I felt all right, if that was the case, so I bade him good-day and
All day I walked towards the far end of a prodigious hall of
the office, hoping to come out into heaven any moment, but it was a
mistake. That hall was built on the general heavenly plan - it
naturally couldn't be small. At last I got so tired I couldn't go
any farther; so I sat down to rest, and begun to tackle the
queerest sort of strangers and ask for information, but I didn't
get any; they couldn't understand my language, and I could not
understand theirs. I got dreadfully lonesome. I was so down-
hearted and homesick I wished a hundred times I never had died. I
turned back, of course. About noon next day, I got back at last
and was on hand at the booking-office once more. Says I to the
head clerk -
"I begin to see that a man's got to be in his own Heaven to be
"Perfectly correct," says he. "Did you imagine the same heaven
would suit all sorts of men?"
"Well, I had that idea - but I see the foolishness of it. Which
way am I to go to get to my district?"
He called the under clerk that had examined the map, and he gave me
general directions. I thanked him and started; but he says -
"Wait a minute; it is millions of leagues from here. Go outside
and stand on that red wishing-carpet; shut your eyes, hold your
breath, and wish yourself there."
"I'm much obliged," says I; "why didn't you dart me through when I
"We have a good deal to think of here; it was your place to think
of it and ask for it. Good-by; we probably sha'n't see you in this
region for a thousand centuries or so."
"In that case, O REVOOR," says I.
I hopped onto the carpet and held my breath and shut my eyes and
wished I was in the booking-office of my own section. The very
next instant a voice I knew sung out in a business kind of a way -
"A harp and a hymn-book, pair of wings and a halo, size 13, for
Cap'n Eli Stormfield, of San Francisco! - make him out a clean bill
of health, and let him in."
I opened my eyes. Sure enough, it was a Pi Ute Injun I used to
know in Tulare County; mighty good fellow - I remembered being at
his funeral, which consisted of him being burnt and the other
Injuns gauming their faces with his ashes and howling like
wildcats. He was powerful glad to see me, and you may make up your
mind I was just as glad to see him, and feel that I was in the
right kind of a heaven at last.
Just as far as your eye could reach, there was swarms of clerks,
running and bustling around, tricking out thousands of Yanks and
Mexicans and English and Arabs, and all sorts of people in their
new outfits; and when they gave me my kit and I put on my halo and
took a look in the glass, I could have jumped over a house for joy,
I was so happy. "Now THIS is something like!" says I. "Now," says
I, "I'm all right - show me a cloud."
Inside of fifteen minutes I was a mile on my way towards the cloud-
banks and about a million people along with me. Most of us tried
to fly, but some got crippled and nobody made a success of it. So
we concluded to walk, for the present, till we had had some wing
We begun to meet swarms of folks who were coming back. Some had
harps and nothing else; some had hymn-books and nothing else; some
had nothing at all; all of them looked meek and uncomfortable; one
young fellow hadn't anything left but his halo, and he was carrying
that in his hand; all of a sudden he offered it to me and says -
"Will you hold it for me a minute?"
Then he disappeared in the crowd. I went on. A woman asked me to
hold her palm branch, and then SHE disappeared. A girl got me to
hold her harp for her, and by George, SHE disappeared; and so on
and so on, till I was about loaded down to the guards. Then comes
a smiling old gentleman and asked me to hold HIS things. I swabbed
off the perspiration and says, pretty tart -
"I'll have to get you to excuse me, my friend, - I ain't no hat-
About this time I begun to run across piles of those traps, lying
in the road. I just quietly dumped my extra cargo along with them.
I looked around, and, Peters, that whole nation that was following
me were loaded down the same as I'd been. The return crowd had got
them to hold their things a minute, you see. They all dumped their
loads, too, and we went on.
When I found myself perched on a cloud, with a million other
people, I never felt so good in my life. Says I, "Now this is
according to the promises; I've been having my doubts, but now I am
in heaven, sure enough." I gave my palm branch a wave or two, for
luck, and then I tautened up my harp-strings and struck in. Well,
Peters, you can't imagine anything like the row we made. It was
grand to listen to, and made a body thrill all over, but there was
considerable many tunes going on at once, and that was a drawback
to the harmony, you understand; and then there was a lot of Injun
tribes, and they kept up such another war-whooping that they kind
of took the tuck out of the music. By and by I quit performing,
and judged I'd take a rest. There was quite a nice mild old
gentleman sitting next me, and I noticed he didn't take a hand; I
encouraged him, but he said he was naturally bashful, and was
afraid to try before so many people. By and by the old gentleman
said he never could seem to enjoy music somehow. The fact was, I
was beginning to feel the same way; but I didn't say anything. Him
and I had a considerable long silence, then, but of course it
warn't noticeable in that place. After about sixteen or seventeen
hours, during which I played and sung a little, now and then -
always the same tune, because I didn't know any other - I laid down
my harp and begun to fan myself with my palm branch. Then we both
got to sighing pretty regular. Finally, says he -
"Don't you know any tune but the one you've been pegging at all
"Not another blessed one," says I.
"Don't you reckon you could learn another one?" says he.
"Never," says I; "I've tried to, but I couldn't manage it."
"It's a long time to hang to the one - eternity, you know."
"Don't break my heart," says I; "I'm getting low-spirited enough
After another long silence, says he -
"Are you glad to be here?"
Says I, "Old man, I'll be frank with you. This AIN'T just as near
my idea of bliss as I thought it was going to be, when I used to go
Says he, "What do you say to knocking off and calling it half a
"That's me," says I. "I never wanted to get off watch so bad in my
So we started. Millions were coming to the cloud-bank all the
time, happy and hosannahing; millions were leaving it all the time,
looking mighty quiet, I tell you. We laid for the new-comers, and
pretty soon I'd got them to hold all my things a minute, and then I
was a free man again and most outrageously happy. Just then I ran
across old Sam Bartlett, who had been dead a long time, and stopped
to have a talk with him. Says I -
"Now tell me - is this to go on forever? Ain't there anything else
for a change?"
Says he -
"I'll set you right on that point very quick. People take the
figurative language of the Bible and the allegories for literal,
and the first thing they ask for when they get here is a halo and a
harp, and so on. Nothing that's harmless and reasonable is refused
a body here, if he asks it in the right spirit. So they are
outfitted with these things without a word. They go and sing and
play just about one day, and that's the last you'll ever see them
in the choir. They don't need anybody to tell them that that sort
of thing wouldn't make a heaven - at least not a heaven that a sane
man could stand a week and remain sane. That cloud-bank is placed
where the noise can't disturb the old inhabitants, and so there
ain't any harm in letting everybody get up there and cure himself
as soon as he comes.
"Now you just remember this - heaven is as blissful and lovely as
it can be; but it's just the busiest place you ever heard of.
There ain't any idle people here after the first day. Singing
hymns and waving palm branches through all eternity is pretty when
you hear about it in the pulpit, but it's as poor a way to put in
valuable time as a body could contrive. It would just make a
heaven of warbling ignoramuses, don't you see? Eternal Rest sounds
comforting in the pulpit, too. Well, you try it once, and see how
heavy time will hang on your hands. Why, Stormfield, a man like
you, that had been active and stirring all his life, would go mad
in six months in a heaven where he hadn't anything to do. Heaven
is the very last place to come to REST in, - and don't you be
afraid to bet on that!"
Says I -
"Sam, I'm as glad to hear it as I thought I'd be sorry. I'm glad I
Says he -
"Cap'n, ain't you pretty physically tired?"
Says I -
"Sam, it ain't any name for it! I'm dog-tired."
"Just so - just so. You've earned a good sleep, and you'll get it.
You've earned a good appetite, and you'll enjoy your dinner. It's
the same here as it is on earth - you've got to earn a thing,
square and honest, before you enjoy it. You can't enjoy first and
earn afterwards. But there's this difference, here: you can
choose your own occupation, and all the powers of heaven will be
put forth to help you make a success of it, if you do your level
best. The shoe-maker on earth that had the soul of a poet in him
won't have to make shoes here."
"Now that's all reasonable and right," says I. "Plenty of work,
and the kind you hanker after; no more pain, no more suffering - "
"Oh, hold on; there's plenty of pain here - but it don't kill.
There's plenty of suffering here, but it don't last. You see,
happiness ain't a THING IN ITSELF - it's only a CONTRAST with
something that ain't pleasant. That's all it is. There ain't a
thing you can mention that is happiness in its own self - it's only
so by contrast with the other thing. And so, as soon as the
novelty is over and the force of the contrast dulled, it ain't
happiness any longer, and you have to get something fresh. Well,
there's plenty of pain and suffering in heaven - consequently
there's plenty of contrasts, and just no end of happiness."
Says I, "It's the sensiblest heaven I've heard of yet, Sam, though
it's about as different from the one I was brought up on as a live
princess is different from her own wax figger."
Along in the first months I knocked around about the Kingdom,
making friends and looking at the country, and finally settled down
in a pretty likely region, to have a rest before taking another
start. I went on making acquaintances and gathering up
information. I had a good deal of talk with an old bald-headed
angel by the name of Sandy McWilliams. He was from somewhere in
New Jersey. I went about with him, considerable. We used to lay
around, warm afternoons, in the shade of a rock, on some meadow-
ground that was pretty high and out of the marshy slush of his
cranberry-farm, and there we used to talk about all kinds of
things, and smoke pipes. One day, says I -
"About how old might you be, Sandy?"
"I judged so. How long you been in heaven?"
"Twenty-seven years, come Christmas."
"How old was you when you come up?"
"Why, seventy-two, of course."
"You can't mean it!"
"Why can't I mean it?"
"Because, if you was seventy-two then, you are naturally ninety-
"No, but I ain't. I stay the same age I was when I come."
"Well," says I, "come to think, there's something just here that I
want to ask about. Down below, I always had an idea that in heaven
we would all be young, and bright, and spry."
"Well, you can be young if you want to. You've only got to wish."
"Well, then, why didn't you wish?"
"I did. They all do. You'll try it, some day, like enough; but
you'll get tired of the change pretty soon."
"Well, I'll tell you. Now you've always been a sailor; did you
ever try some other business?"
"Yes, I tried keeping grocery, once, up in the mines; but I
couldn't stand it; it was too dull - no stir, no storm, no life
about it; it was like being part dead and part alive, both at the
same time. I wanted to be one thing or t'other. I shut up shop
pretty quick and went to sea."
"That's it. Grocery people like it, but you couldn't. You see you
wasn't used to it. Well, I wasn't used to being young, and I
couldn't seem to take any interest in it. I was strong, and
handsome, and had curly hair, - yes, and wings, too! - gay wings
like a butterfly. I went to picnics and dances and parties with
the fellows, and tried to carry on and talk nonsense with the
girls, but it wasn't any use; I couldn't take to it - fact is, it
was an awful bore. What I wanted was early to bed and early to
rise, and something to DO; and when my work was done, I wanted to
sit quiet, and smoke and think - not tear around with a parcel of
giddy young kids. You can't think what I suffered whilst I was
"How long was you young?"
"Only two weeks. That was plenty for me. Laws, I was so lonesome!
You see, I was full of the knowledge and experience of seventy-two
years; the deepest subject those young folks could strike was only
A-B-C to me. And to hear them argue - oh, my! it would have been
funny, if it hadn't been so pitiful. Well, I was so hungry for the
ways and the sober talk I was used to, that I tried to ring in with
the old people, but they wouldn't have it. They considered me a
conceited young upstart, and gave me the cold shoulder. Two weeks
was a-plenty for me. I was glad to get back my bald head again,
and my pipe, and my old drowsy reflections in the shade of a rock
or a tree."
"Well," says I, "do you mean to say you're going to stand still at
"I don't know, and I ain't particular. But I ain't going to drop
back to twenty-five any more - I know that, mighty well. I know a
sight more than I did twenty-seven years ago, and I enjoy learning,
all the time, but I don't seem to get any older. That is, bodily -
my mind gets older, and stronger, and better seasoned, and more
Says I, "If a man comes here at ninety, don't he ever set himself
"Of course he does. He sets himself back to fourteen; tries it a
couple of hours, and feels like a fool; sets himself forward to
twenty; it ain't much improvement; tries thirty, fifty, eighty, and
finally ninety - finds he is more at home and comfortable at the
same old figure he is used to than any other way. Or, if his mind
begun to fail him on earth at eighty, that's where he finally
sticks up here. He sticks at the place where his mind was last at
its best, for there's where his enjoyment is best, and his ways
most set and established."
"Does a chap of twenty-five stay always twenty-five, and look it?"
"If he is a fool, yes. But if he is bright, and ambitious and
industrious, the knowledge he gains and the experiences he has,
change his ways and thoughts and likings, and make him find his
best pleasure in the company of people above that age; so he allows
his body to take on that look of as many added years as he needs to
make him comfortable and proper in that sort of society; he lets
his body go on taking the look of age, according as he progresses,
and by and by he will be bald and wrinkled outside, and wise and
"Babies the same?"
"Babies the same. Laws, what asses we used to be, on earth, about
these things! We said we'd be always young in heaven. We didn't
say HOW young - we didn't think of that, perhaps - that is, we
didn't all think alike, anyway. When I was a boy of seven, I
suppose I thought we'd all be twelve, in heaven; when I was twelve,
I suppose I thought we'd all be eighteen or twenty in heaven; when
I was forty, I begun to go back; I remember I hoped we'd all be
about THIRTY years old in heaven. Neither a man nor a boy ever
thinks the age he HAS is exactly the best one - he puts the right
age a few years older or a few years younger than he is. Then he
makes that ideal age the general age of the heavenly people. And
he expects everybody TO STICK at that age - stand stock-still - and
expects them to enjoy it! - Now just think of the idea of standing
still in heaven! Think of a heaven made up entirely of hoop-
rolling, marble-playing cubs of seven years! - or of awkward,
diffident, sentimental immaturities of nineteen! - or of vigorous
people of thirty, healthy-minded, brimming with ambition, but
chained hand and foot to that one age and its limitations like so
many helpless galley-slaves! Think of the dull sameness of a
society made up of people all of one age and one set of looks,
habits, tastes and feelings. Think how superior to it earth would
be, with its variety of types and faces and ages, and the
enlivening attrition of the myriad interests that come into
pleasant collision in such a variegated society."
"Look here," says I, "do you know what you're doing?"
"Well, what am I doing?"
"You are making heaven pretty comfortable in one way, but you are
playing the mischief with it in another."
"How d'you mean?"
"Well," I says, "take a young mother that's lost her child, and - "
"Sh!" he says. "Look!"
It was a woman. Middle-aged, and had grizzled hair. She was
walking slow, and her head was bent down, and her wings hanging
limp and droopy; and she looked ever so tired, and was crying, poor
thing! She passed along by, with her head down, that way, and the
tears running down her face, and didn't see us. Then Sandy said,
low and gentle, and full of pity:
"SHE'S hunting for her child! No, FOUND it, I reckon. Lord, how
she's changed! But I recognized her in a minute, though it's
twenty-seven years since I saw her. A young mother she was, about
twenty two or four, or along there; and blooming and lovely and
sweet? oh, just a flower! And all her heart and all her soul was
wrapped up in her child, her little girl, two years old. And it
died, and she went wild with grief, just wild! Well, the only
comfort she had was that she'd see her child again, in heaven -
'never more to part,' she said, and kept on saying it over and
over, 'never more to part.' And the words made her happy; yes,
they did; they made her joyful, and when I was dying, twenty-seven
years ago, she told me to find her child the first thing, and say
she was coming - 'soon, soon, VERY soon, she hoped and believed!'"
"Why, it's pitiful, Sandy."
He didn't say anything for a while, but sat looking at the ground,
thinking. Then he says, kind of mournful:
"And now she's come!"
"Well? Go on."
"Stormfield, maybe she hasn't found the child, but I think she has.
Looks so to me. I've seen cases before. You see, she's kept that
child in her head just the same as it was when she jounced it in
her arms a little chubby thing. But here it didn't elect to STAY a
child. No, it elected to grow up, which it did. And in these
twenty-seven years it has learned all the deep scientific learning
there is to learn, and is studying and studying and learning and
learning more and more, all the time, and don't give a damn for
anything BUT learning; just learning, and discussing gigantic
problems with people like herself."
"Stormfield, don't you see? Her mother knows CRANBERRIES, and how
to tend them, and pick them, and put them up, and market them; and
not another blamed thing! Her and her daughter can't be any more
company for each other NOW than mud turtle and bird o' paradise.
Poor thing, she was looking for a baby to jounce; I think she's
struck a disapp'intment."
"Sandy, what will they do - stay unhappy forever in heaven?"
"No, they'll come together and get adjusted by and by. But not
this year, and not next. By and by."