"Of course," said Mr. Stackpole, rubbing his chin still,--there is a natural love of life--the world could not get on if there was not."
"If the love of life is natural, the fear of death must be so, by the same reason."
"Undoubtedly," said Mrs. Evelyn, "it is natural--it is part of the constitution of our nature."
"Yes," said Mr. Stackpole, settling himself again in his chair with his hands in his pockets--"it is not unnatural, I suppose,--but then that is the first view of the subject--it is the business of reason to correct many impressions and prejudices that are, as we say, natural."
"And there was where my clergyman of to-day failed utterly," said Mrs. Evelyn;--"he aimed at strengthening that feeling and driving it down as hard as he could into everybody's mind--not a single lisp of anything to do it away or lessen the gloom with which we are, naturally as you say, disposed to invest the subject."
"I dare say he has held it up as a bugbear till it has become one to himself," said Mr. Stackpole.
"It is nothing more than the mere natural dread of dissolution," said Mr. Carleton.
"I think it is that," said Mrs. Evelyn,--"I think that is the principal thing."
"Is there not besides an undefined fear of what lies beyond--an uneasy misgiving that there may be issues which the spirit is not prepared to meet?"
"I suppose there is," said Mrs. Evelyn,--"but sir--"