HARRIOT is dead—and the world to me is a dreary desert—I prepare to leave it—the fatal pistol is charged—it lies on the table by me, ready to perform its duty—but that duty is delayed till I take my last farewel of the best of friends. YOUR letter is written with the impetuosity of an honest heart; it expresses great sincerity and tenderness. I THANK you for all your good advice—it comes too late—O _Worthy_! she is dead—she is gone—never to return, never again to cheer my heart with her smiles and her amiable manners—her image is always before me—and can I forget her? No!—She is continually haunting my mind, impressing the imagination with ideas of excellence—but she is dead—all that delighted me is become torpid—is descended into the cold grave. ... With thee Certain my resolution is to die; How can I live without thee—How forego Thy converse sweet, and love so dearly join’d, To live again in these wild woods forlorn? · · · · · ... loss of thee Will never from my heart—no! no!—I feel The link of nature draw me. ... From thy state Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe. THOU hast sat out on a long journey—but you shall not go alone—I hasten to overtake thee. My resolution is not to be diverted—is not to be shaken—I will not be afraid—I am inexorable— I HAVE just seen my father—he is dejected—sullen grief is fixed upon his brow—he tells me I am very ill—I looked at _Myra_—she wiped her face with her handkerchief—perhaps they did not imagine this was the last time they were to behold me. SHE mentioned the name of _Worthy_, but my thoughts were differently engaged. She repeated your name, but I took no heed of it. Take her, my _Worthy_—_Myra_ is a good girl—take her—comfort her. Let not my departure interrupt your happiness—perhaps it may for a short time. When the grass is grown over my grave, lead her to it, in your pensive walks—point to the spot where my ashes are deposited—drop one tear on the remembrance of a friend, of a brother—but I cannot allow you to be grieved—grieve for me! Wretch that I am—why do I delay— I WISH I could be buried by the side of her, then should the passenger who knows the history of our unfortunate loves, say—“Here lies _Harrington_ and his _Harriot_—in their lives they loved, but were unhappy—in death they sleep undivided.”—Guardian spirits will protect the tomb which conceals her body—the body where every virtue delighted to inhabit.— DO not judge too rashly of my conduct—let me pray you to be candid,—I have taken advantage of a quiet moment, and written an Epitaph—If my body were laid by her’s, the inscription would be pertinent. Let no one concerned be offended at the moral I have chosen to draw from our unfortunate story.