"One day, shortly after Philip's removal to the university at Edinburgh, whither he was sent to finish his studies, I found my mother in the garden in an agony of tears; and on my urging her to tell me what had so affected her, she informed me, that Mr. Flamall had been talking to her of the _absolute necessity_ of placing my father in a private mad-house near Durham; insisting upon it, that her indulgence was pernicious and would render him incurable. 'I have told Lucretia,' added she, 'that I wish to be any where, rather than be a burden to her, or further exposed to my brother's unfeeling advice in a business with which he has nothing to do. She has generously resented this conduct of your uncle's, and they have had a very serious quarrel; but it will be settled, as most are, at my expence!'--'But is there no place of refuge for us,' asked I with resentment, 'but a mad-house? Even _that_ or a gaol would be a paradise to me, could we call our cell our own. Let us leave this house; my industry'----She prevented my proceeding, by saying with solemnity, '_I cannot, Malcolm!_' Miss Flint is not weary of me; and she only can break the chains that keep me under this roof. Your father has comforts here. She wishes him to have an asylum in her house. You know not this woman; I do: and I know also, that my brother is jealous of her affection for me. To this meanness, I attribute the barbarity of his advice this morning, and the inhumanity with which he urged me to remove the '_maniac_' where he would be '_properly treated_.' Miss Flint's appearance with Mr. Flamall, still more disconcerted me. She asked me what was the matter, and whether my mother was ill. 'I understand, Madam,' answered I, 'that Mr. Flamall's project had been communicated to you, as well as it is now to me. But,' added I, fixing my indignant eyes on the stately gentleman, 'my mother will soon be better: I have convinced her, that a more equitable judgment and skill than any _here_, must pronounce my father a lunatic, before even his _wife_ has the right of confining him to a mad-house. Sir Murdock Maclairn needs neither a cell nor the strait waistcoat.' My uncle aimed a blow at my head with a stout cudgel he had in his hand, by way of reply to my observation; and the first and only favour I have to acknowledge to Miss Flint, was probably, saving me from a fractured skull, for the weapon was heavy and knobbed. She not only warded off the stroke, but with amazing strength held his arms. I smiled with contempt at his fury. 'Your mode of attack,' said I with cool scorn, 'is consistent with yourself; but remember I _am Maclairn's son_ for the future, and that I am not enfeebled by sickness, nor mad. I fear you not; for I despise you.' My poor mother franticly implored me to retire: I was deaf to her intreaties. Miss Flint's rhetoric and amazonian power prevailed. She dragged Mr. Flamall from the spot, foaming with rage, and bestowing his maledictions, instead of his cudgel, on my head.