That brute, as you very properly call him, is my husband, and was once as kind and affectionate to me as I could wish. Ours was what is called a pure love marriage, for I was born to better circumstances and prospects than, from my present condition and appearance, you may well imagine. (Here the poor woman shed tears, and proceeded.) I was the daughter of a small proprietor in the neighbourhood of Durham, where the Princess of Wales' regiment of Light Dragoons was raised, and was then lying, under the command of Lord Darlington. We--that is to say, my father, my mother, my sister, and myself--used to go frequently into a field adjoining the city, and see this really handsome regiment reviewed, and go through their exercise. One day there was a mock battle represented, in the very field adjoining to my father's house. Several regiments were collected together, from Newcastle and elsewhere, for the purpose. It was to be a great show; and the whole town of Durham, as well as all the country round, were congregated to see the battle. Cannons were fired, charges of cavalry were made, and a detachment of the Darlington troop rode, in pursuit of the supposed enemy, past our door. My father and I were at the upper window when the troop came dashing along, clearing fences and springing over ditches in the finest style imaginable. Just as they came opposite to my father's door, a pig, which had escaped from its confinement in the back-court, dashed headlong forward amongst the feet of the horses. One of the horses fell; and the rider, having pitched on his head, was seemingly killed on the spot. He was immediately carried into our house, and surgical aid was at hand. It was a dislocation of the neck-bone, and was immediately put to rights; but the patient was bled, and ordered to be kept quiet for some days. I naturally became the young gentleman's nurse; for he was the son of a poor but titled family in the neighbourhood of Darlington. Mr Fitzwilliam was a handsome man, about my own age; but he was penniless, and a soldier of fortune. My father, early seeing the danger of my remaining in the way of temptation, had sent me off to a grand house in the neighbourhood of Newcastle. But William Fitzwilliam had won my heart, and, in spite of all watchings and lookings, we were man and wife in less than a fortnight after my departure for Newcastle.