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. 197
Heavy, heavy is my soul; comfortless and friendless my
condition. Nothing is sweet but the prospect of oblivion.
But, again I say, these thoughts must not lead me.
Dreadful and downward is the course to which they point.
I must relinquish the pen. I must sally forth into the
fields. Naked and bleak is the face of nature at this
inclement season; but what of that? Dark and desolate will ever be my world-but I will not write another
word.
So, my friend, I have returned from my walk with a
mind more a stranger to tranquillity than when I sallied
forth. On my table lay the letter, which, ere I seal
this, I will enclose to you. Read it here.
LETTER L.
To AMKr. Colden.
December 11.
HEREAFTER I shall be astonished at nothing but that
credulity which could give even momentary credit to
your assertions.
M[ost fortunately, my belief lasted only till you left
the house. Then my scruples, which slept for a moment,
revived, and I determined to clear up my doubts by
immediately calling on Miss Jessup.
If any thing can exceed your depravity, sir, it is your
folly. But I will not debase myself: my indignation at
being made the subject, and, for some minutes, the dupe,
of so gross and so profligate an artifice, carries me beyond
all bounds. What, sir!-But I will restrain myself.
I would not leave the city without apprizing you of
this detection of your schemes. If Miss Jessup were
wise, she would seek a just revenge for so atrocious a
slander.
I need not tell you that I have seen her; laid the letter
before her which you delivered to me; nor do I need to
tell you what her anger and amazement were on finding
her name thus abused.
1'.