"When younger," said he, "I believed myself destined for some
great enterprise. My feelings are profound; but I possessed a
coolness of judgment that fitted me for illustrious
achievements. This sentiment of the worth of my nature supported
me, when others would have been oppressed; for I deemed it
criminal to throw away in useless grief those talents that might
be useful to my fellow-creatures. When I reflected on the work I
had completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive
and rational animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of
common projectors. But this thought, which supported me in the
commencement of my career, now serves only to plunge me lower in
the dust. All my speculations and hopes are as nothing; and,
like the archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am chained in
an eternal hell. My imagination was vivid, yet my powers of
analysis and application were intense; by the union of these
qualities I conceived the idea, and executed the creation of a
man. Even now I cannot recollect, without passion, my reveries
while the work was incomplete. I trod heaven in my thoughts, now
exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea of their
effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a
lofty ambition; but how am I sunk! Oh! my friend, if you had
known me as I once was, you would not recognise me in this state
of degradation. Despondency rarely visited my heart; a high
destiny seemed to bear me on, until I fell, never, never again
to rise."
Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a
friend; I have sought one who would sympathise with and love me.
Behold, on these desert seas I have found such a one; but, I
fear, I have gained him only to know his value, and lose him. I
would reconcile him to life, but he repulses the idea.