He did not remember having ever been dirty. Indeed, he did not remember any of his old troubles, being tired, or hungry, or beaten, or sent up dark chimneys. Since that sweet sleep, he had forgotten all about his master, and Harthover Place, and the little white girl, and in a word, all that had happened to him when he lived before; and what was best of all, he had forgotten all the bad words which he had learned from Grimes, and the rude boys with whom he used to play. That is not strange: for you know, when you came into this world, and became a land-baby, you remembered nothing. So why should he, when he became a water-baby? Then have you lived before? My dear child, who can tell? One can only tell that, by remembering something which happened where we lived before; and as we remember nothing, we know nothing about it; and no book, and no 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_.” [Picture: Woman teacher] 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_, _logical_, _productive_, _irrefragable_, _salutary_, _nominalistic_, _comfortable_, _realistic_, _and on-all-accounts-to-be-received_ doctrine of this wonderful fairy tale; which is, that your soul makes your body, just as a snail makes his shell. For the rest, it is enough for us to be sure that whether or not we lived before, we shall live again; though not, I hope, as poor little heathen Tom did. For he went downward into the water: but we, I hope, shall go upward to a very different place. [Picture: Tom in the stream]