_Worthy_ to Mrs. _Holmes_.
_Boston._
I ARRIVED in town last evening—you desire me to write you a
statement of affairs as I should find them here—and of my marriage with
the amiable _Myra_—I promised to obey—but how little do we know of the
termination or consequences of the most probable event!
I SAW my beloved—her eyes were yet heavy and smarting with weeping for
the death of _Harriot_—and this, once the house of joy and cheerfulness,
is turned into the house of mourning. My unfortunate friend had just
then fallen into a calm sleep, and it was impossible to see him—it was
what I very much desired—but it was the wish of the family that I should
desist for the present—he had not slept the evening before—he had been
heard walking across his chamber all the night, with little
intermission, oftentimes talking to himself in a passionate tone of
voice.
THIS melancholy account deeply affected me—and I parted from my beloved,
praying Heaven to give her consolation, and to be the support of my
disordered friend.
IT is with difficulty I bring myself to the serious and the painful
employment of being the informer of unwelcome tidings—my heart feels the
wound—vainly it tells me my friend is no more—my hand reluctantly
traces—my friend—my _Harrington_ is no more.
EARLY this morning I was surprised with a visit, from a gentleman, whom
I had formerly seen at _Myra’s_—it was the same neighbour who informed
_Harrington_ of his affinity to _Harriot_—he found a difficulty in his
utterance—he told me, with trembling lips, my young friend _Harrington_
was dead—“He has killed himself,” said I—he asked me if I had heard the
news—I told him my heart presaged it.
WHEN any uncommon event happens to us, we often have a presentiment of
it—The circumstances of his death are these:—At midnight the gentleman
heard the report of the pistol, and went into the house—he found the
unhappy youth wheltering in his blood—few signs of life remained—the
ball had entered his brain—the surgeon came, but in a few hours he was
cold. A few friends were requested to attend—and this gentleman had
called upon me, by desire of _Myra_.
IT is impossible to describe the distress of the family and connexions—I
shall leave it to your imagination.
A LETTER that he had written for me, laid unsealed upon the table, and
_The Sorrows of Werter_ was found lying by his side. I send you the
letter—it appears to have been written at intervals, and expresses the
disorder and agitation of his mind.
Adieu!