That a soul had houses, lands, and honours among men does not increase his value in our eyes. We cannot hope to profit by his discarded riches. The soul in the “hereafter” builds its own house, and the materials thereof are free as air. If I use the house which another has built, I miss the enjoyment of creating my own. There is nothing worth stealing out here, so no one trembles for fear of burglars in the night. Even bores can be escaped by retiring to the very centre of oneself, for a bore is himself too self-centred ever to pierce to the centre of anyone else. On earth you value titles, inherited or acquired; here a man’s name is not of much importance even to himself, and a visiting-card would be lost through the cracks in the floor of heaven. No footman angel would ever deliver it to his Lord and Master. One day I met a lady recently arrived. She had not been here long enough to have lost her assurance of superiority over ordinary men and angels. That morning I had on my best Roman toga, for I had been reliving the past; and the lady, mistaking me for Cæsar or some other ancient aristocrat, asked me to direct her to a place where gentlewomen congregated. I was forced to admit that I did not know of any such resort; but as the visitor seemed lonely and bewildered, I invited her to rest beside me for a time and to question me if she wished. “I have been here several months,” I said, “and have gained considerable experience.” It was plain to see that she was puzzled by my remark. She glanced at my classical garment, and I could feel her thinking that there was something incongruous between it and my assertion that I had been here only a few months. “Perhaps you are an actor,” she said. “We are all actors here,” I replied. This seemed to puzzle her more than ever, and she said that she did not understand. Poor lady! I felt sorry for her, and I tried my best to explain to her the conditions under which we live. “You must know in the first place,” I said, “that this is the land of realised ideals. Now a man who has always desired to be a king can play the part up here if he wishes to, and no one will laugh at him; for each spirit has some favourite dream which he acts out to his own satisfaction. “We have, madam,” I continued, “reacquired the tolerance and the courtesy of children who never ridicule one another’s play.” “Is heaven merely a play-room?” she asked, in a shocked tone. “Not at all,” I answered; “but you are not in heaven.” Her look of apprehension caused me immediately to add: “Nor are you in hell, either. What was your religion upon the earth?” “Why, I professed the usual religion of my country and station; but I never gave it much thought.” “Perhaps the idea of purgatory is not unfamiliar to you.” “I am not a papist,” she said, with some warmth. “Nevertheless, a papist in your position would conceive himself to be in purgatory.” “I am certainly not happy,” she admitted, “because everything is so strange.”