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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CLARA HOWARD; OR,

My force of mind is not lessened. I can talk andl reason
as coherently as ever; and my conclusions are far more
wise than while in perfect health.
The family of Mr. Aston, residing in this neighbourhood, hearing of my condition, have afforded me every succour and comfort I needed. It was not till this moment
that I have been able to employ the suitable means of conveying to you tidings of these events. Your letter has
just been brought me from the post-office, and my good
friend, who now holds the pen, and who has watched by
my pillow during my sickness, was good enough to read
it to me.
What shall I say? To one regarding me as selfish and
unjust, as even capable of villany and foul ingratitude,who, among so many conjectures as to the cause of my
silence, was ready to suspect me of breach of faith, the
low guilt of embezzlement,-what shall I say?
Nothing; I can say nothing. The prayers of a dying
man for thy felicity, Clara, will, at least, be accepted as
sincere. There is no personal motive to vitiate this prayer.
Thy happiness must henceforth be independent of mine.
I can neither be the author nor partaker of it. Be thou,
lovely and excellent woman! be happy!
I break off here to write to your father. I have much
to say to him, which another day, perhaps another hour,
may forever prevent me from saying.
PHILIP STANLEY.
LETTER IX.
To Philip Stanley.
New York, April 12.
MY father carries you this. The merciful God grant
that he may find you alive! Philip, is it impossible for
you to forgive me? But I deserve it not. I have lost you
forever! My wickedness and folly merited no less.
My father smiles, and says there is hope. He vows
to find you out, to restore you to health, to bring you
back to us alive and happy.
Good God! what horrible infatuation was it that made