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
come, now.”
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