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.

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ORMOND; OR,

to you. Travellers tell us much. Volney and Mariti
would have told you nearly all that I have told. With
these I have conversed personally, as well as read their
books; but my knowledge is, in truth, a species of patrimony. I inherit it."
"Will you be good enough," said Constantia, "to
explain yourself?"
"My mother was a Greek of Cyprus. My father was
a Slavonian of Ragusa, and I was born in a garden at
Aleppo."
"That was a singular concurrence."
"How singular? That a nautical vagrant like my
father should sometimes anchor in the Bay of Naples;
that a Cyprian merchant should carry his property and
daughter beyond the reach of a Turkish sanjack, and
seek an asylum so commodious as Napoli; that my father
should have dealings with this merchant, see, love, and
marry his daughter, and afterwards procure, fiom the
French Government, a consular commission to Aleppo;
that the union should, in due time, be productive of a
son and daughter,-are events far from being singular.
They happen daily."
"And may I venture to ask if this be your history?"
" The history of my parents. I hope you do not consider the place of my birth as the sole or the most important hircumstance of my life."
"Nothing would please me more than to be enabled to
compare it with other incidents. I am apt to think that
your life is a tissue of surprising events. That the
daughter of a Ragusan and Greek should have seen and
known so much; that she should talk English with equal
fluency and more correctness than a native; that I should
now be conversing with her in a corner so remote from
Cyprus and Sicily, are events more wonderful than any
which I have known."
"Wonderful! Pish! Thy ignorance, thy miscalculation of probabilities, is far more so. My father talked
to me in Slavonic. My mother and her maids talked to
me in Greek. My neighbours talked to me in a medley
of Arabic, Syriac, and Turkish. My father's secretary
was a scholar. He was as well versed in Lysias and Xeno