Tom was silent.
"I don't mean that he died hard, as we say; but so young, Tom. And I suppose poets' souls are worth something, like other people's—perhaps more. I can't understand 'em; but my Mary seems to, and people, like her, who think a poet the finest thing in the world. I laugh at it all when I am jolly, and call it sentiment and cant: but I believe that they are nearer heaven than I am: though I think they don't quite know where heaven is, nor where" (with a wicked wink, in spite of the sadness of his tone)—"where they themselves are either."
"I'll tell you, sir. I have seen men enough die—we doctors are hardened to it: but I have seen unprofessional deaths—men we didn't kill ourselves; I have seen men drowned, shot, hanged, run over, and worse deaths than that, sir, too;—and, somehow, I never felt any death like that man's. Granted, he began by trying to set the world right, when he hadn't yet set himself right; but wasn't it some credit to see that the world was wrong?"
"I don't know that. The world's a very good world."
"To you and me; but there are men who have higher notions than I of what this world ought to be; and, for aught I know, they are right. That Aberalva curate, Headley, had; and so had Briggs, in his own way. I thought him once only a poor discontented devil, who quarrelled with his bread and butter because he hadn't teeth to eat it with: but there was more in the fellow, coxcomb as he was. 'Tisn't often that I let that croaking old bogy, Madam might have been, trouble me; but I cannot help thinking that if, fifteen years ago, I had listened to his vapourings more, and bullied him about them less, he might have been here still."
"You wouldn't have been then. Well for you that you didn't catch his fever."
"And write verses too? Don't make me laugh, sir, on such a day as this;
I always comfort myself with—'it's no business of mine:' but, somehow,
I can't do so just now." And Tom sat silent, more softened than he had
been for years.
"Let's talk of something else," said Mark at last. "You had the cholera very bad down there, I hear?"
"Oh, sharp, but short," said Tom, who disliked any subject which brought
Grace to his mind.
"Any on my lord's estate with the queer name?"