Lucy (Chapter_20)

"We made quite sartin, when he came to our help, that we should make no bones about taking Lord Cornwallis, and reckon'd mightily on the fine things and heaps of riches we should get at Cambden. But dear me, the set-out wrong from the very first offset--instead of leading us poor famish'd cretuns, as our { ?} militia were, through the lower country, where we should have lived on the fat of the land, and had rice, and bacon, and liquor to throw away, no, no, --for all master, and all the officers told him how it would be, he would take his way through the upper country, which was nothing but a pine-barren that the torries had over-ran and laid waste, and where the poor cretun that remain'd was all but starving themselves,--he would march that rout, "because says he its the shortest, and I will surprise and cut off Cornwallis, before he knows I be near him." But sure enough the longest way round, is--the shortest way home, and so

he would have found it--For there we were kept wandering, without shoes, or clothes, or food, or drink; every day leaving dozens of our men on the ground, to perish through starvation. and when we did come to a house, or a field of corn, the poor fathers and mothers and children would go down on their knees, praying and beseeching us not to rob them of the little the Brittish and torries had left. but nice pity has no law, us masters used to say, and so our men would fall to, and before you could think it possible, the corn field would be as bare as the back of my hand, for what the men left, the horses eat--and the house would be turn'd inside out, and not a bit of bread, a handful of meal, or a rasher of bacon did we leave--and the cows and horses and pigs, we had to drive along with us, when we found any--which was not often--and then we used to meet such sights of poor famished wretches in the woods, whose houses had been burnt, ---clothes to their backs--and not a crumb, but acorns--- (Page torn here at corner)

"oh that then hadst never revived", said she looking at her child, "oh that I had died, and that we were now, precious babe in the cold grave, from which this cruel woman saved us, [was all she could say, or rather think, as she wept in agony over her child.] Thou art my all, yes,-sweet creature, my all--for no mother, no father, no William, has poor Lucy now." when thou art gone--all, will be gone, --nothing left,--but the load of life.--and a heavy and weary load will it be to me. Sweet would it have been my child, to have lived, to have worked for thee, tho' not another being in the wide world cared for thy wretched mother!--and must thou go my child--my child? --[The good natur'd Hannah came in and brought some dinner. ["Come missey," said she,"give me the baby, while you eat a morsel" [Lucy shook her head, and refused to part with the child--"a few, a few more hours, said she and these arms shall enfold him no longer, let me then have him while I can." ["But missey, you need'nt take on so, all are as if he was going to be killed.--Law why rich people don't think nothing of it, sure I knows many a Madam, that puts her child out to

puts her child out to nurse, and with people not half so good, as these 'sylum people be. Law Missey you've no notion what good ladies they be: my old mistress is one of 'em, and I am sure and sartin dear little William will be better looked ater, than if you keep't him yourself." [Lucy, eagerly listen'd to what Hannah could tell her about the orphan asylum, and was much comforted by her assurances of its safety. ["To be sure Missey, it does no good to grieve for what can't be help'd. Many's the poor soul has come by the mishap you have, and worse too, so cheer up Missy don't be so down-hearted, I will step myself a' times and look after our little boy--So, missey cheer up, and when it is dark, I will come and take him and stay by, till I see little Master safe housed." "When it is dark," said Lucy, looking at the window to see how high the sun was--She felt oppress'd, she could scarcely breathe, and hoping the air would revive her, she wrapped her child in its blanket and drawing her shawl

her, she walked out in the garden--[At one end was a summer-house, thither she went, and seating herself so that she could see the sun, sat down on a bench to watch its rapid course. Poor Lucy--she thought she could have breath'd freer in the open air!--but the same heavy load still weight'd upon her heart.--{It was one of those delicious days in early spring, when a genial warmth pervades all nature; loosens the bonds of winter, and lets free the long imprison'd spirit of life to revive and gladden creation. The balmy softness, crept thro' every vein, relaced every sinew, thrill'd through every fibre, and melted the whole soul. Soft fleecy clouds floated over the clear blue sky, and shaded with out concealing the brightness of the sun. The sparrow hopped from spray to spray the robin found forth his sweet and mellow strains--the violet and snowdrops peeped forth from their lowly shelter; the sun was bright--the earth was