"I thank you, Walton," he said, "for your kind intentions
towards so miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties,
and fresh affections, think you that any can replace those who
are gone? Can any man be to me as Clerval was; or any woman
another Elizabeth? Even where the affections are not strongly
moved by any superior excellence, the companions of our
childhood always possess a certain power over our minds, which
hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our infantine
dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified,
are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with
more certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives. A
sister or a brother can never, unless indeed such symptoms have
been [shewn] <shown> early, suspect the
other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend, however
strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be
[invaded] <contemplated> with suspicion.
But I enjoyed friends, dear not only through habit and
association, but from their own merits; and, wherever I am, the
soothing voice of my Elizabeth, and the conversation of Clerval,
will be ever whispered in my ear. They are dead; and but one
feeling in such a solitude can persuade me to preserve my life.
If I were engaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught
with extensive utility to my fellow-creatures, then could I live
to [fulfill] <fulfil> it. But such is not
my destiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I gave
existence; then my lot on earth will be fulfilled, and I may
die."