“And yet, even as a pond, it would have its advantages—it would be famous for duck-raising.”
“Pshaw! you are worse than a Mahometan.”
“Something of a just comparison, uncle, though scarcely aimed,” said the other; “like Mahomet, you know, I doubt the possession of souls by women.”
“Yet if these of Charlemont have not souls, they have no small share of happiness on earth. I never heard more happy laughter from human lips than from theirs. They must be happy.”
“I doubt that also,” was the reply. “See you not, uncle, that to nine or ten women there are but three lads? Where the disproportion is so great among the sexes, and where it is so unfavorable to the weaker, women never can be happy. Their whole lives will be lives of turmoil, jealousy, and pulling of caps. Nay, eyes shall not be secure under such circumstances; and Nan's fingers shall be in Doll's hair, and Doll's claws in Nanny's cheeks, whenever it shall so happen, that Tom Jenkins shall incline to Nan, or John Dobbins to Doll. Such a disparity between the sexes is one of the most fruitful causes of domestic war.”
“Warham, where do you think to go when you die?”
“Where there shall be no great inequality in the population. Believe me, uncle, though I am sometimes disposed to think with Mahomet, and deny the possession of souls to the sex, I also incline to believe, with other more charitable teachers—however difficult it may be to reconcile the two philosophies—that there will be no lack of them in either world.”
“Hush, hush, Warham,” was the mild rebuke of the senior; “you go too far—you are irreverent. As for this maiden, I still think her very beautiful—of a high and noble kind of beauty. My eyes may be bad;—indeed I am willing to admit they are none of the best; but I feel certain that they cannot so far deceive me, when we consider how nigh we were to her.”
“The matter deserves inquiry, uncle, if it were only to satisfy your faith;—suppose we ride back, both of us, and see for ourselves—closely, and with the aid of the green spectacles? Not that I care to see farther—not that I have any doubts—but I wish you to be convinced in this case, if only to make you sensible of the frequent injustice to which your indulgence of judgment, subjects the critical fastidiousness of mine. What say you; shall we wheel about?”
“Why, you are mad, surely. It is now sunset, and we have a good eight miles before we get to Holme's Station.”