Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1883-10-27

- AC&&CCbCu tu WOIh ndO COili
pleted, no less one than the crea
tion OF a sensitive, rational adimal
l could not rank myself with the
herd of common projectors. But
this feeling, which supported me
in the commencement of my career,
now serves only to plunge me lower
III the dust. All my speculations
and hopes are as nothing; and, like
the archangel who aspires to omnip-
0tence, am chained in an eternal
hell. My imagination was vivid,
yet my powers OF analysis and APP
pl9cation were intense; by the
union of these qualities conceived
the idea, and executed the creation,
of a man. Even now 1 cannot rec
ollect, without passion, my reveries
while the work was incomplete. /
trod heaven in my thoughts, now
exulting in my powers, now burn
ing with the idea of their effects.
From my infancy / was imbued
with high hopes and lofty ambition;
but how am sunk
so my friend if you had known
me as once was, you would not
recognize me in this state of degra-
dation. Dependency rarely visited
my heart; high destiny seemed
to bear me on, until l fell, never,
never again to rise."
Must then lose this admirable
being? i have longed for friend,
/ have sought one who would SYM
pathize with and love me. Behold,
zoH these desert seas i have found
such a one; bilt / fear have gained
him only to know his value and
lose him. / would reconcile him to
life, but he repulses the idea.
"I thank you, Walton" he said
"for your kind attentions toward SO
miserable wretch; but when you
speak of new ties and fresh affec-
tions, think you that any can re-
place those who are gone? Can any
man be to me as CIerval was, or any
woman another Elizabeth Even
were the affection not strongly
moved by any superior excellence,
the companions of our childhood
always possess a certain power
over our minds, which hardly any
later friend can obtain. They know
our lnfantine dispositions, which,
however they may be afterward
modified, are never eradicated, and
they can judge of our actions with
more certain conclusions as to the
integrity of our motives. A sister
or brother can never, unless indeed
such symptoms have been shown
early, suspect the other of fraud or
false dealing, when another friend,
however strongly he may be at
tached, may, in spite of himself, be
invaded with suspicion. But l
enjoyed friends, dear, not only |
through habit and association, but |
from their own merits; and, where
ever am. thesoothing voice of my |
Elizabeth, and the conversation of
Clerval will be whispered in my |
ear. They are dead, and but one |
feeling in such q solitude can per-
suade me to preserve my life. IL l
were engaged in any high undertake
ing or design, fraught with extern
sive utility to my fellow creatures,
then could l live to fulfill it. But
such is not my destiny. | must |
pursue and destroy the being to
whom | gave existence; then my
lot on earth will be fulfilled, and
my die"
September ID.
MY BELOVED SISTER, write to
you encompassed by peril, and ig-
nOrant whether / am ever doomed
to see again dear England, and the
dearer friends that inhabit it. | am |
surrounded by mountains of ice,
which admit of no escape, and |
= IN Ia
my vessel. The brave fellows,
whom have persuaded to be my |
look toward me for
aid, but | have none to bestow. |
There is something terribly appall
ing in our situation, yet my courage |
and hopes do not desert me. We |
may survive, and if we do not, l
will repeat the lessons of my Seneca
and die with good heart.
Yet what, Margaret, will be the
state of your mind? You will not
hear of my destruction, and you
will anxiously wait my return.
Years will pass, and you will have
visitings of despair, and yet be tor
tured by hope. o my beloved sis
ter the sickening faIlings of your
heartfelt expectations are, in pros
pect, more terrible to me than my
own death. But you have a hus-
band, and lovely children, you may
be happy. Heaven bless you and
make you so
Ny unfortunate guest regards me
with the tenderesl compassion. He
endeavors to fill me with hope, and
talks AS if life were possession
which he valued. He reminds me
of how often the same accidents
have happened to other navigators,
who have attempted this sea, and
in spite of myself, he fills me with
cheerful auguries. Even the sailors
feel the power of his eloquence
when he speaks, they no longer
he rouses their energies,
and while they hear his voice, they
believe these vast mountains Of ice
are mole-hills, which will vanish
before the resolution of man. These
feelings are transitory; each days
delayed fills them with
fear, and l almost dread mutiny
caused by this despair.
September 5th.
A scene has just passed of such
interest, that, although
it is highly probable that these pa
perS may never reach you, yet
cannot forbear recording it.
We are still surrounded by noun
tains of ice, still in imminent dan
ger of being crushed in their con-
tiict. The cold is excessive, and
many of my unfortunate comrades
have already found a grave amid
this scene of desolation. Franken-
stein has daily declined in health
q feverish fire still glimmers in his
eyes but he is exhausted and when
reused TO any exertion, he
speedily sinks again into apparent
/ mentioned In my last letter the
fears ] entertained OF mutiny.
This morning, as 1 sat watching the
wan countenance of my friend,-
his eyes half closed, and his limbs !
hanging listlessly,-I was reused
by half a dozen OF the sailers, who |
desired admission into the cabin.
They entered, and their leader adj
dressed me. He told me that he
and his companions had been chO-
sen by the other Sailors to come in
to me, TO make II de-
mand, which in justice 1 could not
refuse. We were immunI in ice,
and should probably never escape;
but they feared that D, H. was posi-
Bile, the ice should dissipate, and
free passage be opened, should be
rash enough to continue my voyage, /
and lead them into fresh dangers, |
after they might happily have sur