would with a few books, provisions, and my dog, embark in one of these and

float down the current of the stream into the sea; and then, keeping near

land, I would coast the beauteous shores and sunny promontories of the blue

Mediterranean, pass Naples, along Calabria, and would dare the twin perils

of Scylla and Charybdis; then, with fearless aim, (for what had I to lose?)

skim ocean's surface towards Malta and the further Cyclades. I would avoid

Constantinople, the sight of whose well-known towers and inlets belonged to

another state of existence from my present one; I would coast Asia Minor,

and Syria, and, passing the seven-mouthed Nile, steer northward again, till

losing sight of forgotten Carthage and deserted Lybia, I should reach the

pillars of Hercules. And then--no matter where--the oozy caves, and

soundless depths of ocean may be my dwelling, before I accomplish this

long-drawn voyage, or the arrow of disease find my heart as I float singly

on the weltering Mediterranean; or, in some place I touch at, I may find

what I seek--a companion; or if this may not be--to endless time,

decrepid and grey headed--youth already in the grave with those I love--

the lone wanderer will still unfurl his sail, and clasp the tiller--and,

still obeying the breezes of heaven, for ever round another and another

promontory, anchoring in another and another bay, still ploughing seedless

ocean, leaving behind the verdant land of native Europe, adown the tawny

shore of Africa, having weathered the fierce seas of the Cape, I may moor

my worn skiff in a creek, shaded by spicy groves of the odorous islands of

the far Indian ocean.

These are wild dreams. Yet since, now a week ago, they came on me, as I

stood on the height of St. Peter's, they have ruled my imagination. I have

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The Last Man