Lucy (Chapter_05)

in his industry--Little Billy every day became more careful, and often did {anty,granny?} Davis, bless the day that her old man brought her such nice help, and such a kind little {spirit?} as Fanny, who as she grew old and helpless would take her place in the house.

Chapter 5 For here --?--and lost I strayed Then turn to night and freely share With weary steps and __?__ What sir my cell bestows Where wilds immeasureably spread My{ raspy, rushy?}{ coach, couch?} and frugal fare I come lengthening as I _____? Any blessing and repose.

But where all this time, is poor Lucy.--The for whose loss, the mother died, the fathers heart was broken, and the lover }fired?}, where had she found shelter or protection?, if yet she lived!--[On the morning when turned from her father's door, terrified by his curses, she had fled, tho' with trembling steps across the adjoining field, without thought, or design; her first feelings impelling her to get out of hearing of a voice, which till then, she had never heard but in kindness. Soon however her strength fail'd her, and she sank on the ground, leaning against a tree for support, and thought over her wretched condition, and ask'd herself what she was to do? Fain, would she have returned, humbled herself in the dust and implored forgiveness, but her timid nature shrunk from the idea of again seeing the angry face, or hearing the bitter curses of an enraged father. He had {hid, hit?} her never again blast his sight, and she submitted, determining to await some future time, when his anger might be softened by returning love. [To circumscrib'd ] had been her sphere of action, that she knew few of the difficulties, and none of the dangers of life. She recollected that girls of the neighborhood, often went to service in the city, and therefore determined to go there and find some employment.--With this view, after resting for near an hour, she rose to pursue the path, which led across the fields and through the woods to the city, where she had more than once been with her mother to sell the produce of the poultry yard and garden and ---?-purchase articles of cloathing.--She felt though

of the shortcut, as the neighbours called it across the country, and greatly prepared it, to going by the public road, where she feared meeting market-people or travellers.--But the shortcut, proved the longest way round for ---? poor wanderer, who bewilder'd by her own thoughts, paid little attention to the path she took. At first the way was familiar, she enter'd an extensive field of corn [or maize], which grew high above her head, and so close that she could scarcely make her way through the long and rustling leaves, which as she pushed aside before, closed as immediately after her, thus completely concealing her, had the family attempted to seek her here. When she had waded through the plough'd ground, and reach'd the further side of the field, she was again so exhausted as to be obliged to rest.--She climb'd the fence which divided this field from an adjoining wood, and seeking out a spot clear from brambles and bushes, she laid herself down at the foot of a large chestnut-tree with her bundle under her head.--When she look'd up and saw the branches of this venerable tree which had been one of her favorite play-places, from her earliest infancy; saw them loaded with nuts, those autumnal riches, which ever sense she could remember, it had been her delight (and privilege) to gather--What scenes of infantine pleasure, rushed on her mind.--She turn'd to the hollow trunk, and its twisted roots, and thought of the long and happy hours, she and her William had passed within this cavity. [We used to call it our weehouse," said she, "and many's the time when we were caught in the rain, while at work in the field, we have ran here with our dinner and sat snugly in the hollow, while the storm wind would roar among its branches, and the rain pour down in torrents, and we used to be as dry and comfortable as if we were at home--Dear William, used to call it, the Squirrels nest, and say we were two little squirrels--and how he used to leap from branch to branch, and climb to the very top, to gather me the best nuts, and then if cold

evenings in the autumn {fall}, what bright fires we used to make out here, and sat by it laughing and talking while our chestnuts were roasting--Happy, happy--days, are ye gone forever? Oh," continued she with a sigh--"how happily could William and I still live in this hollow? Glad would I be here to lay down my body,--here to be buried. For where can I go? Not even a hollow tree, have I now to shelter me." [But a shelter must be found," and wiping the tears away with a corner of her apron, she took up her bundle, and rose, to continue her journey. She had gone but a few steps, when with an impulse she could not {retrain?} she ran back to her dear tree, and clasping her arms round it, sobbed--nay almost scream'd with agony. "Farewell forever farewell, my William"--she cried, while she tore herself from a spot, where his image dwelt.--Slowly and saly she wander'd on, every tree, every bush, pathway, or rock, recalling some scene of love and happiness. "Alas," sighed she, as approaching a wild stream, which dash'd and foam'd among the rocks, alas, who will now see me if I should fall in?--there is no one now to help me over that old tree, that lies across the stream, and how often have I thought I could not cross it, if William was not there to help me." [And difficult indeed did she find the task. The banks were high, and the old tree which stretch'd across, was grown slippery by {ice ?}.--But we knew not what we can do, until we are tried, and Lucy feeble and trembling as she was, did what she thought she could not do in all the vigour and elasticity of health, and safely reach'd the other side of the riverlet. After long wandering through these woodland paths, and scrambling thro' bushes and briars, she at last emerged from the wood and enter'd on a wide common, or turn'd out field,* bounded by no inclosure, and completely bare except where an old cherry, or apple tree, still survived exposure and neglect, or the Persimmon and sassafras, grew up in beautiful clumps and little groves, and adorn'd the otherwise barren scene, with picturesque beauty.--

* On fringe plantations, after cultivating a piece of land until it is ------------------------------------------[-Cut off ]

{On these ---?---} the ground is cover'd with a short yet fine grass, of the softest texture and brightest green , and in summer affords pasture for hundreds of cows, driven from the city to these verdant hills.--But now, the grass was wither'd, the trees almost leafless, and the wind from which she had been shelter'd in the woods, now was felt in all its force by our weary wanderer. Washington is bound on the North by a range of hills, sometimes bare, sometimes cultivated and often wooded.--They form a verdant wall, at the foot of which the city lies, extending over a space varying from one to two miles, to the Potomac, its southern boundary. 5 lines here crossed out

The ground lying between Pensyvania -Avenue and these hills, is little built on, but exhibits the vestiges of former cultivation, or the remains of a once thick and lofty forest.--The trees have long since been cut down, but from the roots which were left, there has sprung a thick brush-wood, { ?} called the slashes, which covers the greatest part of this waste-space.--Here the poor find a scanty supply of fuel,--the criminal and vagabond, or grave, and the free-negro, as much ground as he chuses to occupy, without title and without price. [Paths made by the wood-gatherers or the sportman traverse these slashes in every direction, where no human habitation meets the eye, but the log-cabin, or mud hovel of some poor negro. [Lucy had reach'd the brow of one of these hills, it was bare and barren; the winds whistled, and the gathering storm darken'd round her.--She cast her eye backwards, towards the home from which she had been driven, and it rose on her memory with all its comforts and its safety.--She bent her eye forwards, and sigh'd at the contrast presented by the dreary waste {at her feet ? which must pass, to reach shelter ]

She stood irresolute and intimidated,--till feeling the large drops of rain, which now began to fall, she cast one "longing, lingering look" behind; then tying her bonnet, closer over her face, and wrapping her shawl tighter round her; she hurried forward to search for a road which led down the hill, past Peter's quarter, into the city. But she had mistaken her way, she could not find the road, and scrambled down the hill, by a precipitous path which led her into the midst of the slashes: here it diverged in every direction, and careless at what part of the city she enter'd, she followed the best beaten track, but this again branched off various ways. This forest shrubbery was in most places higher than her head, and she could not see a hundred steps before her--She was soon lost in the woody labyrinth , and knew not which way to turn her steps.--The rain now pour'd down in torrents, and she was just yielding to dispair, when a few sparks rising upwards, caught her attention. She discern'd something in the dark, which she had taken for the trunk of a tree, but the sparks which rose from it, discover'd it to be a chimney; she bent her way towards it; with little success how ever, till a bright blaze burst forth, and illumin'd the path which led directly towards it.--Cheer'd by the sight she went briskly on, when on turning an abrupt angle, she saw a large fire of { ? }, brightly blazing, in the hearth of an old chimney, projecting from which was a kind of roof, supported by stakes and cover'd with rails and old boards. Under this sat a negro-man, cooking something in a frying pan, over the fire.--There was a wildness in the scene which terrified her--The solitude--the darkness of the night, the red glare of the flames--the loud blasts of the storm--the pelting of the rain, but more than all this negro-man, fill'd her with such horror, that she fell almost senseless to the ground, uttering a deep, convulsive groan--A huge-rough dog, who sat, looking as eagerly on the food, as his master, started at the sound, and ran forward growling, as he reache'd round for the cause of his alarm. When he found Lucy, his loud quick bark, announced some discovery