the most part they are also condemned to wander, that is if they
happen to have been born south of a certain degree of latitude.

To come to facts, the staff of Faith which each must shape for
himself, is often hewn from unsuitable kinds of wood, yes, even by the
very best among us. Willow, for instance, is pretty and easy to cut,
but try to support yourself with it on the edge of a precipice and see
where you are. Then of a truth you will long for ironbark, or even
homely oak. I might carry my parable further, some allusions to the
proper material of which to fashion the helmet of Salvation suggest
themselves to me for example, but I won't.

The truth is that we fear to die because all the religions are full of
uncomfortable hints as to what may happen to us afterwards as a reward
for our deviations from their laws and we half believe in something,
whereas often the savage, not being troubled with religion, fears
less, because he half believes in nothing. For very few inhabitants of
this earth can attain either to complete belief or to its absolute
opposite. They can seldom lay their hands upon their hearts, and say
they /know/ that they will live for ever, or sleep for ever; there
remains in the case of most honest men an element of doubt in either
hypothesis.

That is what makes this story of mine so interesting, at any rate to
me, since it does seem to suggest that whether or no I have a future,
as personally I hold to be the case and not altogether without
evidence, certainly I have had a past, though, so far as I know, in
this world only; a fact, if it be a fact, from which can be deduced
all kinds of arguments according to the taste of the reasoner.