“What an ineffable contradiction in terms have we not here.  What a reversal, is it not, of all this world’s canons, that we should hold even the best of all that we can know or feel in this life to be a poor thing as compared with hopes the fulfilment of which we can never either feel or know.  Yet we all hold this, however little we may admit it to ourselves.  For the world at heart despises its own canons.”

I cannot quote further from Dr. Gurgoyle’s pamphlet; suffice it that he presently dealt with those who say that it is not right of any man to aim at thrusting himself in among the living when he has had his day.  “Let him die,” say they, “and let die as his fathers before him.”  He argued that as we had a right to pester people till we got ourselves born, so also we have a right to pester them for extension of life beyond the grave.  Life, whether before the grave or afterwards, is like love—­all reason is against it, and all healthy instinct for it.  Instinct on such matters is the older and safer guide; no one, therefore, should seek to efface himself as regards the next world more than as regards this.  If he is to be effaced, let others efface him; do not let him commit suicide.  Freely we have received; freely, therefore, let us take as much more as we can get, and let it be a stand-up fight between ourselves and posterity to see whether it can get rid of us or no.  If it can, let it; if it cannot, it must put up with us.  It can better care for itself than we can for ourselves when the breath is out of us.

Not the least important duty, he continued, of posterity towards itself lies in passing righteous judgement on the forbears who stand up before it.  They should be allowed the benefit of a doubt, and peccadilloes should be ignored; but when no doubt exists that a man was engrainedly mean and cowardly, his reputation must remain in the Purgatory of Time for a term varying from, say, a hundred to two thousand years.  After a hundred years it may generally come down, though it will still be under a cloud.  After two thousand years it may be mentioned in any society without holding up of hands in horror.  Our sense of moral guilt varies inversely as the squares of its distance in time and space from ourselves.

Not so with heroism; this loses no lustre through time and distance.  Good is gold; it is rare, but it will not tarnish.  Evil is like dirty water—­plentiful and foul, but it will run itself clear of taint.

The Doctor having thus expatiated on his own opinions concerning heaven and hell, concluded by tilting at those which all right-minded people hold among ourselves.  I shall adhere to my determination not to reproduce his arguments; suffice it that though less flippant than those of the young student whom I have already referred to, they were more plausible; and though I could easily demolish them, the reader will probably prefer that I should not set them up for the mere pleasure of knocking them down.  Here, then, I take my leave of good Dr. Gurgoyle and his pamphlet; neither can I interrupt my story further by saying anything about the other two pamphlets purchased by my father.