Mrs. Everard Cotes - "The Story of Sonny Sahib"

Zachary Taylor - "State of the Union Addresses of Zachary Taylor"

William Cowper - "The Task and Other Poems"

Thomas H. Huxley - "Coral and Coral Reefs"

The Woman Hater

C >> Charles Reade >> The Woman Hater




The break was driven round in due course, with Uxmoor's team harnessed to
it. It was followed by a dog-cart crammed with grooms, Uxmoorian and
Vizardian. The break was padded and cushioned, and held eight or nine
people very comfortably.. It was, indeed, a sort of picnic van, used only
in very fine weather. It rolled on beautiful springs. Its present
contents were Miss Gale and her luggage and two hampers full of good
things for her; Vizard, Severne, and Miss Dover. Zoe sat on the box
beside Lord Uxmoor. They drove through the village, and Mr. Severne was
so obliging as to point out its beauties to Miss Gale. She took little
notice of his comments, except by a stiff nod every now and then, but
eyed each house and premises with great keenness.

At last she stopped his fluency by inquiring whether he had been into
them all; and when he said he had not, she took advantage of that
admission to inform him that in two days' time she should be able to tell
him a great deal more than he was likely to tell her, upon his method of
inspecting villages.

"That is right," said Vizard; "snub him: he gets snubbed too little here.
How dare he pepper science with his small-talk? But it is our fault--we
admire his volubility."

"Oh," said Fanny, with a glance of defiance at Miss Gale, "if we are to
talk nothing but science, it _will_ be a weary world."

After the village there was a long, gradual ascent of about a mile, and
then they entered a new country. It was a series of woods and clearings,
some grass, some arable. Huge oaks, flung their arms over a road lined on
either side by short turf, close-cropped by the gypsies' cattle. Some
band or other of them was always encamped by the road-side, and never two
bands at once. And between these giant trees, not one of which was ever
felled, you saw here and there a glade, green as an emerald; or a yellow
stubble, glowing in the sun. After about a mile of this, still mounting,
but gradually, they emerged upon a spacious table-land--a long, broad,
open, grass plateau, studded with cottages. In this lake of grass Uxmoor
drew up at a word from Zoe, to show Miss Gale the scene. The cottages
were white as snow, and thatched as at Islip; but instead of
vegetable-gardens they all had orchards. The trees were apple and cherry:
of the latter not less than a thousand in that small hamlet. It was
literally a lawn, a quarter of a mile long and about two hundred yards
broad, bordered with white cottages and orchards. The cherries, red and
black, gleamed like countless eyes among the cool leaves. There was a
little church on the lawn that looked like a pigeon-house. A cow or two
grazed peacefully. Pigs, big and little, crossed the lawn, grunting and
squeaking satisfaction, and dived into the adjacent woods after acorns,
and here and there a truffle the villagers knew not the value of. There
was a pond or two in the lawn; one had a wooden plank fixed on uprights,
that went in some way. A woman was out on the board, bare-armed, dipping
her bucket in for water. In another pond an old knowing horse stood
gravely cooling his heels up to the fetlocks. These, with shirts, male
and female, drying on a line, and whiteheaded children rolling in the
dust, and a donkey braying his heart out for reasons known only to
himself, if known at all, were the principal details of the sylvan
hamlet; but on a general survey there were grand beauties. The village
and its turf lay in the semicircular sweep of an unbroken forest; but at
the sides of the leafy basin glades had been cut for drawing timber,
stacking bark, etc., and what Milton calls so happily "the checkered
shade" was seen in all its beauty; for the hot sun struggled in at every
aperture, and splashed the leaves and the path with fiery flashes and
streaks, and topaz brooches, all intensified in fire and beauty by the
cool adjacent shadows.

Looking back, the view was quite open in most places. The wooded lanes
and strips they had passed were little more in so vast a panorama than
the black stripes on a backgammon board. The site was so high that the
eye swept over all, and rested on a broad valley beyond, with a patchwork
pattern of variegated fields and the curling steam of engines flying
across all England; then swept by a vast incline up to a horizon of faint
green hills, the famous pastures of the United Kingdom. So that it was a
deep basin of foliage in front; but you had only to turn your body, and
there was a forty-mile view, with all the sweet varieties of color that
gem our fields and meadows, as they bask in the afternoon sun of that
golden time when summer melts into autumn, and mellows without a chill.

"Oh," cried Miss Gale, "don't anybody speak, please! It is too
beautiful!"

They respected an enthusiasm so rare in this young lady, and let her
contemplate the scene at her ease.

"I reckon," said she, dogmatically, and nodding that wise little head,
"that this is Old England--the England my ancestors left in search of
liberty, and that's a plant that ranks before cherry-trees, I rather
think. No, I couldn't have gone; I'd have stayed and killed a hundred
tyrants. But I wouldn't have chopped their heads off" (to Vizard, very
confidentially); "I'd have poisoned 'em."

"Don't, Miss Gale!" said Fanny; "you make my blood run cold."

As it was quite indifferent to Miss Gale whether she made Miss Dover's
blood run cold or not, she paid no attention, but proceeded with her
reflections. "The only thing that spoils it is the smoke of those
engines, reminding one that in two hours you or I, or that pastoral old
hermit there in a smock-frock, and a pipe--and oh, what bad tobacco!--can
be wrenched out of this paradise, and shrieked and rattled off and flung
into that wilderness of brick called London, where the hearts are as hard
as the pavement--except those that have strayed there from Barfordshire."

The witch changed face and tone and everything like lightning, and threw
this last in with a sudden grace and sweetness that contrasted strangely
with her usual sharpness.

Zoe heard, and turned round to look down on her with a smile as sweet as
honey. "I hardly think that is a drawback," said she, amicably. "Does not
being able to leave a place make it sweeter? for then we are free in it,
you know. But I must own there _is_ a drawback--the boys' faces, Miss
Gale, they _are_ so pasty."

"Indeed!" says Rhoda, pricking up her ears.

"Form no false hopes of an epidemic. This is not an infirmary in a wood,
Miss Gale," said Vizard. "My sister is a great colorist, and pitches her
expectations too high. I dare say their faces are not more pasty than
usual; but this is a show place, and looks like a garden; so Zoe wants
the boys to be poppies and pansies, and the girls roses and lilies.
Which--they--are--not."

"All I know is," said Zoe, resolutely, "that in Islip the children's
faces are rosy, but here they are pasty--dreadfully pasty."

"Well, you have got a box of colors. We will come up some day and tint
all the putty-faced boys." It was to Miss Dover the company owed this
suggestion.

"No," said Rhoda. "Their faces are my business; I'll soon fix them. She
didn't say putty-faced; she said pasty."

"Grateful to you for the distinction, Miss Gale," said Zoe.

Miss Gale proceeded to insist that boys are not pasty-faced without a
cause, and it is to be sought lower down. "Ah!" cried she, suddenly, "is
that a cherry that I see before me? No, a million. They steal them and
eat them by the thousand, and that's why. Tell the truth, now,
everybody--they eat the stones."

Miss Vizard said she did not know, but thought them capable.

"Children know nothing," said Vizard. "Please address all future
scientific inquiries to an 'old inhabitant.' Miss Gale, the country
abounds in curiosities; but, among those curiosities, even Science, with
her searching eye, has never yet discovered an unswallowed cherry stone
in Hillstoke village."

"What! not on the trees?"

"She is too much for me. Drive on, coachman, and drown her replies in the
clatter of hoofs. Round by the Stag, Zoe. I am uneasy till I have locked
Fair Science up. I own it is a mean way of getting rid of a troublesome
disputant."

"Now I think it is quite fair," said Fanny. "She shuts you up, and so you
lock her up."

"'Tis well," said Vizard, dolefully. "Now I am No. 3--I who used to
retort and keep girls in their places--with difficulty. Here is Ned
Severne, too, reduced to silence. Why, where's your tongue? Miss Gale,
you would hardly believe it, this is our chatterbox. We have been days
and days, and could not get in a word edgewise for him. But now all he
can do is to gaze on you with canine devotion, and devour the honey--I
beg pardon, the lime-juice--of your lips. I warn you of one thing,
though; there is such a thing as a threatening silence. He is evidently
booking every word you utter; and he will deliver it all for his own
behind your back some fine day."





With this sort of banter and small talk, not worth deluging the reader
dead with, they passed away the time till they reached the farm.

"You stay here," said Vizard--"all but Zoe. Tom and George, get the
things out." The grooms had already jumped out of the dog-cart, and two
were at the horses' heads. The step-ladder was placed for Zoe, and Vizard
asked her to go in and see the rooms were all right, while he took Miss
Gale to the stables. He did so, and showed her a spirited Galloway and a
steady old horse, and told her she could ride one and drive the other all
over the country.

She thanked him, but said her attention would be occupied by the two
villages first, and she should make him a report in forty-eight hours.

"As you please," said he. "You are terribly in earnest."

"What should I be worth if I was not?'

"Well, come and see your shell; and you must tell me if we have forgotten
anything essential to your comfort."

She followed him, and he led her to a wing of the farmhouse comparatively
new, and quite superior to the rest. Here were two good sunny rooms, with
windows looking south and west, and they were both papered with a white
watered pattern, and a pretty French border of flowers at the upper part,
to look gay and cheerful.

Zoe was in the bedroom, arranging things with a pretty air of
hospitality. It was cheerily fitted up, and a fire of beech logs blazing.

"How good you are!" said Rhoda, looking wistfully at her. But Zoe checked
all comments by asking her to look at the sitting-room and see if it
would do. Rhoda would rather have stayed with Zoe; but she complied, and
found another bright, cheerful room, and Vizard standing in the middle of
it. There was another beech fire blazing, though it was hot weather. Here
was a round table, with a large pot full of flowers, geraniums and musk
flowers outside, with the sun gilding their green leaves most amiably,
and everything unpretending, but bright and comfortable; well padded
sofa, luxurious armchair, stand-up reading desk, and a very large
knee-hole table; a fine mirror from the ceiling to the dado; a book-case
with choice books, and on a pembroke table near the wall were several
periodicals. Rhoda, after a cursory survey of the room, flew to the
books. "Oh!" said she, "what good books! all standard works; and several
on medicine; and, I declare, the last numbers of the _Lancet_ and the
_Medical Gazette,_ and the very best French and German periodicals! Oh,
what have I done? and what can I ever do?"

"What! Are _you_ going to gush like the rest--and about nothing?" said
Vizard. "Then I'm off. Come along, Zoe;" and he hurried his sister away.

She came at the word; but as soon as they were out of the house, asked
him what was the matter.

"I thought she was going to gush. But I dare say it was a false alarm."

"And why shouldn't she gush, when you have been so kind?"

"Pooh--nonsense! I have not been kind to her, and don't mean to be kind
to her, or to any woman; besides, she must not be allowed to gush; she is
the parish virago--imported from vast distances as such--and for her to
play the woman would be an abominable breach of faith. We have got our
gusher, likewise our flirt; and it was understood from the first that
this was to be a new _dramatis persona_--was not to be a repetition of
you or _la_ Dover, but--ahem--the third Grace, a virago: solidified
vinegar."





Rhoda Gale felt very happy. She was young, healthy, ambitious, and
sanguine. She divined that, somehow, her turning point had come; and when
she contrasted her condition a month ago, and the hardness of the world,
with the comfort and kindness that now surrounded her, and the
magnanimity which fled, not to be thanked for them, she felt for once in
a way humble as well as grateful, and said to herself, "It is not to
myself nor any merit of mine I owe such a change as all this is." What
some call religion, and others superstition, overpowered her, and she
kneeled down and held communion with that great Spirit which, as she
believed, pervades the material universe, and probably arises from it, as
harmony from the well strung harp. Theory of the day, or Plato
redivivus--which is it?

"O great creative element, and stream of tendencies in the universe,
whereby all things struggle toward perfection, deign to be the recipient
of that gratitude which fills me, and cannot be silent; and since
gratitude is right in all, and most of all in me at this moment, forgive
me if, in the weakness of my intellect, I fall into the old error of
addressing you as an individual. It is but the weakness of the heart; we
are persons, and so we cry out for a personal God to be grateful to. Pray
receive it so--if, indeed, these words of mine have any access to your
infinitely superior nature. And if it is true that you influence the mind
of man, and are by any act of positive volition the cause of these
benefits I now profit by, then pray influence my mind in turn, and make
me a more worthy recipient of all these favors; above all, inspire me to
keep faithfully to my own sphere, which is on earth; to be good and kind
and tolerant to my fellow creatures, perverse as they are sometimes, and
not content myself with saying good words to you, to whose information I
can add nothing, nor yet to your happiness, by any words of mine. Let no
hollow sentiment of religion keep me long prating on my knees, when life
is so short, and" (jumping suddenly up) "my duties can only be discharged
afoot."

Refreshed by this aspiration, the like of which I have not yet heard
delivered in churches--but the rising generation will perhaps be more
fortunate in that respect--she went into the kitchen, ordered tea, bread
and butter, and one egg for dinner at seven o'clock, and walked instantly
back to Hillstoke to inspect the village, according to her ideas of
inspection.

Next morning down comes the bailiff's head man in his light cart, and a
note is delivered to Vizard at the breakfast table. He reads it to
himself, then proclaims silence, and reads it aloud:





"DEAR SIR--As we crossed your hall to luncheon, there was the door of a
small room half open, and I saw a large mahogany case standing on a
marble table with one leg, but three claws gilt. I saw 'Micro' printed on
the case. So I hope it is a microscope, and a fine one. To enable you to
find it, if you don't know, the room had crimson curtains, and is papered
in green flock. That is the worst of all the poisonous papers, because
the texture is loose, and the poisonous stuff easily detached, and always
flying about the room. I hope you do not sit in it, nor Miss Vizard,
because sitting in that room is courting death. Please lend me the
microscope, if it is one, and I'll soon show you why the boys are putty
faced. I have inspected them, and find Miss Dover's epithet more exact
than Miss Vizard's, which is singular. I will take great care of it.
Yours respectfully,

"RHODA GALE."





Vizard ordered a servant to deliver the microscope to Miss Gale's
messenger with his compliments. Fanny wondered what she wanted with it.
"Not to inspect our little characters, it is to be hoped," said Vizard.
"Why not pay her a visit, you ladies? then she will tell you, perhaps."
The ladies instantly wore that bland look of inert but rocky resistance I
have already noted as a characteristic of "our girls." Vizard saw, and
said, "Try and persuade them, Uxmoor."

"I can only offer Miss Vizard my escort," said Lord Uxmoor.

"And I offer both ladies mine," said Ned Severne, rather loud and with a
little sneer, to mark his superior breeding. The gentleman was so
extremely polite in general that there was no mistaking his hostile
intentions now. The inevitable war had begun, and the first shot was
fired. Of course the wonder was it had not come long before; and perhaps
I ought to have drawn more attention to the delicacy and tact of Zoe
Vizard, which had averted it for a time. To be sure, she had been aided
by the size of the house and its habits. The ladies had their own sitting
rooms; Fanny kept close to Zoe by special orders; and nobody could get a
chance _te'te-'a-te'te_ with Zoe unless she chose. By this means, her
native dignity and watchful tact, by her frank courtesy to Uxmoor, and by
the many little quiet ways she took to show Severne her sentiments
remained unchanged, she had managed to keep the peace, and avert that
open competition for her favor which would have tickled the vanity of a
Fanny Dover, but shocked the refined modesty of a Zoe Vizard.

But nature will have her way soon or late, and it is the nature of males
to fight for the female.

At Severne's shot Uxmoor drew up a little haughtily, but did not feel
sure anything was intended. He was little accustomed to rubs. Zoe, on the
other hand, turned a little pale--just a little, for she was sorry, but
not surprised; so she proved equal to the occasion. She smiled and made
light of it. "Of course we are _all_ going," said she.

"Except one," said Vizard, dryly.

"That is too bad," said Fanny. "Here he drives us all to visit his
blue-stocking, but he takes good care not to go himself."

"Perhaps he prefers to visit her alone," suggested Severne. Zoe looked
alarmed.

"That is _so,"_ said Vizard. "Observe, I am learning her very phrases.
When you come back, tell me every word she says; pray let nothing be lost
that falls from my virago."

The party started after luncheon; and Severne, true to his new policy,
whipped to Zoe's side before Uxmoor, and engaged her at once in
conversation.

Uxmoor bit his lip, and fell to Fanny. Fanny saw at once what was going
on, and made herself very agreeable to Uxmoor. He was polite and a little
gratified, but cast uneasy glances at the other pair.

Meantime Severne was improving his opportunity. "Sorry to disturb Lord
Uxmoor's monopoly," said he, sarcastically, "but I could not bear it any
longer."

"I do not object to the change," said Zoe, smiling maternally on him;
"but you will be good enough to imitate me in one thing--you will always
be polite to Lord Uxmoor."

"He makes it rather hard."

"It is only for a time; and we must learn to be capable of self-denial. I
assure you I have exercised quite as much as I ask of you. Edward, he is
a gentleman of great worth, universally respected, and my brother has a
particular wish to be friends with him. So pray be patient; be
considerate. Have a little faith in one who--"

She did not end the sentence.

"Well, I will," said he. "But please think of me a little. I am beginning
to feel quite thrust aside, and degraded in my own eyes for putting up
with it."

"For shame, to talk so," said Zoe; but the tears came into her eyes.

The master of arts saw, and said no more. He had the art of not
overdoing: he left the arrow to rankle. He walked by her side in a
silence for ever so long. Then, suddenly, as if by a mighty effort of
unselfish love, went off into delightful discourse. He cooed and wooed
and flattered and fascinated; and by the time they reached the farm had
driven Uxmoor out of her head.

Miss Gale was out. The farmer's wife said she had gone into the
town--meaning Hillstoke--which was, strictly speaking, a hamlet or
tributary village. Hillstoke church was only twelve years old, and the
tithes of the place went to the parson of Islip.

When Zoe turned to go, Uxmoor seized the opportunity, and drew up beside
her, like a soldier falling into the ranks. Zoe felt hot; but as Severne
took no open notice, she could not help smiling at the behavior of the
fellows; and Uxmoor got his chance.

Severne turned to Fanny with a wicked sneer. "Very well, my lord," said
he; "but I have put a spoke in your wheel."

"As if I did not see, you clever creature!" said Fanny, admiringly.

"Ah, Miss Dover, I need to be as clever as you! See what I have against
me: a rich lord, with the bushiest beard."

"Never you mind," said Fanny. "Good wine needs no bush, ha! ha! You are
lovely, and have a wheedling tongue, and you were there first. Be good,
now--and you can flirt with me to fill up the time. I hate not being
flirted at all. It is stagnation."

"Yes, but it is not so easy to flirt with you just a little. You are so
charming." Thereupon he proceeded to flatter her, and wonder how he had
escaped a passionate attachment to so brilliant a creature. "What saved
me," said he, oracularly, "is, that I never could love two at once; and
Zoe seized my love at sight. She left me nothing to lay at your feet but
my admiration, the tenderest friendship man can feel for woman, and my
lifelong gratitude for fighting my battle. Oh, Miss Dover, I must be
quite serious a moment. What other lady but you would be so generous as
to befriend a poor man with another lady, when there's wealth and title
on the other side?"

Fanny blushed and softened, but turned it off. "There--no heroics,
please," said she. "You are a dear little fellow; and don't go and be
jealous, for he shan't have her. He would never ask me to his house, you
know. Now I think you would perhaps--who knows? Tell me, fascinating
monster, are you going to be ungrateful?"

"Not to you. My home would always be yours; and you know it." And he
caught her hand and kissed it in an ungovernable transport, the strings
of which be pulled himself. He took care to be quick about it, though,
and not let Zoe or Uxmoor see, who were walking on before and behaving
sedately.

In Hillstoke lived, on a pension from Vizard, old Mrs. Greenaway,
rheumatic about the lower joints, so she went on crutches; but she went
fast, being vigorous, and so did her tongue. At Hillstoke she was Dame
Greenaway, being a relic of that generation which applied the word dame
to every wife, high and low; but at Islip she was "Sally," because she
had started under that title, fifty-five years ago, as house-maid at
Vizard Court; and, by the tenacity of oral tradition, retained it ever
since, in spite of two husbands she had wedded and buried with equal
composure.

Her feet were still springy, her arms strong as iron, and her crutches
active. At sight of our party she came out with amazing wooden strides,
agog for gossip, and met them at the gate. She managed to indicate a
courtesy, and said, "Good day, miss; your sarvant, all the company. Lord,
how nice you be dressed, all on ye, to--be--sure! Well, miss, have ye
heerd the news?"

"No, Sally. What is it?"

"What! haant ye heerd about the young 'oman at the farm?"

"Oh yes; we came to see her."

"No, did ye now? Well, she was here not half an hour agone. By the same
toaken, I did put her a question, and she answered me then and there."

"And may I ask what the question was?"

"And welcome, miss. I said, says I, 'Young 'oman, where be you come
from?' so says she, 'Old 'oman, I be come from forin parts.' 'I thought
as much,' says I. 'And what be 'e come _for?'_ 'To sojourn here,' says
she, which she meant to bide a time. 'And what do 'e count to do whilst
here you be?' says I. Says she, 'As much good as ever I can do, and as
little harm.' 'That is no answer,' says I. She said it would do for the
present; 'and good day to you, ma'am,' says she. 'Your sarvant, miss,'
says I; and she was off like a flash. But I called my grandson Bill, and
I told him he must follow her, go where she would, and let us know what
she was up to down in Islip. Then I went round the neighbors, and one
told me one tale, and another another. But it all comes to one--we have
gotten A BUSYBODY; that's the name I gives her. She don't give in to
that, ye know; she is a Latiner, and speaks according. She gave Master
Giles her own description. Says she, 'I'm suspector-general of this here
districk.' So then Giles he was skeared a bit--he have got an acre of
land of his own, you know--and he up and asked her did she come under the
taxes, or was she a fresh imposition; 'for we are burdened enough
a'ready, no offense to you, miss,' says Josh Giles. 'Don't you be
skeared, old man,' says she, 'I shan't cost _you_ none; your betters pays
for I.' So says Giles, 'Oh, if you falls on squire, I don't vally that;
squire's back is broad enough to bear the load, but I'm a poor man.'
That's how a' goes on, ye know. Poverty is always in his mouth, but the
old chap have got a hatful of money hid away in the thatch or some're,
only he haan't a got the heart to spend it."

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