contempt for all that was not as wild and rude as myself. At the age of

sixteen I had shot up in appearance to man's estate; I was tall and

athletic; I was practised to feats of strength, and inured to the

inclemency of the elements. My skin was embrowned by the sun; my step was

firm with conscious power. I feared no man, and loved none. In after life I

looked back with wonder to what I then was; how utterly worthless I should

have become if I had pursued my lawless career. My life was like that of an

animal, and my mind was in danger of degenerating into that which informs

brute nature. Until now, my savage habits had done me no radical mischief;

my physical powers had grown up and flourished under their influence, and

my mind, undergoing the same discipline, was imbued with all the hardy

virtues. But now my boasted independence was daily instigating me to acts

of tyranny, and freedom was becoming licentiousness. I stood on the brink

of manhood; passions, strong as the trees of a forest, had already taken

root within me, and were about to shadow with their noxious overgrowth, my

path of life.

I panted for enterprises beyond my childish exploits, and formed

distempered dreams of future action. I avoided my ancient comrades, and I

soon lost them. They arrived at the age when they were sent to fulfil their

destined situations in life; while I, an outcast, with none to lead or

drive me forward, paused. The old began to point at me as an example, the

young to wonder at me as a being distinct from themselves; I hated them,

and began, last and worst degradation, to hate myself. I clung to my

ferocious habits, yet half despised them; I continued my war against

civilization, and yet entertained a wish to belong to it.

The Last Man