One so peaceable, that she will not quarrel with you for your barbarity to her son. I am not yet at home,” added he with more cheerfulness, “therefore not yet _tongue-tied_; but permit me to assure you, that Philip Flint is not undeserving of your good opinion, though he may be too presumptuous in his hopes. I have, however, nothing to do with this affair,” continued he; “having from his cradle strictly adhered to one rule of conduct, namely, that of leaving him to his tender mother’s care, and the direction of his more immediate connections. Happily his education has not been neglected. But I was unequal to the duties of a father, even to _my own Malcolm_.” His poor head mechanically sunk, and he took, greedily, three or four pinches of Scotch snuff. We finished by settling the hour of our departure; for I found he wished to leave London. My next letter shall place before you more particularly this _interesting_ Sir Murdock Maclairn, the originality of whose person and manners has so powerfully excited my compassion and curiosity, that I cannot but bless fortune for throwing him in my way. He is no common character, Lucy; and the peculiar sadness which from moment to moment pervades his countenance, is to me inexpressibly touching. I should have detested a stupid laughing face for _le compagnon du voyage_, that conveyed me from _my Heathcot_; and as the next best thing to being happy oneself, is making others so, I forgot in my endeavours to make Sir Murdock comfortable that every milestone was to me a _memento mori_. It is yet rather problematical, whether I shall like his lady as well as I do him. But I know not how it happens, that I am less disposed to fall in love with my own sex than with the other. I have loved, dearly loved, men old enough for my _great-great_-grand-father, but rarely have I been attached to _old ladies_. Must we acknowledge the truth, Lucy? We may as well; the poet has spoken it: “most women have no characters at all.” So farewell, and be sure to love even the follies of your own Rachel Cowley, for they are not borrowed, at least, my dear girl. Supply for me kind words to Sedley. LETTER III. _From the same to the same._ Your father’s wisdom in hurrying you away to Barton-lodge, instead of permitting you to remain at Heathcot, like another Niobe, dissolving in tears, is so like him, that it neither surprises me nor Mrs. Allen; and if the cheerful mistress of the most cheerful mansion contentment ever found, cannot comfort you, I shall be angry and chide my Lucy.