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.

THE ENTHUSIASM OF LOVE.

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country, with whom it might be of some advantage to
renew their intercourse.
Mary was ten years old when her father took up his
abode in Delaware; but he had been already five years
in the country, so that you will easily perceive she was
not likely to possess much personal knowledge of events
previous to their voyage. Her mother's death happened
just before their removal to Wilmington. It appears to
have been the chief cause of that removal.
Your letter has put me on the task of recollection. I
am sorry that I am able to collect and arrange very few
circumstances such as you demand. The Wilmots were
either very imperfectly acquainted with the history of their
parents, or were anxious to bury their history in oblivion.
The first was probably the situation of the son; but I
have often suspected, from the contradictions and evasions of which Mary was at different times guilty when
this subject was talked of between us, that the daughter
pretended ignorance, for the sake of avoiding the mortification of telling the truth. When once urged pretty
closely on this head, she, indeed, told me the subject was
a painful one to her; that she knew nothing of her European kindred which would justify the searching them
out; and that she would hold herself obliged to me if I
never recalled past events to her remembrance. After
this injunction I was silent; but, in the course of numberless conversations afterwards, hints were casually
dropped, which afforded me, now and then, a glimpse
into their family history.
When Mary spoke of her father, it was always with
reverence for his talents, gratitude for his indulgence to
her, and compassion for that frailty of character which
made him seek in dissipation relief from sorrow on account of the death of a wife whom he adored, and a
refuge, as she sometimes obscurely intimated, from some
calamity or humiliation which befell him in his native
country.
My friend's heart always throbbed, and her eyes were
filled with tears, whenever her mother was remembered.
She took a mournful pleasure in describing her mother's
person and manners, in which she was prone to believe
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