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bottom design, something the shape of a pear or a gourd.
Seizing it with a jerk he slopped an unnecessary amount
of the contents into his coffee, and a good deal into the
tray. He banged down the pitcher and glared at it help-
lessly. "That hell-fired thing," he said, "one might as well
try to pour milk out of a womb!" And a moment later,
"I get so damned short of profanity at a time like this."
Notes for "Letters from the Earth," an unfinished
manuscript. Letters supposed to have been written by an
angel visiting the earth, to another angel, in Heaven. Sub-
ject, Man:
"His (man's) heaven is a curious place. It has not a
single feature in it that he values on earth. It consists
wholly of diversion which on earth he cares for not at all.
For example:
"Most men do not sing—cannot sing—will not stay
where others are singing; many men do not pray, or like
to; fewer still go to church. To most men Sunday is a
bore—all sane men detest noise—also, monotony.
"Very well, in Man's heaven it is always Sunday. Al-
ways Sunday, and everybody either prays or sings. Con-
tinually. Especially sings. The man who could not sing a
note on earth sings there. Hymns! One hymn! ^cHosan-
nah, hosannah unto the highest!' And everybody banging
a harp—a hurricane of sound—a praise service—a service
of flattery, adulation. You will wonder who would endure
this insane compliment—not only endure it but like it,
require it. Hold your breath—it is God; Man's God, his
own pet invention.
"Man's heaven is a place of reward—of previous de-
lights—made it himself, mind you—all out of his own
head. Very well; of the delights of this world man cares
most for sexual intercourse. He will go any length for it—
risk fortune, character, reputation, life itself. And what do
you think he has done? In a thousand years you would
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