But the
Tom Jones is there in all of us who are not anaemic or consumptive.
And there's no sense at all in getting cross with us about it,
because we cannot help it. We are doing our best. In another
hundred thousand years or so, provided all goes well, we shall be the
perfect man. And seeing our early training, I flatter myself that,
up to the present, we have done remarkably well."
"Nothing like being satisfied with oneself," said Robina.
"I'm not satisfied," I said; "I'm only hopeful. But it irritates me
when I hear people talk as though man had been born a white-souled
angel and was making supernatural efforts to become a sinner. That
seems to me the way to discourage him. What he wants is bucking up;
somebody to say to him, 'Bravo! why, this is splendid! Just think,
my boy, what you were, and that not so very long ago--an unwashed,
hairy savage; your law that of the jungle, your morals those of the
rabbit-warren. Now look at yourself--dressed in your little shiny
hat, your trousers neatly creased, walking with your wife to church
on Sunday! Keep on--that's all you've got to do. In a few more
centuries your own mother Nature won't know you.
"You women," I continued; "why, a handful of years ago we bought and
sold you, kept you in cages, took the stick to you when you were not
spry in doing what you were told. Did you ever read the history of
Patient Griselda?"
"Yes," said Robina, "I have.
Pages:
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228