e plan to
attain my liberty, they heard a loud rap at the door, which Lucy running
to open, she met the bleeding body of her brother, borne in by two men
who had lifted him from a litter, on which they had brought him from
the place where he fought. Her poor mother, weakened by illness and the
struggles of the preceding night, was not able to support this shock;
gasping for breath, her looks wild and haggard, she reached the
apartment where they had carried her dying son. She knelt by the bed
side; and taking his cold hand, 'my poor boy,' said she, 'I will not be
parted from thee: husband! son! both at once lost. Father of mercies,
spare me!' She fell into a strong convulsion, and expired in about two
hours. In the mean time, a surgeon had dressed George's wounds; but they
were in such a situation as to bar the smallest hopes of recovery. He
never was sensible from the time he was brought home, and died that
evening in the arms of his sister.

"Late as it was when this event took place, my affectionate Lucy
insisted on coming to me. 'What must he feel,' said she, 'at our
apparent neglect, and how shall I inform him of the afflictions with
which it has pleased heaven to visit us?'

"She left the care of the dear departed ones to some neighbours who
had kindly come in to comfort and assist her; and on entering the house
where I was confined, found me in the situation I have mentioned.

"How she supported herself in these trying moments, I know not: heaven,
no doubt, was with her; and her anxiety to preserve the life of one
parent in some measure abated her affliction for the loss of the other.

"My circumstances were greatly embarrassed, my acquaintance few,
and those few utterly unable to assist me. When my wife and son were
committed to their kindred earth, my creditors seized my house and
furniture, which not being sufficient to discharge all their demands,
detainers were lodged against me. No friend stepped forward to my
relief; from the grave of her mother, my beloved Lucy followed an almost
dying father to this melancholy place.

"Here we have been nearly a year and a half. My half-pay I have given
up to satisfy my creditors, and my child supports me by her industry:
sometimes by fine needlework, sometimes by painting. She leaves me
every night, and goes to a lodging near the bridge; but returns in
the morning, to cheer me with her smiles, and bless me by her duteous
affection. A lady once offered her an asylum