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—
