dared to oppose her remaining, lest it should be thought that she feared her influence might be unfriendly to her son’s interest. I have seen Lady Maclairn’s difficulties from the first hour of my being here,” continued I, “I have seen her miserable on this poor girl’s account; and I am certain she was a stranger to the treatment she has lately undergone.”—“You plead to a partial hearer,” answered he, deeply sighing; “I know that to my Harriot a scene of such violence would have been death. But is it not incomprehensible to you how such a mind as her’s should have retained for this woman an affection so determined and so constant? Why does she persist in living with her? Why subject herself to mortifications and degradations to please her caprice?”—“Lady Maclairn is human;” replied I, with a smile, “she is a mother, and a tender mother; and she may, with justice, expect that her son Philip will be benefited by these sacrifices of her care. Besides these motives, there are others more exalted, which prompt her zeal. What would this woman have been? What would she be without Lady Maclairn? To whom is she indebted for the little humanity which she does shew?”—The baronet appeared silently to acquiesce in my sentiments; but I found he was again withdrawn into his own mind. I, however, found it not difficult to rouse him; for on my observing that poor Lady Maclairn would be anxious for his safety in so chilling an air, he quickened his steps. His wife was indeed anxious! She burst into tears on seeing him, and the interesting Sir Murdock seemed to have no care but that of soothing her distress. “You must listen to Miss Cowley, my Harriot,” said he, “she will teach you to rejoice at the captive’s deliverance.”—“I could and should rejoice,” answered she, “that poor Mary is freed from the hardest of all servitudes, did I not see Lucretia so struck with a sense of her fault and disgrace as to be in danger of her life. She is an unhappy woman,” added she, with emotion, “and I cannot help pitying her.” No reply was made. Mrs. Allen now entered with the coffee, and I found by her report, that in getting Miss Flint to her room, the servants, unable to hold her in her struggles, had let her slip from their arms, and she had hurt her knee very much; she was, however, asleep; the doctor had seen her, and the servants had got a respite. Mary was composed and much better. I retired to my room, and continued to solace my mind by viewing this day of Mary’s emancipation as a happy event. I really considered the horse-whipping part of the business with the stoical indifference of a mail-coach driver, when I contrasted it with the good effects it was likely to produce. In a week Mary may forget the discipline, and all will be well; but I sincerely wish it may lead Miss Flint to consider whether it might not turn to good account to scourge _herself_. Moderate flagellation would neither hurt her temper of body or mind.—But lest you should be induced to think