‘They were fashioned by the souls themselves, a long time ago,’ replied the Angel enigmatically. A little later, my companion said: ‘I will show you something different!’ And together, we flew away from the cities and castles, until we came to a great, flat plain or desert, on which there was neither building nor tree, nor even rock. ‘Surely this is the most desolate place in the Universe and the Seven Heavens,’ I said, as we still flew over the great plain. ‘Look,’ cried the Angel, pointing. I looked and saw far away, in the centre of the great plain, one solitary, little soul. ‘Now that is loneliness and desolation indeed,’ I said, ‘what strange and terrible sins did this man commit, that his soul should be confined to such a place?’ ‘On earth,’ replied the Angel, somewhat indifferently, ‘he prided himself on having no Imagination!’ THE LOST PATH A child, whose name we have all forgotten, met three old men walking together, and to each of them put a question. ‘What is there in the heart of the forest?’ ‘Nothing but trees,’ replied the first old man, shaking his head, ‘and that, as you will find, is the great sorrow of life.’ To the second old man, the child said: ‘What shall I come to, if I go beyond the hills?’ ‘You will come back to this very place in time,’ he answered, mournfully, ‘and that is the saddest thing in the world.’ The child turned to the third old man, who was sighing deeply, and asked: ‘Why are you so sad?’ ‘We are sad,’ said the third old man, ‘because the vanishing years have taught us wisdom, and we know all things. But you, being young, know nothing.’ And the three old men shook their heads in unison and hobbled away. The child stood still and puzzled for a moment. Then it said to itself: ‘They did not answer those questions properly. They are wrong, but I do not know why.’ Then seeing a butterfly, the child ran after it, shouting with glee. THE LAST GLIMPSE OF A WELL-KNOWN FIGURE IN SOCIETY The eternal flames curled and writhed, thrusting out their voracious tongues. There was a great roaring and hissing, and everywhere the shrieking of damned and tortured souls. Mrs Bilkington-Biggs, late of Mayfair and ‘The Laurels,’ Bucks., was chatting to various acquaintances in that sprightly fashion which made her one of Society’s most charming hostesses. ‘What! You here’--she prattled, ‘so delightful, I’m sure.--Yes--the most wonderful time--Thursday last--we dined at the Moloch-Molochs’--You _must_ know them--All the nicest people there--Have you met Mr Beelzebub?--Oh, quite a charming man--knows simply everybody--He’s bringing the Herod and Nero set to one of my Thursdays--Delighted to meet you, I’m sure--What, not _the_ Mr Judas?--Oh--really--d’you know--.’ And so she went on, glancing curiously from time to time at a great black object nearby, which seemed to form the base of a vast pillar, half hidden in the smoke.