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 TALBOT.
were not unreasonable. I-le loved me with passion;
and, if that sentiment can endure to be unrequited, it
will never tolerate the preference of another, even if
that preference be less than love.
In compliance with my husband's wishes-Ah! my
friend! why cannot I say that I did comply with them?
what a fatal act is that of plighting hands when the
heart is estranged! Never, never let the placable and
compassionate spirit be seduced into a union to which
the affections are averse. Let it not confide in the afterbirth of love. Such a union is the direst cruelty even
to the object who is intended to be benefited.
I have not yet thoroughly forgiven you for deserting
me. ~My heart swells with anguish at the thought of
your setting more lightly by my resentment than by that
of another; of your willingness to purchase any one's
happiness at the cost of mine. You are too wise, too
dispassionate, by far. Don't despise mie for this accusation, Henry; you know my unbiassed judgment has
always been with you. Repeated proofs have convinced
me that my dignity and happiness are safer in your
keeping than in my own.
You guess right, my friend. Miss Jessup told me of
your visits to this poor sick woman. There is something
mysterious in the character of this Polly Jessup. She
is particularly solicitous about every thing which relates
to you. It has occurred to me, since reading your letter,
that she is not entirely without design in her prattle.
Something more, methinks, than the mere tattling, gossiping, inquisitive propensity in the way in which she introduces you into conversation.
She had not alighted ten minutes before she ran into
mny apartment, with a face full of intelligence. The truth
respecting the washwoman was very artfully disguised,
and yet so managed as to allow her to elude the imputation of direct falsehood. She will, no doubt, in thisas in former cases, cover up all under the appearance of
a good-natured jest; yet, if she be in jest, there is more
of malice, I suspect, than of good nature in her merriment.
Make haste back, my dear Hal. I cannot bear to
keep my mother in ignorance of our resolutions, and I