“KILLING NO MURDER.”

Evening Star, Issue 4016, 10 January 1876, Page 3

“KILLING NO MURDER.”

To the Editor. Sib, — Allow mo to wish you the compliments of the season, and many happy retin as. You will agree with me, I think, when I say that you, I, and. of course a multitude of others, have the privilege of living in glorious times—times. Sir, that are “illuminated with the glare” of real science—and that we ha re now the prospect, not to put the matter too strongly, of a happy solution of all our social problems. Of course I am thinking of the ‘ New Zealand Magazine,’ that youngest, but most excellent and most erudite of periodicals ; that literary prodigy, in short, that was ushered into this weary, wicked world on the first day of this year of grace 1876. You have read this cheerful journal? Of course you have, and studied it too. I also have read it; and on ris'ng from the sumptuous intellectual banquet the conviction that was deepest in my mind found expression in tlm words “ The mounrains”—no, I beg pardon—“ the gods are come down among us,in the shape of men.” The miilenium is, in truth, begun, and thejworld—said I, slapping my sides with joyous emotion—will now laurh’and he happy. Rut think, if you can, of the unutterable disgust which, amid the ceaachst whirl of atoms, overtook me on reading the other evening in the columns of your paper a letter, by Dr. BakeweU, animadverting on an inquest case, and calling in question even the appropriateness of the decision come to. “I think,” says the learned writer, “the verdict entirely wrong and palpably absurd. Hupposing a nurse to he feeding a patient whose arms are so burned or wounded that be cannot use them, and the patient is accidentally choked by some of !the food, is the nurse to bs branded as guilty of ‘ excusable homicide ’ ’ ” Certainly not; and let ma add, that none but moat culpably weak oould ever think of asking such a question. Then in the next eontence the worthy, bn--, morbidly soft-hearted doctor, inquires, “Is homicide ever excusable?” _ Unhappy man ! Your mental' and moral vision must be dreadfully obscured. To enlighten you, therefore, Ov/ort’hy doctor, let me have the pleasure of referring you—not indeed, to Mr Stout—excellent authority though he be in such a matter, but to tho pure Gospel of Evolution, as expounded in the New Zealand Magazine. Turn with me to page 29 of this able journal, and you will learn, to your great delight I trust, that homicide is under many conditions, not only “ excusable ” hut praiseworthy, because beneficial to the human race. For example, if anr n be so weak, or so poor, or so hopelessly diseased, as makes it likely that he shall become a perms,neat burthen on the community, evolutionary ethics say, kill him. If a baby comes [into the world with a sickly constitution or with a deformed physical organism, g evolutionary ethics say, kill it. “ To prevent a wretched drunkard from jumping into the river, would be mischievous meddling: the true friend of (humanity would let him drown, and congratulate himself that there was so much less evil in tho world.” _ In these examples, which are mere illustrations of the fundamental principle of evolutionary ethics—the destruction of the weak and the survival of tho fittest—you see, I trust, a happy solution of the case in which your humanity has no doubt prompted you to take so profound an interest. The more fact that.death ensued ou the subcutaneous injection of a quarter of a (grain of morphia, administered by means of a glass syringe, armed with a golden nozzle, fairly warrants the inference that the patient must have been weak indeed. Enough, Mr Editor, has been said not only to clear up Dr Bukewell’s little difficulty but also to direct general attention to the sublime teachings of th-.t “ irredesoeut ” and erudite journal, ‘'l ho New Zealand Magr.zTne.’ The latter object, indeed, is what chiefly moved mo to take up my pen ou this occasion. Seeing, therefore, that my motives are altogether in the interests of the public good, I trust you will find a place in your paper for these few lines, and oblige _ Jack Ketch. Dunedin, January 10.