The elder Munro, at an early period in life, broke through all restraints--defied all responsibilities--scorned all human consequences--took no pride or pleasure in any of its domestic associations--and was only known as a vicious profligate, with whom nothing might be done in the way of restraint or reformation.

When grown to manhood, he suddenly left his parental home, and went, for a time, no one could say whither.

When heard of, it appeared from all accounts that his licentiousness of habit had not deserted him: still, however, it had not, as had been anticipated, led to any fearful or very pernicious results.

Years passed on, the parents died, and the brothers grew more than ever separate; when, in different and remote communities, they each took wives to themselves.
The younger, Edgar Munro, the father of Lucy, grew prosperous in business--for a season at least--and, until borne down by a rush of unfavorable circumstances, he spared neither pains nor expense in the culture of the young mind of that daughter whose fortunes are now somewhat before us.

Nothing which might tend in the slightest to her personal improvement had been withheld; and the due feminine grace and accomplishment which followed these cares fitted the maiden for the most refined intellectual converse, and for every gentle association.