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.

THE ENTHUSIASM OF LOVE.

57

by the ladies, and visits were received and paid so rarely
as to form no interruption to domestic pleasures. Collected around the fire, and busied in music, or books, or
discourse, the hours flew away with unheeded rapidity.
The contrast which this scene bore to my past life perpetually recurred to my reflections, and added new and
inexpressible charms to that security and elegance by
which I was at present surrounded.
Clara was the companion of my serious and my sportive
hours. I found, in her character, simplicity and tenderness, united to powerful intellects. The name of children was often conferred upon us by my friend and his
wife; all advances to familiarity and confidence between
us were encouraged; our little plans of walking or studying together were sanctioned by smiles of approbation;
and their happiness was evidently imperfect while ours
was suspended or postponed.
In this intercourse there was nothing to hinder the
growth of that sentiment which is so congenial with virtuous and youthful bosoms. My chief delight was in
sharing the society and performing offices of kindness
for Clara; and this delight the frankness of her nature
readily showed to be mutual. Love was not avowed or
solicited, and did not frequently recur, in an undisguised
shape, to my thoughts. My desires seemed to be limited
to her presence and to participating her occupations and
amusements. Satisfied in like manner with this, no marks
of impatience or anxiety were ever betrayed by her but
in my absence.
The fulness of content which I now experienced did
not totally exclude the remembrance of Mary. I had
heard and seen nothing of Morton since my departure
from Hatfield. The only way of accounting for this was
to suppose that Mary and he had met, and that the
former, persuaded of the equity of his claim, had resigned
to him the money which he had remitted to her brother.
The silence which she had observed involved me in the
deepest perplexity. I spared no pains to discover Mrs.
Valentine's residence, but my pains were fruitless. My
inquiries rendered it certain that, at least, no such person
resided in New York.