I HAVE just left _Harriot_—but how have I left her? In tears. I wish I had not gone. Mrs. _Francis_ had intrusted _Harriot_ with some trifling commission—It was not done—she had not had time to perform it. _Harriot_ was reprimanded—Yes! by Heaven—this Mrs. _Francis_ had the insolence to reprimand _Harriot_ in my presence—I was mortified—I walked to the window—my heart was on fire—my blood boiled in my veins—it is impossible to form an idea of the disorder of my nerves—_Harriot’s_ were equally agitated—Mrs. _Francis_ saw our confusion and retired—she left me so completely out of temper that I was forced to follow her example. I kissed away the tear from the cheek of _Harriot_ and withdrew to my chamber. HERE let me forget what has passed—my irritability will not permit me—my feelings are too easily set in motion to enjoy long quietness—my nerves are delicately strung; they are now out of tune, and it is a hard matter to harmonize them. I FEEL _that I have a soul_—and every man of sensibility feels it within himself. I will relate a circumstance I met with in my late travels through _Southcarolina_—I was always susceptible of _touches of nature_. I HAD often remarked a female slave pass by my window to a spring to fetch water. She had something in her air superior to those of her situation—a fire that the damps of slavery had not extinguished. AS I was one day walking behind her, the wind blew her tattered handkerchief from her neck and exposed it to my sight. I asked her the cause of the scar on her shoulder. She answered composedly, and with an earnestness that proved she was not ashamed to declare it—“It is the mark of the whip,” said she, and went on with the history of it, without my desiring her to proceed—“My boy, of about ten years old, was unlucky enough to break a glass tumbler—this crime was immediately looked into—I trembled for the fate of my child, and was thought to be guilty. I did not deny the charge, and was tied up. My former good character availed nothing. Under every affliction, we may receive consolation; and during the smart of the whip, I rejoiced—because I shielded with my body the lash from my child; and I rendered thanks to the Best of Beings that I was allowed to suffer for him.” “HEROICALLY spoken!” said I, “may He whom you call the Best of Beings continue you in the same sentiments—may thy soul be ever disposed to SYMPATHIZE with thy children, and with thy brethren and sisters in calamity—then shalt thou feel every circumstance of thy life afford the satisfaction; and repining and melancholy shall fly from thy bosom—all thy labours will become easy—all thy burdens light, and the yoke of slavery will never gall thy neck.”