understand me.  I have had letters from them since, but it is such broken English I can’t make it out.  Back of those men’s time the English are just simply foreigners, nothing more, nothing less; they talk Danish, German, Norman French, and sometimes a mixture of all three; back of them, they talk Latin, and ancient British, Irish, and Gaelic; and then back of these come billions and billions of pure savages that talk a gibberish that Satan himself couldn’t understand.  The fact is, where you strike one man in the English settlements that you can understand, you wade through awful swarms that talk something you can’t make head nor tail of.  You see, every country on earth has been overlaid so often, in the course of a billion years, with different kinds of people and different sorts of languages, that this sort of mongrel business was bound to be the result in heaven.”

“Sandy,” says I, “did you see a good many of the great people history tells about?”

“Yes—­plenty.  I saw kings and all sorts of distinguished people.”

“Do the kings rank just as they did below?”

“No; a body can’t bring his rank up here with him.  Divine right is a good-enough earthly romance, but it don’t go, here.  Kings drop down to the general level as soon as they reach the realms of grace.  I knew Charles the Second very well—­one of the most popular comedians in the English section—­draws first rate.  There are better, of course—­people that were never heard of on earth—­ but Charles is making a very good reputation indeed, and is considered a rising man.  Richard the Lion-hearted is in the prize-ring, and coming into considerable favor.  Henry the Eighth is a tragedian, and the scenes where he kills people are done to the very life.  Henry the Sixth keeps a religious-book stand.”

“Did you ever see Napoleon, Sandy?”

“Often—­sometimes in the Corsican range, sometimes in the French.  He always hunts up a conspicuous place, and goes frowning around with his arms folded and his field-glass under his arm, looking as grand, gloomy and peculiar as his reputation calls for, and very much bothered because he don’t stand as high, here, for a soldier, as he expected to.”

“Why, who stands higher?”

“Oh, a lot of people we never heard of before—­the shoemaker and horse-doctor and knife-grinder kind, you know—­clodhoppers from goodness knows where that never handled a sword or fired a shot in their lives—­but the soldiership was in them, though they never had a chance to show it.  But here they take their right place, and Caesar and Napoleon and Alexander have to take a back seat.  The greatest military genius our world ever produced was a brick-layer from somewhere back of Boston—­died during the Revolution—­by the name of Absalom Jones.  Wherever he goes, crowds flock to see him.  You see, everybody knows that if he had had a chance he would have shown the world some generalship that would have made all generalship