University of Virginia Library

LETTER XXI.
HARRIOT to MYRA.

We arrived here in safety, but our
journey is not without incident—an incident
which exhibits a melancholy picture of the
wickedness and depravity of the human
heart.

WHEN we came to the house of Mrs. Martin,
who, I suppose you know is cousin to
Mrs. Francis, we were not a little astonished
at the evident traces of distress in her countenance;
all her actions were accompanied
with an air of solemnity, and her former
gaiety of heart was exchanged for sad, serious
thoughtfulness: She, however, put on
a face of vivacity upon our being introduced,
but her cheerfulness was foreign to the feelings
of her heart.

MR. Martin was equally agitated; he endeavoured
to dispossess himself of an uncommon
weight of remorse, but in vain—all his
dissimulation could not conceal his emotion,
nor his art abate the continual upbradings of,
conscious guilt.

MRS. Francis was anxious to enquire the
cause of this extraordinary change, but wifely
forebore adding to the distress of her
friend, by desiring her to explain it, in a
manner too precipitate. She was in a short
time made acquainted with the particulars
of the story—which is not more melanoholy
than uncommon.

SOMETIME after the marriage of Martin,
the beautiful Ophelia, sister to Mrs. Martin,
returned from an European visit, to her
friends in Rhodeisland. Upon her arrival,
she received a polite offer from her ſhe">she received a polite offer from her brother-in-law
of an elegant apartment at his house in
town, which was cheerfully accepted—Fatal
acceptation! He had conceived a passion for
Ophelia and was plotting to gratify it. By

a series of the most artful attentions, suggested
by a diabolical appetite, he insinuated
himself into her affection—he prevailed upon
the heart of the unsuspicious Ophelia, and
triumphed over her innocence and virtue.

THIS incestuous connexion has secretly
subsisted until the present time—it was interrupted
by a symptom which rendered it
necessary for Ophelia to retire into the country,
where she was delivered of a child, at
once the son and nephew of Martin.

THIS event was a severe mortification to
the proud spirit of Shepherd, the father of
Ophelia. His resentment to his daughter
was implacable, and his revenge of the injury
from Martin not to be satiated The
blaze of family dispute raged with unquenchable

fury—and poor Ophelia received other
punishment from the hand of a vindictive
father than bare recrimination.

THE affection of Martin now became
changed to the vilest hatred.

THUS doomed to suffer the blackest ingratitude
from her seducer on the one hand,
and to experience the feverity of paternal vengeance
on the other—and before her the gloomy
prospect of a blasted reputation—what
must be the situation of the hapless Ophelia!
Hope, the last resort of the wretched, was
forever shut out. There was no one whom
she durst implore by the tender name of father,
and he who had seduced her from her
duty and her virtue, was the first to brand her
with the disgraceful epithets, of undutiful
and unchaste.

PERHAPS it was only at this time, that
she became fully sensible of her danger; the
flattery and dissimulation of Martin might
have banished the idea of detection, and glossed
over that of criminality; but now she
awoke from her dream of insensibility, she
was like one who had been deluded by an
ignis fatuus to the brink of a precipice, and
there abandoned to his reflection to contemplate
the horrours of the sea beneath him,
into which he was about to plunge.

WHETHER from the promises of Martin,
or the flattery of her own fancy, is unknown,
but it is said she expected to become his wife,
and made use of many expedients to obtain
a divorcement of Martin from her sister:
But this is the breath of rumour. Allowing

it to be truth, it appears to be the last
attempt of despair; for such unnatural exertions,
with the compuction attending them,
represent a gloomy picture of the struggle between
sisterly affection and declining honour.
They however proved unavailable,
and her efforts to that end, may with propriety
be deemed a wretched subterfuge.

IN the mean while the rage of Shepherd
was augmenting. Time, instead of allaying,
kindled the flame of revenge in the
breast of the old man. A sense of the
wounded honour of his family, became
every day more exquisite; he resolved to
call a meeting of the parties, in which the
whole mystery should be developed—that
Ophelia should confront her feducer, and a

thorough enquiry and explication he
brought about.

OPHELIA exercised all her powers to prevent
it; she intreated her father to consent
to her desire, but her tears and intreaties
were vain. To this earnest desire of his
daughter, Shepherd opposed the honour of
his family. She replied that such a procedure
would publish its disgrace and be subversive
of his intention: That she hoped to
live retired from the world, and it was in
his power to accept her happy repentance:
In extenuating, she wished not to vindicate
her errours, but declared herself to be penetrated
with a melancholy sense of her misconduct,
and hoped her penitence might expiate
her guilt: She now beheld in the mosglaring

colours, the dangers to which she had
been exposed, and acknowledged the effects
of her temerity had impressed her mind with
sincere contrition: All persons, continued
she, are not blest with the like happiness of
resisting temptation; she intreated her father,
therefore, to believe her missortunes
proceeded from credulity and not from an
abandoned principle—that they arose more
from situation than a depraved heart: In
asking to be restored to the favour and protection
of a parent, she protested she was not
influenced by any other motive, than a wish
to demonstrate the sincerity of her repentance,
and to establish the peace and harmony
of the family.

OPHELIA now became melancholy, and
her intentions visibly bent on the manner of
her death. As the time drew nigh, her sensibility
became more exquifite: What was
before distress, she now averred to be horrour:
Her conduct bordered upon insanity.

THE day was appointed to bring to a settlement
this unhappy business—the time of
hearing arrived—the parties met—the presence
of Ophelia was necessary—she was missing—the
unfortunate Ophelia died by her
own hand.

MRS. Shepherd entered the apartment of
her daughter—she beheld her pale and trembling
—she saw the vial, and the cup with the
remains of the poison—she embraced her

lost child—“My Ophelia! my daughter!
return—return to life.”

AT this crisis entered the father—he was
mute—he beheld his daughter struggling
with the pangs of dissolution—he was dumb
with grief and astonishment.

THE dying Ophelia was conscious of the
distress of her parents, and of her own situation
—she clasped her mother's hand, and
raising her eye to heaven, was only heard to
articulate “let my crime be forgotten
with my name.—O fatal! fatal
poison!”

ADIEU! my dear Myra—this unhappy affair
has worked me into a fit of melancholy.
I can write no more. I will give you a few
particulars in my next. It is impossible to

behold the effects of this horrid catastrophe
and not be impressed with feelings of sympathetick
sorrow.