her name without emotion. There was something so real, so devoted in the love of Adelaide for Burr, that he never could think of her without a pang, even after so many others had been added to the list of his conquests.
It was down in a green lane, some half a mile from the village church of Bethlehem, in a valley of palms and daisies, that Adelaide King yielded up her virgin purity to the importunities of her lover. The very spot has been pointed out to us more than once.
There, with the beautiful and tender Adelaide in his arms, Burr quaffed the sweetest joys ever vouchsafed to man, while the glorious form of Adelaide was thrilled with raptures that she had never before imagined.
Again and again did they rush into each other's arms, till nature was exhausted, when they parted with one long-continued kiss.
"Dear Adelaide, for ever dear, we shall meet again."
"Yes, Aaron, beloved of my soul, we shall yet be happy. You will return soon?"
Thus did the lovers separate, she to return to the roof of her parents, and he to repair to New Jersey, where he took up his residence with his brother-in-law, Tappan Reeve.
There was evidently a correspondence kept up, for a short time, between Aaron Burr and Adelaide King, after the return of the former to New Jersey.
It gradually languished on the part of Burr, and Adelaide, doubtless warned by the tenor to his letters, soon gave up all hopes of seeing him again. The following appears to be her last letter:
"Dear Aaron: You say truly that the opinion of the world must be consulted in many of our most important actions. Had I consulted that, instead of my devotion to you, I should not now be in a way to become a mother, but not a wife. Should the poor little creature live, who is now bounding in my bosom, as if it knew I was writing to its father, may Heaven shield it from the disgrace which will be heaped upon its mother as soon as it is born. But you love me no more, and I need not write again. Farewell, Aaron! I shall trouble nobody long.A.K."
Her words were prophetic. The child was born, and Adelaide was turned out of the house by her parents. She did not let Burr know this fact, but took refuge with her child in the alms-house among the "town poor." There she was kindly treated by Mrs. Armstrong, who had charge of the poor at that time, but grief and anxiety for the fate of her child brought on a fever, which carried her off in a few days. Her child survived her only a week.
​Burr knew nothing of these things, but was waiting to hear from Adelaide, that he might send her money. At the same time, he had never dreamed that her parents would turn her away from her home. The parents knew not who was the father of the child, as Adelaide had never mentioned the name of Burr.
When, at length, Burr learned the fate of Adelaide King, he was thunderstruck. Though he kept his own secret, except that he imparted it to his friend Ogden, and one or two other intimates, yet there was observed in him a change about the time of this tradgey tragedy . His ardor in the pursuit of the fair sex did not at all diminish: his happy experience with Adelaide, led him to desire the society of the opposite sex, though he had never thought of returning to the gentle maid of Bethlehem, because he was in no haste to marry. Still she dwelt in his thoughts, and he could never think of her without a sigh of regret; and when he heard of her death, it affected him deeply, and wove into all his after life a dark thread, which gave a sombre tint to the whole tissue.
This was, however, a great secret hidden from his wife; and when, long afterwards, Burr had become a noted warrior and politician, on the isle of la Belle Riviere, where Mrs. Blennerhassett surprised him in a deep reverie, and asked him what sad memories engaged his attention, he immediately replied:
"The Babe of Bethlehem!"
To this the lady replied that she was glad to find his mind so devoutly employed.
He smiled mysteriously, and said, with a deep sigh:
"But it is I who suffer the crucifixion." Mrs. Blennerhassett often related this anecdote as an evidence that Burr was capable of religious impressions. Alas! had she seen the following scrap, found in an old volume of Plutarch's Lives, she would never have given currency to so great an improbability:
There came in the twilight gloaming, A mournful cadence o'er the lea: 'Poor branded Cain, where art thou roaming?' A plaintiff voice saith unto me.
"Is it thy voice comes through the glade, And is't thy voice so softly sighing, The mournful tones of Adelaide, And her poor, houseless infant dying?
"Those distant recollections fade, And can I still be aught to them? The young and beautiful betrayed, And her poor babe of Bethlehem!
"Oh! wander on, thou lonely man, Through the thickets—
​Here the manuscript broke suddenly off, and the paper was also blotted, as if the writer had relinquished the idea of finishing the piece, and thrown it aside. It suffers, however, to explain the meaning of Burr's reply to Mrs. Blennerhassett.
It was not Bethlehem of Judea, but Bethlehem of Connecticut, the residence of Rev. Dr. Bellamy, to which Col. Burr alluded.
We write thus to show that Burr, though a reckless seducer of female virtue, was deeply sensible of the worth and devotion of Adelaide King, the beautiful maid of Bethlehem.