Do not think that I shall be slow to perform this sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice-raft which brought me thither, and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall collect my funeral pile, and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch, who would create such another as I have been. I shall die. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me, or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; and when I shall be no more, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. I shall no longer see the sun or stars, or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find my happiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer, and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes, and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?

Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of human kind whom these eyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou wert yet alive, and yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better satiated in my life than in my

destruction. But it was not so; thou didst seek my extinction, that I might not cause greater wretchedness; and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hadst not ceased to think and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than that which I feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine; for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them for ever.

"But soon," he cried, with sad and solemn enthusiasm, "I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace; or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell.”

He sprung from the cabin window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.

THE END.

BALLANTYNE PRESS: EDINBURGH AND LONDON.

ROUTLEDGE'S POCKET LIBRARY

IN MONTHLY VOLUMES.

"A series of beautiful little books, tastefully bound."-Times.
"Beautifully printed and tastefully bound."-Saturday Review,
"Deserves warm praise for the taste shown in its production."
-Athenæum.

"Routledge's PERFECT Pocket Library."-Punch.

1. BRET HARTE'S POEMS.

2. THACKERAY'S PARIS SKETCH BOOK.

3. HOOD'S COMIC POEMS.

4. DICKENS'S CHRISTMAS CAROL.

5. POEMS BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
6. WASHINGTON IRVING'S SKETCH BOOK!
7. MACAULAY'S LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME.
8. GOLDSMITH'S VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
9. HOOD'S SERIOUS POEMS.

10. LORD LYTTON'S COMING RACE.

11. THE BIGLOW PAPERS.

12. MANON LESCAUT.

13. LONGFELLOW'S SONG OF HIAWATHA.
14. STERNE'S SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY.

15. DICKENS'S CHIMES.

16. MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES AND SONGS.

17. FIFTY BAB' BALLADS.

18. POEMS BY E. B. BROWNING.

19. BRET HARTE'S LUCK OF ROARING CAMP.
20. POEMS BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.

21. MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.

22. SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE.

23. CAMPBELL'S POETICAL WORKS.

24. LORD BYRON'S WERNER.

25. BOOK OF HUMOUR, WIT, AND WISDOM.

26. LONGFELLOW'S HYPERION.

27. DICKENS'S CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.

28. GRAY'S POETICAL WORKS.

29. WILLIS'S POETICAL WORKS.

30. THACKERAY'S CORNHILL TO GRAND CAIRO.

31. MRS. SHELLEY'S FRANKENSTEIN.