“I could have been a barkeeper and a hard lot just as well as not，”says I，remembering the lonesome way I arrived，and how there wasn't any committee nor anything.
“I notice some regret in your voice，”says Sandy，“and it is natural enough；but let bygones be bygones；you went according to your lights，and it is too late now to mend the thing.”
“No，let it slide，Sandy，I don't mind.But you've got a Sandy Hook here，too，have you？”
“We've got everything here，just as it is below.All the States and Territories of the Union，and all the kingdoms of the earth and the islands of the sea are laid out here just as they are on the globe—all the same shape they are down there，and all graded to the relative size，only each State and realm and island is a good many billion times bigger here than it is below.There goes another blast.”
“What is that one for？”
“That is only another fort answering the first one.They each fire eleven hundred and one thunder blasts at a single dash—it is the usual salute for an eleventh-hour guest；a hundred for each hour and an extra one for the guest's sex；if it was a woman we would know it by their leaving off the extra gun.”
“How do we know there's eleven hundred and one，Sandy，when they all go off at once？—and yet we certainly do know.”
“Our intellects are a good deal sharpened up，here，in some ways，and that is one of them.Numbers and sizes and distances are so great，here，that we have to be made so we can feel them—our old ways of counting and measuring and ciphering wouldn't ever give us an idea of them，but would only confuse us and oppress us and make our heads ache.”
After some more talk about this，I says:“Sandy，I notice that I hardly ever see a white angel；where I run across one white angel，I strike as many as a hundred million copper-colored ones—people that can't speak English.How is that？”
“Well，you will find it the same in any State or Territory of the American corner of heaven you choose to go to.I have shot along，a whole week on a stretch，and gone millions and millions of miles，through perfect swarms of angels，without ever seeing a single white one，or hearing a word I could understand.You see，America was occupied a billion years and more，by Injuns and Aztecs，and that sort of folks，before a white man ever set his foot in it.During the first three hundred years after Columbus's discovery，there wasn't ever more than one good lecture audience of white people，all put together，in America—I mean the whole thing，British Possessions and all；in the beginning of our century there were only 6，000，000or 7，000，000—say seven；12，000，000or 14，000，000in 1825；say 23，000，000in 1850；40，000，000in 1875.Our death-rate has always been 20in 1000per annum.Well，140，000died the first year of the century；280，000the twenty-fifth year；500，000the fiftieth year；about a million the seventy-fifth year.Now I am going to be liberal about this thing，and consider that fifty million whites have died in America from the beginning up to to-day—make it sixty，if you want to；make it a hundred million—it's no difference about a few millions one way or t'other.Well，now，you can see，yourself，that when you come to spread a little dab of people like that over these hundreds of billions of miles of American territory here in heaven，it is like scattering a ten-cent box of homopathic pills over the Great Sahara and expecting to find them again.You can't expect us to amount to anything in heaven，and we don't—now that is the simple fact，and we have got to do the best we can with it.The learned men from other planets and other systems come here and hang around a while，when they are touring around the Kingdom，and then go back to their own section of heaven and write a book of travels，and they give America about five lines in it.And what do they say about us？They say this wilderness is populated with a scattering few hundred thousand billions of red angels，with now and then a curiously complected diseased one.You see，they think we whites and the occasional nigger are Injuns that have been bleached out or blackened by some leprous disease or other—for some peculiarly rascally sin，mind you.It is a mighty sour pill for us all，my friend—even the modestest of us，let alone the other kind，that think they are going to be received like a long-lost government bond，and hug Abraham into the bargain.I haven't asked you any of the particulars，Captain，but I judge it goes without saying—if my experience is worth anything—that there wasn't much of a hooraw made over you when you arrived—now was there？”
“Don't mention it，Sandy，”says I，coloring up a little；“I wouldn't have had the family see it for any amount you are a mind to name.Change the subject，Sandy，change the subject.”
“Well，do you think of settling in the California department of bliss？”
“I don't know.I wasn't calculating on doing anything really definite in that direction till the family come.I thought I would just look around，meantime，in a quiet way，and make up my mind.Besides，I know a good many dead people，and I was calculating to hunt them up and swap a little gossip with them about friends，and old times，and one thing or another，and ask them how they like it here，as far as they have got.I reckon my wife will want to camp in the California range，though，because most all her departed will be there，and she likes to be with folks she knows.”
“Don't you let her.You see what the Jersey district of heaven is，for whites；well，the California district is a thousand times worse.It swarms with a mean kind of leather-headed mud-colored angels—and your nearest white neighbors is likely to be a million
miles away.What a man mostly misses，in heaven，is company—company of his own sort and color and language.I have come near settling in the European part of heaven once or twice on that account.”
“Well，why didn't you，Sandy？”
