Susie.—“Yesterday morning, at twenty past eight. Everything seems so strange to me ... this calm ... but what I can’t get over is to see the negroes, the Chinese, the savages; what a number of them are here! ... those that our missionaries converted, I suppose. What a blessed work, our foreign missions! Only I fancy all those converts ought to have a place ... how shall I explain myself? ... marked out for them. To speak candidly, I quite expected to see our glorious nation treated with a great deal more consideration than it seems to be.”
Jennie.—“Yes, isn’t it strange? I can’t understand it at all.”
Susie.—“Would you believe it, I had to wait two mortal hours at the gate yesterday morning, and, when at last my turn came, Saint Peter never even got up to welcome me ... and pay me a compliment or two?... It would have been nothing but polite, I am sure; for, after all, where would Paradise be without us? Who is it that proclaims the glory of God at the four corners of the universe, I should like to know?”
Jennie.—“Yes, indeed; who but ourselves? I can assure you I am very disappointed. Where is the realisation of all the promises our dear minister used to hold out to us?... The kingdom of heaven is England’s inheritance; we are the chosen of the Lord ... and I don’t know what else.... It looks to me as if anybody could get in.... It is very mixed, to say the least. We are treated just like anybody else ... positively if I was not seated between a Cardinal and a Zulu at the Seraphim’s concert last night!”
Susie.—“Can it be possible?”
Jennie.—“It is a fact ... I have even been assured ... but I’ll never believe it unless I see it ... that there were.... But, just look how everyone is crowding towards the great entrance gate ... who can have arrived?”
Surely enough the noise of trumpets, tambourines, cornets, concertinas, a frightful hubbub, had just burst on the ears of the elect, who were rushing to the gate to find out the meaning of these sounds, so strange in those regions of rest and harmony. In the midst of the crowd of new-comers was to be seen a woman brandishing an umbrella, gesticulating, vociferating, and appearing to be in a state of great indignation. Saint Peter had just made his way through the agitated crowd.
Saint Peter.—“My children, calm yourselves, I beg. And you, madam, come in quietly, please; we allow no such noises here. What is it you want?”
Mrs. Bull.—“Well, I never! you seem to take a very high tone with me, I fancy; who are you to speak to me like that?”
Saint Peter.—“I am Saint Peter; and you?”