They are believed to be extremely numerous, far
more so than mankind. They arrive from unknown planets, full grown, in
large batches at a time; but they can only leave the unborn world by
taking the steps necessary for their arrival here--which is, in fact, by
suicide.
They ought to be a happy people, for they have no extremes of good or ill
fortune; never marrying, but living in a state much like that fabled by
the poets as the primitive condition of mankind. In spite of this,
however, they are incessantly complaining; they know that we in this
world have bodies, and indeed they know everything else about us, for
they move among us whithersoever they will, and can read our thoughts, as
well as survey our actions at pleasure. One would think that this should
be enough for them; and indeed most of them are alive to the desperate
risk which they will run by indulging themselves in that body with
"sensible warm motion" which they so much desire; nevertheless, there are
some to whom the _ennui_ of a disembodied existence is so intolerable
that they will venture anything for a change; so they resolve to quit.
The conditions which they must accept are so uncertain, that none but the
most foolish of the unborn will consent to take them; and it is from
these and these only that our own ranks are recruited.
When they have finally made up their minds to leave, they must go before
the magistrate of the nearest town and sign an affidavit of their desire
to quit their then existence.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58