Let this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortune happen on it; Let it be marked for triumphs and rejoicings, Let happy lovers even keep it holy, Choose it to bless their hopes and crown their wishes. IT is the day that gives me _Harriot_ forever. Adieu! LETTER XLII. _The Hon. Mr._ HARRINGTON to the _Rev. Mr._ HOLMES. _Boston._ YOU very well know of my amour with _Maria_, and that a daughter was the offspring of that illicit connexion—that sixteen years have elapsed since, by your goodness, she has lived with Mrs. _Francis_, and let me add, daily improving in beauty and every amiable accomplishment—but how shall we be able—how shall we pretend to investigate the great springs by which we are actuated, or account for the operation of SYMPATHY—my son, who has been at home about eight weeks, has accidentally seen her, and to complete THE TRIUMPH OF NATURE—has loved her. He is now even upon the point of marrying—shall I proceed!—_of marrying his Sister!_—A circumstance seemingly fortuitous has discovered this important affair—I fly to prevent incest—Do not upbraid me with being author of my own misfortunes.—“This comes of your libertinism,” you will say, “this comes of your adultery!”—Spare your reflections, my friend—my heart is monitor enough—I am strangely agitated! Adieu! LETTER XLIII. _The Hon. Mr._ HARRINGTON to the _Rev. Mr._ HOLMES. _Boston._ MY heart failed me! twenty times have I attempted to break the matter to my son—and twenty times have I returned from the talk—I have a friend to acquaint him how nearly connected he already is with the object of his love. This is a new, and to me a sorrowful instance of the force of SYMPATHY—My grief is insupportable—my affliction is greater than I can bear—it will bring down my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. Farewel! 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,