Chapter XLV: 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.