hour and then return; you may want me as a physician.” To the hasty perusal of them, followed my thanks to Providence for the absence of Sir Murdoch; and without suffering the energy of my mind to relax, I sent for Lady Maclairn to my room. She instantly perceived my emotion, and I at once acknowledged that I had bad news to communicate from Jamaica; and which Captain Flint was unequal to the task of doing. She gasped for breath. “Nothing can equal,” continued I, “Mr. Philip Flint’s solicitude for you, thank God! he has stood the shock: his friends are without alarm for him. Mr. Flamall’s death must be supported, my dear Lady Maclairn; let me see you composed.” “It was sudden?” said she, fixing her eyes on my face, “It was——I made no other answer, than falling on her shoulder and weeping.” “It is enough,” said she, trembling and sinking from my embrace. I was terrified, for she did not faint as I expected, but with her eyes fixed, and with a deadly groan she articulated the name of Duncan. I immediately perceived the dreadful idea, which had taken possession of her mind. “He is at rest, my dear friend,” said I, “and now blessed for his faithfulness to you.” I was proceeding, but she heard me not. Horror had transfixed her to her seat. She was as cold as marble, and not a tear fell. I rang the bell with violence. The doctor entered at the same moment; he instantly bled her, and she was put into my bed. Douglass watched her, under great uneasiness, until she appeared to me to be dead. I really thought she was, when her eyes closed and her stiffened limbs relaxed. “Take courage,” said he, “the worst is passed; she will recover.” The event shewed his judgment; for in a few minutes she burst into violent sobbings, and the death-like coldness of her hand gave place to a friendly perspiration. He gave her a cordial; and ordering no one to disturb her by speaking, I was left with her. By his orders, I neither checked her tears, nor evaded her enquiries. I believe, however, that she dosed for some time, as not a sigh escaped her. At length, putting aside the curtain, she spoke, and I approached her. “Angel of mercy and goodness,” said she, kissing my hand, “tell me, has no one seen my distress?” “The servants saw you in a fainting state,” replied I. “But they never saw me so ill I believe,” observed she with anxiety, “Did nothing escape me?” I satisfied her at once on this point, and at her request briefly, and I think wisely, informed her of the leading events contained in the captain’s letters. She wept, and I proceeded. “In this trial of your faith and fortitude,” said I, “it is not possible you can overlook the merciful Being, who has secured Duncan from guilt, by removing him to an abode of peace.” “I cannot express my thankfulness,” replied she, “but I feel the gratitude.—But my wretched lost brother!” She shuddered anew— “He is before an unerring Judge,” replied I, interrupting her. “It neither becomes you nor myself to limit infinite mercy.