The novels of Charles Brockden Brown, consisting of Wieland;or, The transformation. Arthur Mervyn; or, Memoirs of the year 1793. Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a sleep-walker. Jane Talbot. Ormond; or, The secret witness. Clara Howard; or, The enthusiasm of love. With a memoir of the author.

JANE TALIBOT. 119
And, now that I have finished the history of Mrs.
Henning and her boarder, I will bid thee —good-night.
Good good-night, my love.
JANE TALBOT.
LETTER XXXI.
To Henry Colden.
Philadelphia, November 11.
How shall I tell you the strange-strange incident?
Every fibre of my frame still trembles. I have endeavoured, during the last hour, to gain tranquillity enough
for writing, but without success. Yet I can forbear no
longer: I must begin.
I had just closed my last to you, when somebody
knocked. I heard footsteps below, as the girl ushered
in the visitant, which were not quite unknown to me.
The girl came up:-' "A gentleman is waiting."
"A gentleman!" thought I. I"An odd hour this" (it
was past ten)'"for any man but one to visit me. I-is
business must be very urgent." So, indeed, he told the
girl it was, for she knew me averse to company at any
time, and I had withdrawn to my chamber for the night;
but he would not be eluded. HIe must see me, he said,
this night.
A tall and noble figure, in a foreign uniform, arose
from the sofa at my entrance. The half-extinct lamp on
the mantel could not conceal from me-my brother!
My surprise almost overpowered me. I should have
sunk upon the floor, had he not stepped to me and sustained me in his arms.
"I see you are surprised, Jane," said he, in a tone
not without affection in it. " You did not expect, I suppose, ever to see me again. It was a mere chance brought
me to America. I shall stay here a moment, and then
hie me back again. I could not pass through the city
without a'HIow d'ye' to the little girl for whom I have
still some regard."
The violence of my emotions found relief in a flood