LETTER XLIV.
Harrington to Worthy.
Boston.
ALL my airy schemes of love and happiness are vanished like a dream. Read this, and pity your unfortunate friend.
To Mr. T. Harrington:
“SIR,
“YOU are about to marry a young lady of great beauty and accomplishments—I beg you to bestow a few serious thoughts on this important business—Let me claim your attention, while I disclose an affair, which materially concerns you—Harriot must not be your wife—You know your father is averse to your early connecting yourself in marriage with any woman—The duty we owe a parent is sacred, but this is not the only barrier to your marriage—the ties of consanguinity prevent it—She is your SISTER—Your father, or Miss Harrington, will inform you more particularly—It is sufficient for me to have hinted it in time.—I am, with the most perfect esteem, and sincere wishes for your happiness, your
“Unknown friend, &c.”
(In continuation.)
THE gloom of melancholy in the faces of the family but too well corroborated this intelligence—so I asked no questions—they read in my countenance that I had received the letter, and my sister put into my hand The History of Maria.—I concealed my emotion while I read the account—“It is a pitiful tale,” said I, as I returned it—and walked out of the room to give vent to the agitation of my heart.
I HAVE not yet seen Harriot—Myra has run to greet her with the new title of sister. Adieu! my friend—little happiness is left for me in this world.