an attack of scarlet fever. Elizabeth was saved, but my mother sickened
and died. On her deathbed she joined the hands of Elizabeth and
myself:--"My children," she said, "my firmest hopes of future happiness
were placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be
the consolation of your father."

The day of my departure for Ingolstadt, deferred for some weeks by my
mother's death, at length arrived. I reached the town after a long and
fatiguing journey, delivered my letters of introduction, and paid a
visit to some of the principal professors.

M. Krempe, professor of Natural Philosophy, was an uncouth man. He asked
me several questions concerning my progress in different branches of
science, and informed me I must begin my studies entirely anew.

M. Waldman was very unlike his colleague. His voice was the sweetest I
had ever heard. Partly from curiosity, and partly from idleness, I
entered his lecture room, and his panegyric upon modern chemistry I
shall never forget:--"The ancient teachers of this science," said he,
"promised impossibilities, and performed nothing. The modern masters
promise very little, and have, indeed, performed miracles. They have
discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we
breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can
command the thunders of the heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock
the invisible world with its own shadows."

Such were the professor's words, words of fate enounced to destroy me.
As he went on, I felt as if my soul were grappling with a palpable
enemy. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein. More,
far more, will I achieve: I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown