Mark Twain has given humorous views of heaven in his _Extract from Captain Stormfield's Visit to Heaven_. A bluff, hearty old salt finds the celestial regions very different from the traditional descriptions of them. The heavenly citizens are a polite set, wishful for him to do what he likes, yet he tires of the things he thought paradise consisted of, lays aside his harp and crown, and takes his wings off for greater ease. He finds his pleasures in the meeting of an occasional patriarch, or prophet, and the excitement of the entry of a converted bartender from Jersey City. He changes his views on many points, saying for instance, "I begin to see a man's got to be in his own heaven to be happy," and again, "Happiness ain't a thing in itself,--it's only a contrast with something that ain't pleasant." Again Sandy, his friend, says, "I wish there was something _in_ that miserable Spiritualism so we could send the folks word about it." Something of the same combination of humor and earnestness is found in Nicholas Vachell Lindsay's poem, _General William Booth Enters into Heaven_. "Booth led boldly with his big bass drum, _Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?_ The saints smiled gravely as they said, 'He's come.' _Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?_ (Bass drums) Walking lepers followed, rank on rank, Lurching bravos from the ditches dank, Drabs from the alley-ways and drug-fiends pale Minds still passion-ridden, soul-power frail! Vermin-eaten saints with mouldy breath, Unwashed legions with the ways of death,-- _Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?_ (Reverently sung--no instruments) And while Booth halted by the curb for prayer He saw his Master through the flag-filled air. Christ came gently with a robe and crown For Booth the soldier, while the crowd knelt down. He saw King Jesus--they were face to face-- And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place. _Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?_" This combination of realism with idealism, of homely details with celestial symbolism, is also seen in another recent poem, _The Man with the Pigeons_, by William Rose Benet, who shows us two pictures, the first of a tramp in Madison Square Garden, who loves the pigeons and has them ever clustering around him in devotion. The next is of heaven, with the celestial gardens, where among the goldhaired angels the old tramp stands at home, still wearing his rusty shoes and battered derby hat. The quaint commingling of fancy and fact reminds us of Hannele's dreams of heaven, in Hauptmann's _Hannele_, where the schoolmaster is confused with the angels, and heaven and the sordid little room are somehow united.