What if the immigration of destitute little aliens into our planet
ceased altogether?"
Marindin shrugged his shoulders, and there came into his face that
indescribable look of the hopeless mystic.
"Then humanity would have reached its goal: it would come naturally and
gently to an end. The euthanasia of the race would be accomplished, and
the glorified planet, cleansed of wickedness at last, would take up its
part again in the chorus of the spheres. But like most ideals, I fear
this is but a pleasant dream." Then, as the publisher turned away to
replace the P. Ts. in a safe, he added softly: "Intelligence is never
likely to be so widely diffused in Ante-land that the masses would fight
shy of birth. There would always be a sufficient proportion of unborn
fools left who would prefer the palpabilities of bodily form to the
insubstantialities of pre-natal existence. Between you and me, our friend
the publisher is extremely anxious to be published."
"And yet he seems intelligent enough," I argued.
"Ah, well, it cannot be denied that there are _some_ lives decidedly
worth living, and our friend Fore will probably bring up his parents to
the same profession as himself."
"No doubt there would always be competition for the best _births_," I
observed, smiling.
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