LETTER XLII.
The Hon. Mr. Harrington to the Rev. Mr. Holmes.
Boston.
YOU very well know of my amour with Maria, and that a daughter was the offspring of that illicit connexion—that sixteen years have elapsed since, by your goodness, she has lived with Mrs. Francis, and let me add, daily improving in beauty and every amiable accomplishment—but how shall we be able—how shall we pretend to investigate the great springs by which we are actuated, or account for the operation of SYMPATHY—my son, who has been at home about eight weeks, has accidentally seen her, and to complete THE TRIUMPH OF NATURE—has loved her. He is now even upon the point of marrying—shall I proceed!—of marrying his Sister!—A circumstance seemingly fortuitous has discovered this important affair—I fly to prevent incest—Do not upbraid me with being author of my own misfortunes.—“This comes of your libertinism,” you will say, “this comes of your adultery!”—Spare your reflections, my friend—my heart is monitor enough—I am strangely agitated!
Adieu!
LETTER XLIII.
The Hon. Mr. Harrington to the Rev. Mr. Holmes.
Boston.
MY heart failed me! twenty times have I attempted to break the matter to my son—and twenty times have I returned from the talk—I have a friend to acquaint him how nearly connected he already is with the object of his love. This is a new, and to me a sorrowful instance of the force of SYMPATHY—My grief is insupportable—my affliction is greater than I can bear—it will bring down my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.
Farewel!