So he lived and died through the dim unnamed ages, transmitting his
beast's blood, his bestial instincts, to his offspring, growing ever
stronger, fiercer, from generation to generation, while the rocks
piled up their strata and the oceans shaped their beds. Moses! Why,
Lord Rothschild's great-grandfather, a few score times removed, must
have known Moses, talked with him. Babylon! It is a modern city,
fallen into disuse for the moment, owing to alteration of traffic
routes. History! it is a tale of to-day. Man was crawling about the
world on all fours, learning to be an animal for millions of years
before the secret of his birth was whispered to him. It is only
during the last few centuries that he has been trying to be a man.
Our modern morality! Why, compared with the teachings of nature, it
is but a few days old. What do you expect? That he shall forget the
lessons of the aeons at the bidding of the hours?"
"Then you advise me to read 'Tom Jones'?" said Robina.
"Yes," I said, "I do. I should not if I thought you were still a
child, knowing only blind trust, or blind terror. The sun is not
extinguished because occasionally obscured by mist; the scent of the
rose is not dead because of the worm in the leaf. A healthy rose can
afford a few worms--has got to, anyhow. All men are not Tom Joneses.
The standard of masculine behaviour continues to go up: many of us
make fine efforts to conform to it, and some of us succeed.
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