Indeed, for aught he knew, the old
ichthyosaurs and plesiosaurs might be alive now, as lions--or as
men. He himself, indeed, he had said, ere now, had been probably a
pterodactyle of the Lias, neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring,
but crocodile and bat in one, able alike to swim, or run, or fly, eat
anything, and live in any element. Still it was no concern of his. He
was here; and here was his business. He had not thought of this life
before he came into it; and it would be time enough to think of the
next life when he got into it. Besides, he had all a doctor's dislike
of those terrors of the unseen world, with which some men are wont to
oppress still more failing nature, and break the bruised reed. His
business was to cure his patients' bodies; and if he could not do
that, at least to see that life was not shortened in them by nervous
depression and anxiety. Accustomed to see men of every character die
under every possible circumstance, he had come to the conclusion that
the "safety of a man's soul" could by no possibility be inferred from
his death-bed temper. The vast majority, good or bad, died in peace:
why not let them die so? If nature kindly took off the edge of sorrow,
by blunting the nervous system, what right had man to interfere with
so merciful an arrangement? Every man, he held in his easy optimism,
would go where he ought to go: and it could be no possible good to
him--indeed, it might be a very bad thing for him, as in this life--to
go where he ought not to go.
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