more lost， more hopeless than either. A nearing ship， a gleamfrom some far cot， may save them； but I have no beacon exceptthe hope of death.
Death！ mysterious， ill-visaged friend of weak humanity！
Why alone of all mortals have you cast me from yoursheltering fold？ O， for the peace of the grave！ the deep silenceof the iron-bound tomb！ that thought would cease to work inmy brain， and my heart beat no more with emotions variedonly by new forms of sadness！
Am I immortal？ I return to my first question. In thefirst place， is it not more probable that the beverage of thealchymist was fraught rather with longevity than eternallife？ Such is my hope. And then be it remembered that I onlydrank half of the potion prepared by him. Was not the wholenecessary to complete the charm？ To have drained half theElixir of Immortality is but to be half immortal—my For-everis thus truncated and null.
But again， who shall number the years of the half of eternity？
I often try to imagine by what rule the infinite may be divided.
Sometimes I fancy age advancing upon me. One gray hair Ihave found. Fool！ Do I lament？ Yes， the fear of age and deathoften creeps coldly into my heart； and the more I live， themore I dread death， even while I abhor life. Such an enigmais man—born to perish—when he wars， as I do， against theestablished laws of his nature.
But for this anomaly of feeling surely I might die： themedicine of the alchymist would not be proof against fire—sword—and the strangling waters. I have gazed upon the bluedepths of many a placid lake， and the tumultuous rushingof many a mighty river， and have said， peace inhabits thosewaters； yet I have turned my steps away， to live yet anotherday. I have asked myself， whether suicide would be a crime inone to whom thus only the portals of the other world could beopened. I have done all， except presenting myself as a soldieror duellist， an object of destruction to my—no， not my fellowmortals，and therefore I have shrunk away. They are not myfellows. The inextinguishable power of life in my frame， andtheir ephemeral existence， place us wide as the poles asunder.
I could not raise a hand against the meanest or the mostpowerful among them.
Thus I have lived on for many a year—alone， and wearyof myself—desirous of death， yet never dying—a mortalimmortal. Neither ambition nor avarice can enter my mind， andthe ardent love that gnaws at my heart， never to be returned—never to find an equal on which to expend itself—lives thereonly to torment me.
This very day I conceived a design by which I may endall—without self-slaughter， without making another man aCain—an expedition， which mortal frame can never survive，even endued with the youth and strength that inhabits mine.
Thus I shall put my immortality to the test， and rest for ever—or return， the wonder and benefactor of the human species.
Before I go， a miserable vanity has caused me to pen thesepages. I would not die， and leave no name behind. Threecenturies have passed since I quaffed the fatal beverage：
another year shall not elapse before， encountering giganticdangers—warring with the powers of frost in their home—beset by famine， toil， and tempest—I yield this body， tootenacious a cage for a soul which thirsts for freedom， to thedestructive elements of air and water—or， if I survive， myname shall be recorded as one of the most famous amongthe sons of men； and， my task achieved， I shall adopt moreresolute means， and， by scattering and annihilating the atomsthat compose my frame， set at liberty the life imprisonedwithin， and so cruelly prevented from soaring from this dimearth to a sphere more congenial to its immortal essence.
