man, can ever tell us certainly.

There was a wise man once, a very wise man, and a very good man,
who wrote a poem about the feelings which some children have about
having lived before; and this is what he said -


"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath elsewhere had its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come
From God, who is our home."


There, you can know no more than that. But if I was you, I would
believe that. For then the great fairy Science, who is likely to
be queen of all the fairies for many a year to come, can only do
you good, and never do you harm; and instead of fancying with some
people, that your body makes your soul, as if a steam-engine could
make its own coke; or, with some people, that your soul has nothing
to do with your body, but is only stuck into it like a pin into a
pincushion, to fall out with the first shake;--you will believe the
one true,

orthodox, inductive,
rational, deductive,
philosophical, seductive,