Susie.—“I play the Alleluiah trombone.”
Saint Peter.—“There they are, at it again! Go to Jericho, with your Alleluiah trombone, your tambourines, your field-marshal, your captains, and blood and fire soldiers.... Those English people will drive me mad.... Once more, will you move on? You see very well that you are causing an obstruction, there are elect behind you who cannot pass in.... Upon my word, those English people look upon Paradise as a British possession. (All at once the sweetest music is heard; the sound of harps becomes more and more audible.) My friends, have the goodness to stand quite still for a few minutes in a respectful attitude, whilst these blessed ones are passing.” (Twelve seraphs, resplendent with light, advance, preceded by lutes and harps; they smile as they pass before Saint Peter; they continue on their way.)
Mrs. B.—“Who are those blessed ones so dazzling with light?”
Saint Peter.—“They are six-winged seraphs of the first hierarchy, who have been here nearly five hundred years; and I may take the opportunity of telling you that they have never given me the slightest trouble. Gentle, peaceful....”
Mrs. B.—“But who were they on earth? To what sect did they belong?”
Saint Peter.—“They are Incas, of the ancient empire of Peru.”
Mrs. B.—“What! savages! people who wear rings in their noses! Well, I never thought to be insulted like this.”
Saint Peter.—“A more virtuous people never existed on earth, madam; it is virtue put into practice that we reward here, and not fine-sounding theories. In our eyes, he who has given a drop of water and a morsel of bread to a poor fellow-creature is more worthy than he who has discovered a new interpretation of the Holy Scriptures. He who has done a good deed without ostentation, stands higher here than he who has sounded a trumpet, and gone to publish his virtue in the streets and temples. But I should only be wasting time if I tried to explain these things, which do not seem to be in your line. Consider yourselves very fortunate not to be turned out of doors with your trumpets, your drums, and all your noisy and warlike trappings ... and I will trouble you to pass on into the gardens to repose yourselves after your journey, and meditate upon the indulgence of....”
Mrs. B.—“Well, this is the climax! A sermon to me...! (to her companions): Let us go in, my friends; and we must have patience, I suppose. The General cannot fail to be here before very long. We will then form a committee, and call an immense meeting of all the English people that are here ... we will see if it is not possible to place the keys of Paradise in better hands. (To Saint Peter): Au revoir, Saint Peter, we shall meet again.”
While this little scene had been passing at the entrance of Paradise, two of our old friends had just met at the corner of one of the prettiest groves in the realms of the elect.