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.

48 JANE TALBOT.
was far from being the poorest of the ancient nobles;
that he lived, with princely luxury, in the count's hotel;
that he had married, according to the new mode, the
compte's sister, and was probably, for the remainder of his
life, a, Frenchman. He is attentive to his countrymen,
and this reporter partook of several entertainments at his
house.
Methinks the memory of past incidents must sometimes
intrude upon his thoughts. Can he have utterly forgotten the father whom he reduced to indigence, whom
he sent to a premature grave? Amidst his present opulence, one would think it would occur to him to inquire
into the effects of his misconduct, not only to his own
family, but on others.
What a strange diversity there is among human characters! Frank is, I question not, gay, volatile, impetuous as ever. The jovial carousal and the sound sleep
are never molested, I dare say, by the remembrance of
the incidents I have related to you.
Methinks, had I the same heavy charges to make against
my conscience, I should find no refuge but death from the
goadings of remorse. To have abandoned a father to the
jail or the hospital, or to the charity of strangers,-a father
too who had yielded him an affection and a trust without
limits; to have wronged a sister out of the little property on
which she relied for support to her unprotected youth or
helpless age,-a sister who was virtually an orphan, who
had no natural claim upon her present patroness, but might
be dismissed penniless from the house that sheltered her,
without exposing the self-constituted mother to any reproach.
And has not this event taken place already? What
can I expect but that, at least, it will take place as soon
as she hears of my resolution with regard to thee? She
ought to know it immediately. I myself ought to tell
it, and this was one of the tasks which I designed to perform in your absence: yet, alas! I know not how to set
about it.
My fingers are for once thoroughly weary. I must
lay down the pen. But first; why don't I hear from you?
Every day since Sunday, when you left me, have I de.