The day passed thus; each moment contained eternity; although when hour

after hour had gone by, I wondered at the quick flight of time. Yet even

now I had not drunk the bitter potion to the dregs; I was not yet persuaded

of my loss; I did not yet feel in every pulsation, in every nerve, in every

thought, that I remained alone of my race,--that I was the LAST MAN.

The day had clouded over, and a drizzling rain set in at sunset. Even the

eternal skies weep, I thought; is there any shame then, that mortal man

should spend himself in tears? I remembered the ancient fables, in which

human beings are described as dissolving away through weeping into

ever-gushing fountains. Ah! that so it were; and then my destiny would be

in some sort akin to the watery death of Adrian and Clara. Oh! grief is

fantastic; it weaves a web on which to trace the history of its woe from

every form and change around; it incorporates itself with all living

nature; it finds sustenance in every object; as light, it fills all things,

and, like light, it gives its own colours to all.

I had wandered in my search to some distance from the spot on which I had

been cast, and came to one of those watch-towers, which at stated distances

line the Italian shore. I was glad of shelter, glad to find a work of human

hands, after I had gazed so long on nature's drear barrenness; so I

entered, and ascended the rough winding staircase into the guard-room. So

far was fate kind, that no harrowing vestige remained of its former

inhabitants; a few planks laid across two iron tressels, and strewed with

the dried leaves of Indian corn, was the bed presented to me; and an open

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The Last Man