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?"
