the vale of years--men have accounted mine the prime of life: I had just

entered my thirty-seventh year; every limb was as well knit, every

articulation as true, as when I had acted the shepherd on the hills of

Cumberland; and with these advantages I was to commence the train of

solitary life. Such were the reflections that ushered in my slumber on that

night.

The shelter, however, and less disturbed repose which I enjoyed, restored

me the following morning to a greater portion of health and strength, than

I had experienced since my fatal shipwreck. Among the stores I had

discovered on searching the cottage the preceding night, was a quantity of

dried grapes; these refreshed me in the morning, as I left my lodging and

proceeded towards a town which I discerned at no great distance. As far as

I could divine, it must have been Forli. I entered with pleasure its wide

and grassy streets. All, it is true, pictured the excess of desolation; yet

I loved to find myself in those spots which had been the abode of my fellow

creatures. I delighted to traverse street after street, to look up at the

tall houses, and repeat to myself, once they contained beings similar to

myself--I was not always the wretch I am now. The wide square of Forli,

the arcade around it, its light and pleasant aspect cheered me. I was

pleased with the idea, that, if the earth should be again peopled, we, the

lost race, would, in the relics left behind, present no contemptible

exhibition of our powers to the new comers.

I entered one of the palaces, and opened the door of a magnificent saloon.

I started--I looked again with renewed wonder. What wild-looking,

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The Last Man