From my own Apartment, May 12.
I have taken a resolution hereafter, on any want of intelligence, to
carry my Familiar abroad with me, who has promised to give me very
proper and just notices of persons and things, to make up the history of
the passing day. He is wonderfully skilful in the knowledge of men and
manners, which has made me more than ordinarily curious to know how
he came to that perfection, and I communicated to him that doubt. "Mr.
Pacolet," said I, "I am mightily surprised to see you so good a judge of
our nature and circumstances, since you are a mere spirit, and have
no knowledge of the bodily part of us." He answered, smiling, "You are
mistaken; I have been one of you, and lived a month amongst you, which
gives me an exact sense of your condition. You are to know that all who
enter into human life have a certain date or stamen given to their being
which they only who die of age may be said to have arrived at; but it is
ordered sometimes by fate, that such as die infants are, after death,
to attend mankind to the end of that stamen of being in themselves
which was broken off by sickness or any other disaster. These are proper
guardians to men, as being sensible of the infirmity of their State.
You are philosopher enough to know that the difference of men's
understandings proceeds only from the various dispositions of their
organs; so that he who dies at a month old is in the next life as
knowing, though more innocent, as they who live to fifty; and after
death they have as perfect a memory and judgment of all that passed
in their lifetime as I have of all the revolutions in that uneasy,
turbulent condition of yours; and you would say I had enough of it in a
month were I to tell you all my misfortunes." "A life of a month cannot
have, one would think, much variety. But pray," said I, "let us have
your story."