Франкенштейн

           Andwheredoeshenowexist?Isthisgentleandlovelybeinglostforever?Hasthismind,sorepletewithideas,imaginationsfancifulandmagnificent,whichformedaworld,whoseexistencedependedonthelifeofitscreator;—hasthismindperished?Doesitnowonlyexistinmymemory?No,itisnotthus;yourformsodivinelywrought,andbeamingwithbeauty,hasdecayed,butyourspiritstillvisitsandconsolesyourunhappyfriend.

           Pardonthisgushofsorrow;theseineffectualwordsarebutaslighttributetotheunexampledworthofHenry,buttheysoothemyheart,overflowingwiththeanguishwhichhisremembrancecreates.Iwillproceedwithmytale.

           BeyondColognewedescendedtotheplainsofHolland;andweresolvedtoposttheremainderofourway,forthewindwascontraryandthestreamoftheriverwastoogentletoaidus.Ourjourneyherelosttheinterestarisingfrombeautifulscenery,butwearrivedinafewdaysatRotterdam,whenceweproceededbyseatoEngland.Itwasonaclearmorning,inthelatterdaysofDecember,thatIfirstsawthewhitecliffsofBritain.ThebanksoftheThamespresentedanewscene;theywereflatbutfertile,andalmosteverytownwasmarkedbytheremembranceofsomestory.WesawTilburyFortandrememberedtheSpanishArmada,Gravesend,Woolwich,andGreenwich—placeswhichIhadheardofeveninmycountry.

           AtlengthwesawthenumeroussteeplesofLondon,St.Paul’stoweringaboveall,andtheTowerfamedinEnglishhistory.