The Virginian

THE LAST MAN.
(From Mrs. Shelley's.)
* * I awoke as from a
long and deep sleep. Whether I
had been in a trance or asleep, or
dead, I knew not, neither did I
seek to inquire. With that incon-
sistency that may often be remark-
ed in dreams, I took the whole as a
matter of course, and awoke with
the full persuasion that the long
sleep or trance in which I had been
laid, had nothing in it other than
new or appalling. That it had been of
long continuance I doubted not; in
deed I thought that I knew that
months and years had rolled over
my head while I was wrapt in
mysterious slumber. Yet as regards
the recollection of the occurrences that had
taken place before I had been made
to sleep, was perfect; and I had the
most accurate remembrance of the
spot on which I lay, and the plants
and flowers that had been blooming
around me. Still those were all the
mysteries of a vision cast over the
time, and the cause of my having
laid myself down. It was one of the
vagaries of a dream, and I thought
on it without wondering.
The spot on which I was lying
was just at the entrance of a cavern
I fancied had been the scene of some
of my brightest joys and my deepest
sorrows. It was known to none save me. a to me it had been a place
of refuge and a defence. In the
wildness of my dream I thought
that I had been persecuted & hun-
ted from the society of man; and
that in that lone cave, and that ro-
mantic valley, I had found peace
and security.
I lay with my back on the ground.
and my head resting on my arm, so
that when I opened my eyes, the
first objects that I gazed on were the
stars and the full moon, and the ap-
pearance that the heavens presented
to me was so extraordinary, and at
the same time so awful, because so
unlike the silvery brightness of the
sky on which I had last gazed, I
raised my head on my hand leaning
on my elbow, looked with a long
and wild stare on the moon and the
stars, and the black expanse of e-
ther.
There was a dimness in the air-
an unnatural dimness—not a haze
or a thin mantle of clouds stretching
over obscuring the atmosphere—
but a darkness—a broad shadow—
spreading over, yet obscuring no
thing, as if above the heavenly bo-
dies had been spread an immense co-
wering of the clouds, that hid from
them the light in which they moved
and had their being.
The moon was large and dark.
It seemed to have approached so
near the earth that had it shone with
its usual lustre, the seas, lands,
and forests, that I believed to exist
in it, would have been all distinctly
visible. As it was, it had no long-
er the fair round shape that I had
so often gazed on with wonder.
The new rays of light that it emit-
ted seemed thrown from hollow and
highland—from rocks and from rag-
ged declivities. It glared on me
like a monstrous inhabitant of the
air and as I shuddered beneath its
broken light, I fancied that it was
descending nearer and nearer
to the earth, until it seemed a-
bout to settle down and crush me
slowly and heavily to nothing. I
turned from that terrible moon, and
my eyes rested on stars and on pla-
nets, studded more thickly than im-
agination can conceive. They
too were larger, and redder, and
darker than they had been, and they
shone more steadily through the
clear darkness of the mysterious sky.
They did not twinkle with varying
and silvery beams—they were rather
like little balls of smouldering ring
fire, struggling with a suffocating
atmosphere for existence.
I started up with a loud cry of
despair—I saw the whole around
me—I felt as if I had been delirious
—mad—I threw myself on the flat
rock, and again closed my eyes
to shut out the dark fancies that on
every side seemed to assail me—a
thousand wild ideas whirled through
my brain—I was dying—I was
dead—I had perished at the mouth
of that mossy cave—was in the
land of spirits, and waiting for final
doom in one of the worlds that I
had seen sparkling around me.
No, no—I had not felt the pangs of
dissolution, and my reason seemed
to recall unto me all that I had suf-
fered, and all that I had endured—I
was perfect—but death had not
repeated the list of my miseries—I
was delirious—in a mad fever
—I felt helpless and weak, and the
thought flashed across my mind that
there I was left to die alone, and to
struggle and fight with death in ut-
ter desolation—the cave was known
to none save me, and as I imagi-
ned in my delirium—to one fair be-
ing whom I had loved, and who
had visited my cave as the messen-
ger of joy and gladness. Then all
the unconnected imagination of a
dream came rushing into my mind,
and overshiling me with thoughts
of guilt and sorrow—and strangely
marked out, and darkly understood.
but passing into my soul with all
the freshness of recent fact—and
I shrieked in agony; for I thought
that I had murdered her, my meek
and more than love, & that now with
my madness I was expiating the
fullness of my crime. No no—
these visions passed away, and I
knew that I had not been guilty—I
thought that I had sunk to sleep in
her arms, and that the last sound
that I heard was the sweet murmurs
of her voice. Merciful heavens! she,
too is dead, or she too has deserted me
—my shriek, my causeless agony
would else have aroused her. But
no—I shook off these fancies with a
strong effort, and again I hoped, I
prayed that I might still be asleep
and only suffering from the pres-
sure of an agonizing dream. I
roused myself—I called forth all
my energies, and I again opened my
eyes, and the stars, did the unna-
tural heaven glaring on me through
the darkness of the night, and a-
gain overpowered with the strong
emotions that shook my reason, I
fell to the ground in a swoon.
When I recovered, the scene was
new. The moon and stars had set.
and the sun had arisen—but still the
same dark atmosphere, and the
same mysterious sky. As yet, I saw
no' the sun, for my face was not in
the direction of his rising. My
courage was however, revived. an
I began to hope that all had been
but one of the visions of the night.
But when I raised my head and
looked round, I was amazed—
distraught—I had laid down in a
woody romantic glen—I looked
around for the copse and I
zel that had sheltered me—I looked
for the clear wild stream that fell in
many a cascade from the rocks—I
listened for the song of the birds.
and strained my ear to catch one
sound of life or animal n; no tree
roared its green boughs to the mor-
ning sun—all was silent and lone
and ghastly—nothing was there but
grey rocks, that seemed fast hasten-
ing to death, and the old roots of
some immense trees, that seemed to
have grown, and flourished, & died
there.
I rose myself until I sat up
right. Horrible was the palsy that
fell on my senses when I saw
the cave—the very cave that I
had seen covered with moss and
the wild shrubs of the forest.
standing as grim and as dark as the
grave without one leaf of verdure to
adorn it, without one single bush to
hide it; there it was, grey & monu-
mental; and there lay the beautiful
vale, one dreadful mass of rocky des-
olation, with a white, dry chan-
nel winding along what had once been
the foot of a green valley.
I looked around on that enclosed
glen as far as my eye could reach.
but all seemed alike hastening to
decay. The rocks had fallen in
huge fragments, and among the
fragments appeared large roots and
decaying trunks of trees, not clothed
with moss, or with mushrooms.
springing up from the moist wood,
but dry, and old, and wasted. I
well remembered, that in that val-
ley no tree larger than the hazel, or
the wild rose, had found root op
nourishment; yet there lay large
trees among the black masses of
rock, and it was evident that there
they had grown and died.
Some dreadful convulsion must
have taken place—yet it was not the
rapid devastation of an earthquake.
The slow finger of time was there.
and every object bore marks of the
lapse of year—aye, of centuries.
Rocks had mouldered away—young
trees and bushes had grown up, and
come to maturity, and perished,
while I was wrapt in oblivion.
And yet, now that I saw, and knew
that it was only through many a year
having passed by, that all these chan-
ges had been collected, even now my
senses recovered some measure from
the delirious excitement of the first
surprize, & such is the inconsistency
of a dream, I almost fancied that
it be looked for & expected. for the
for the first time. I remembered that
during my long sleep I thought that
I knew that days and months and
years were rolling over me in rapid
and noiseless succession.
No sooner had this idea seized
my mind, no sooner did I conceive
that I had indeed slept; that I had
indeed lain in silent insensibility.
until wood, and rock, and river, had
dried up, or fallen beneath the hand
of time; that the moon & the stars,
and, prepared as I was for wonder,
I started, as at that instant I distinctly
turned towards that part of
the heaven in which the sun was to
make his appearance; prepared as
I was, I started when I beheld his
huge round disk heaving slowly as
above the barrier of rocks that sur-
rounded me. This was no longer the
bright, the dazzling, the pure
and cloudless light that had shed
glory and radiance on the world on
which I had closed my eyes; no
he was now a dark round orb of red-
dish flame. He had sunk nearer the
earth as he approached nearer the
close of his career, and he too seem-
ed to share with the heaven and the
earth the symptoms of decay and
dissolution.
When I saw universal nature thus
worn out and exhausted; thus per-
ishing from old age, and expiring
from the sheer want of renewing
materials, then I thought that surely
my frail body must have waxen old
and infirm; surely I too must be
bowed down with age and wear-
iness.
1094.
I raised myself slowly and fearful-
ly from the earth, and at length
stood upright. There I stood un-
scathed by time: fresh and vig-
orous as when last I walked on the
surface of a green and beautiful
world; my frame as firmly knit. &
my every limb as active as if a few
brief hours, instead of many and
long years, had witnessed me ex-
tended on that broad platform of
rock.
At first a sudden gleam of joy
broke on my soul, when I thought
that here I stood unharmed by time
that I at least had lost nothing of
life by the wonderful visitation that
had befallen me.
I felt as if I could fly away from
this scene of devastation, and in o-
ther climes seek for fresher skies &
more verdant vales. Alas! alas!
I soon and easily gained the top of
the rising bank, and fixed my eyes
on the wide landscape of a desolate
and unpeopled world.
M
Desolation! Desolation! I knew
that it was to be dreaded as a fear-
ful and terrible thing, and I had felt
the sorrows of a lone and helpless
spirit; but never, never had I con-
ceived the full misery that is con-
tained in that one awful word, until
I stood on the brow of that hill, and
looked on that wide & wasted world
that lay stretched in one vast desert
before me.
The despair and dread indeed
had laid hold on me; then dark visions
of woe and of loneliness rose mis-
erably before me; thoughts of
nights and days of never ending
darkness and cold; and then the
miseries of hunger and slow decay
and starvation, A hopeless destruc-
tion: and then the hard struggle to
live, and the still harder struggle of
youth and strength to die. Dark
visions of woe, where fled ye? be-
fore what angel of light had ye
vanished? The sun of my
miseries seemed to overwhelm me—
a loud sound, as of one universal
crash of dissolving nature, rung in
my ears—I gave one wild shriek
one convulsive struggle—and—a-
wo ke—and there stood my man
John, with my shaving-tug in one
hand, and my well cleaned boots in
the other; his mouth open, and his
eyes rolling hideously at thus wit-
nessing the frolics of his staid and
quiet master.
By his entrance were those visi-
ons dispelled, else Lord knows how
long I might have lingered out my
existence in that dreary world. or
what woes and unspeakable miseries
had been in store for
K. B.