_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.