It happened with
the two brothers, as many of us have discovered in other cases, that
their mental and moral make, though seemingly under the same tutorship,
was widely dissimilar. 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.
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