The hagger’d host bow’d low the head, The MONSTER rose, and thus she said: ‘Ye MINISTERS of VICE, draw near, For fame no longer persevere; No more your various parts disclose, Men SEE, AND HATE YOU ALL AS FOES. One yet remains among your crew, Then rise, SEDUCTION! claim your due. Your baleful presence quickly parts The tie that holds the happiest hearts; You ROB—what WEALTH can ne’er repay; Like JUDAS with a kiss BETRAY: Hence come the starving, trembling train, Who prostitute themselves for gain, Whose languid visages impart A smile, while anguish gnaws the heart; Whose steps decoy unwary youth, From honour, honesty, and truth, Which follow’d ’till to late to mend, In ruin, and the gallows end— Be thine the post. Besides, who knows When all thy consequences close? With thee, SEDUCTION! are ally’d HORROUR, DESPAIR and SUICIDE, You wound—but the DEVOTED heart Feels not alone—the poignant smart: You wound—th’ electrick pain extends To fathers, mothers, sisters, friends. MURDER may yet delight in blood, And deluge round the crimson flood: But sure his merits rank above, Who murders in the mask of love.’ LETTER XXVI. _Myra_ to Mrs. _Holmes_. _Boston._ IN one of my former letters I acquainted you that I suspected my brother to be in love, and now Madam, I am enabled to tell you with whom—the amiable _Harriot_. _Harriot_ attended Mrs. _Francis_ in her journey to _Rhodeisland_, and our young hero has, in her absence, been dreaming of his mistress; and, in a letter to her has written a description of his visionary interview. _Harriot_, with whom I maintain a constant correspondence, and who keeps no secret from me, inclosed the verses in her last, when lo! the handwriting of Master _Harrington_. I WAS a little mortified that the young man had kept me in ignorance of his amour all this time, and this morning determined upon a little innocent revenge—“Tommy,” said I, as he entered the room, “here is a piece of poetry, written by an acquaintance of mine—I want your judgment on it”—“Poetry or rhyme,” answered he, advancing towards me, and casting his eyes upon it—He took the letter and began to read—“Why do you blush, young man?” said I, “_Harriot_ is a fine girl.”— THIS produced an _éclaircissement_, and as the matter must remain secret, for a certain weighty reason, I am to be the _confidante_.