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.

52 JANE TALBOT.
who has been confined to her bed about eighteen months
by a rheumatism contracted by too assiduous application
to the wash-tub, and who often boasts that she was born,
not above forty-five years ago, in an upper story of the
mansion at Mount Vernon.
You do not tell me who it was that betrayed me to you.
I suspect, however, it was Miss Jessup. She was passing
through this town, in her uncle's carriage, on Wednesday, on her way home. Seeing me come out of the poor
woman's lodgings, she stopped the coach, prated for five
minutes, and left me with ironical menaces of telling
you of my frequent visits to a single lady, of whom it
appeared that she had some knowledge. Thus you see
that your disquiets have had no foundation but in the
sportive malice of your talkative neighbour.
Hannah Seeker chanced to be talked of at Mr. Henshaw's as a poor creature, who was sick and destitute,
and lay, almost deserted, in a neighbouring hovel. She
existed on charity, which was the more scanty and reluctant as she bore but an indifferent character either
for honesty or gratitude.
The name, when first mentioned, struck my ear as
something that had once been familiar, and, in my solitary evening walk, I stopped at her cottage. The sight
of her, though withered by age and disease, called her
fully to mind. Three years ago, she lived in the city,
and had been very serviceable to me in the way of her
calling. I had dismissed her, however, after receiving
several proofs that a pair of silk stockings and a muslin
cravat offered too mighty a temptation for her virtue.
You know I have but little money to spare from my own
necessities, and all the service I could render her was
to be her petitioner and advocate with some opulent
families in this place. But enough-and too much-of
Hannah Seeker.
Need I say that I have read your narrative, and that
I fully acquit you of the guilt laid to your charge? That
was done, indeed, before I heard your defence, and I
was anxious to hear your story, merely because all that
relates to you is in the highest degree interesting to me.
This letter, notwithstanding my engagements, should