THANKS to the power of imagination for our fanciful interview. Methought I somewhere unexpectedly met you—but I was soon undeceived of my imaginary happiness, and I awoke, repeating these verses:— THOUGH sleep her sable pinions spread, My thoughts still run on you; And visions hovering o’er my head, Present you to my view. By FANCY’S magick pencil drest, I saw my DELIA move; I clasp’d her to my anxious breast, With TEARS of joy and love. Methought she said—“Why thus forlorn?— Be all thy care resign’d:”— I ’woke and found my DELIA gone, But still the TEAR behind. LETTER XXI. _Harriot_ to _Myra_. _Rhodeisland._ 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 upbraidings of conscious guilt. MRS. _Francis_ was anxious to enquire the cause of this extraordinary change, but wisely 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 melancholy than uncommon. SOMETIME after the marriage of _Martin_, the beautiful _Ophelia_, sister to Mrs. _Martin_, returned from a European visit to her friends in _Rhodeisland_. Upon her arrival, she received a polite offer from her brother-in-law of an elegant apartment of 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 connection 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_.