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.

TIIE ENTHIUSIASM OF LOVE.

99

purpose being gained, I was little anxious to return, and
allowed my fancy to range at will over the boundless field
of contingencies, by some of which I might be transported
across the ocean to China, or along the coast to the dominions of the Spaniards.
This scheme, suspended and forgotten for a while, I
have now resumed. To-morrow I go hence, in company
with a person who holds a high rank in the Spanish districts westward of the Mississippi.
You will not receive this letter, or be apprized of my
intentions, till after I am gone. I shall despatch it at
the moment of my leaving this city. I shall not write
to Mr. Howard; I want not his aid or his counsel. I
know that his views are very different from mine. I shall
awaken opposition and remonstrance, which will answer
no end but to give me torment and inquietude. To you
I leave the task of informing him of my destiny, or allow
him, if you please, to be wholly unacquainted with it:
either conduct is indifferent to me.
But there is one in whose welfare you condescend to
take some interest, and of whom I am able to communicate some tidings. Some commands which you laid upon
me in relation to Mary have been fulfilled, and I shall
now acquaint you with the result.
She sent me your letter not many hours after it was
written, with a note informing me of her place of abode,
and requesting a meeting with me. A letter from you
by her hands was a cause of sufficient wonder; but the
contents of your letter were far more wonderful than the
mode of its conveyance. The handwriting assured me it
was yours~ the style and sentiments were alien to all
that my fancy had connected with your name. With
these teens of profound indifference to my happiness,
of ineffable contempt for my person and character, I
compared the solicitude and tenderness which your preceding letter had breathed, and was utterly lost in horror
and doubt. But this is not the strain in which I ought
to write to you. Reason should set my happiness beyond
the love or enmity of another not wiser or more discerning
or benevolent than myself. If reason be inadequate to
my deliverance, pride should hinder me from disclosing