The circle thou beholdest representeth, O Lord, a magnified drop of Thames water. What think you of the praises of that square-built creature with the long neck and the two forks? How like you the prayer of that ugly worm near the centre? How like you a hymn from that dot to the left, and a doxology from that dash below it? How like you hallelujahs from that star-of-Bethlehem-looking creature at the top, and hosannas from that cart-wheel-looking thing at the bottom?
When you wrote your Book, O Lord, you had no idea that these things praised you. Since I have had the honour to point out to you that so many queer wastrels praise you, perhaps, out of gratitude, you will excuse me from praising you. Be that as it may, it is clear that, if I do not provide myself with a filter, you and I must meet at an early date. I am in no hurry to meet you. I am a water-drinker, O Lord; but giving me water like this is enough to drive me to drinking whiskey. The best way to keep out of the kingdom of heaven is to use only distilled water. But the distillation of even a cup of water entails the death of millions of those worms and dots and stars and cart-wheels that "praise thee." Who am I that I should live when my life entails the death of millions? I do not know that your son died to save us; but the dots and cart-wheels do die to save us. Why should not we die to save them? As far as
