Poor Lucy’s sad story was but a common one.  Her lover’s father died; and he was left destitute.  He accepted the offer of a gentleman to go to India with him, feeling secure that he should soon acquire an independence, and return to claim the hand of his beloved.  He became involved in the war carried on there, was taken prisoner, and years elapsed before tidings of his existence were received in his native land.  In the meantime disastrous poverty came on Lucy.  Her little cottage, which stood looking from its trellice, covered with woodbine and jessamine, was burnt down; and the whole of their little property was included in the destruction.  Whither betake them?  By what exertion of industry could Lucy procure them another abode?  Her mother nearly bed-rid, could not survive any extreme of famine-struck poverty.  At this time her other admirer stept forward, and renewed his offer of marriage.  He had saved money, and was going to set up a little inn at Datchet.  There was nothing alluring to Lucy in this offer, except the home it secured to her mother; and she felt more sure of this, since she was struck by the apparent generosity which occasioned the present offer.  She accepted it; thus sacrificing herself for the comfort and welfare of her parent.

It was some years after her marriage that we became acquainted with her.  The accident of a storm caused us to take refuge in the inn, where we witnessed the brutal and quarrelsome behaviour of her husband, and her patient endurance.  Her lot was not a fortunate one.  Her first lover had returned with the hope of making her his own, and met her by accident, for the first time, as the mistress of his country inn, and the wife of another.  He withdrew despairingly to foreign parts; nothing went well with him; at last he enlisted, and came back again wounded and sick, and yet Lucy was debarred from nursing him.  Her husband’s brutal disposition was aggravated by his yielding to the many temptations held out by his situation, and the consequent disarrangement of his affairs.  Fortunately she had no children; but her heart was bound up in her brothers and sisters, and these his avarice and ill temper soon drove from the house; they were dispersed about the country, earning their livelihood with toil and care.  He even shewed an inclination to get rid of her mother—­but Lucy was firm here—­she had sacrificed herself for her; she lived for her —­she would not part with her—­if the mother went, she would also go beg bread for her, die with her, but never desert her.  The presence of Lucy was too necessary in keeping up the order of the house, and in preventing the whole establishment from going to wreck, for him to permit her to leave him.  He yielded the point; but in all accesses of anger, or in his drunken fits, he recurred to the old topic, and stung poor Lucy’s heart by opprobrious epithets bestowed on her parent.