“Suppose a thing were in itself not worth having,” he said, “would it be any great enhancement of it as a gift to add the assurance that the possession of it was eternal! Most people think it a fine thing to have a bit of land to call their own and leave to their children; but suppose a stinking and undrainable swamp, full of foul springs--what consolation would it be to the proprietor of that to know, while the world lasted, not a human being would once dispute its possession with any fortunate descendant holding it?” The draper only stared, but his stare was a thorough one. The curate sat waiting, with both amusement and interest, for what would follow: he saw the direction in which the little man was driving. “You astonish me!” said Mr. Drew, recovering his mental breath. “How can you compare God’s gift to such a horrible thing! Where should we be without life?” Rachel burst out laughing, and the curate could not help joining her. “Mr. Drew,” said Polwarth, half merrily, “are you going to help me drag my chain out of its weary length, or are you too much shocked at the doubtful condition of its links to touch them? I promise you the last shall be of bright gold.” “I beg your pardon,” said the draper; “I might have known you didn’t mean it.” “On the contrary, I mean everything I say and that literally. Perhaps I don’t mean everything you fancy I mean.--Tell me then, would life be worth having on any and every possible condition?” “Certainly not.” “You know some, I dare say, who would be glad to be rid of life such as it is, and such as they suppose it must continue?” “I don’t.” “I do.” “I have already understood that everybody clung to life.” “Most people do; everybody certainly does not: Job, for instance.” “They say that is but a poem.” “BUT a poem! EVEN a poem--a representation true not of this or that individual, but of the race! There ARE such persons as would gladly be rid of life, and in their condition all would feel the same. Somewhat similar is the state of those who profess unbelief in the existence of God: none of them expect, and few of them seem to wish to live for ever!--At least, so I am told.” “That is no wonder,” said the draper; “--if they don’t believe in God, I mean.” “Then there I have you! There you allow life to be not worth having, if on certain evil conditions.” “I admit it, then.” “And I repeat that to prove life endless is a matter of the FIRST importance. And I will go a little farther.--Does it follow that life is worth having because a man would like to have it for ever?” “I should say so; who should be a better judge than the man himself?” “Let us look at it a moment. Suppose--we will take a strong case--suppose a man whose whole delight is in cruelty, and who has such plentiful opportunity of indulging the passion that he finds it well with him--such a man would of course desire such a life to endure for ever: is such a life worth having? were it well that man should be immortally cruel?”