Sandy sent home for his things，and I sent for mine，and about nine in the evening we begun to dress.Sandy says，—
“This is going to be a grand time for you，Stormy.Like as not some of the patriarchs will turn out.”
“No，but will they？”
“Like as not.Of course they are pretty exclusive.They hardly ever show themselves to the common public.I believe they never turn out except for an eleventh-hour convert.They wouldn't do it then，only earthly tradition makes a grand show pretty necessary on that kind of an occasion.”
“Do they all turn out，Sandy？”
“Who？—all the patriarchs？Oh，no—hardly ever more than a couple.You will be here fifty thousand years—maybe more—before you get a glimpse of all the patriarchs and prophets.Since I have been here，Job has been to the front once，and once Ham and Jeremiah both at the same time.But the finest thing that has happened in my day was a year or so ago；that was Charles Peace's reception—him they called ‘the Bannercross Murderer'—an Englishman.There were four patriarchs and two prophets on the Grand Stand that time—there hasn't been anything like it since Captain Kidd came；Abel was there—the first time in twelve hundred years.A report got around that Adam was coming；well，of course，Abel was enough to bring a crowd，all by himself，but there is nobody that can draw like Adam.It was a false report，but it got around，anyway，as I say，and it will be a long day before I see the like of it again.The reception was in the English department，of course，which is eight hundred and eleven million miles from the New Jersey line.I went，along with a good many of my neighbors，and it was a sight to see，I can tell you.Flocks came from all the departments.I saw Esquimaux there，and Tartars，Negroes，Chinamen—people from everywhere.You see a mixture like that in the Grand Choir，the first day you land here，but you hardly ever see it again.There were billions of people；when they were singing or hosannahing，the noise was wonderful；and even when their tongues were still the drumming of the wings was nearly enough to burst your head，for all the sky was as thick as if it was snowing angels.Although Adam was not there，it was a great time anyway，because we had three archangels on the Grand Stand—it is a seldom thing that even one comes out.”
“What did they look like，Sandy？”
“Well，they had shining faces，and shining robes，and wonderful rainbow wings，and they stood eighteen feet high，and wore swords，and held their heads up in a noble way，and looked like soldiers.”
“Did they have halos？”
“No—anyway，not the hoop kind.The archangels and the upper-class patriarchs wear a finer thing than that.It is a round，solid，splendid glory of gold，that is blinding to look at.You have often seen a patriarch in a picture，on earth，with that thing on—you remember it？—he looks as if he had his head in a brass platter.That don't give you the right idea of it at all—it is much more shining and beautiful.”
“Did you talk with those archangels and patriarchs，Sandy？
“Who—I？Why，what can you be thinking about，Stormy？I ain't worthy to speak to such as they.”
“Is Talmage？”
“Of course not.You have got the same mixed-up idea about these things that everybody has down there.I had it once，but I got over it.Down there they talk of the heavenly King—and that is right—but then they go right on speaking as if this was a republic and everybody was on a dead level with everybody else，and privileged to fling his arms around anybody he comes across，and be hail-fellow-well-met with all the elect，from the highest down.How tangled up and absurd that is!How are you going to have a republic under a king？How are you going to have a republic at all，where the head of the government is absolute，holds his place forever，and has no parliament，no council to meddle or make in his affairs，nobody voted for，nobody elected，nobody in the whole universe with a voice in the government，nobody asked to take a hand in its matters，and nobody allowed to do it？Fine republic，ain't it？”
“Well，yes—it is a little different from the idea I had—but I thought I might go around and get acquainted with the grandees，anyway—not exactly splice the main-brace with them，you know，but shake hands and pass the time of day.”
“Could Tom，Dick and Harry call on the Cabinet of Russia and do that？—on Prince Gortschakoff，for instance？”
“I reckon not，Sandy.”
“Well，this is Russia—only more so.There's not the shadow of a republic about it anywhere.There are ranks，here.There are viceroys，princes，governors，sub-governors，sub-sub-governors，and a hundred orders of nobility，grading along down from grand-ducal archangels，stage by stage，till the general level is struck，where there ain't any titles.Do you know what a prince of the blood is，on earth？”
“No.”
“Well，a prince of the blood don't belong to the royal family exactly，and he don't belong to the mere nobility of the kingdom；he is lower than the one，and higher than t'other.That's about the position of the patriarchs and prophets here.There's some mighty high nobility here—people that you and I ain't worthy to polish sandals for—and they ain't worthy to polish sandals for the patriarchs and prophets.That gives you a kind of an idea of their rank，don't it？You begin to see how high up they are，don't you？just to get a two-minute glimpse of one of them is a thing for a body to remember and tell about for a thousand years.Why，Captain，just think of this:if Abraham was to set his foot down here by this door，there would be a railing set up around that foot-track right away，and a shelter put over it，and people would flock here from all over heaven，for hundreds and hundreds of years，to look at it.Abraham is one of the parties that Mr.Talmage，of Brooklyn，is going to embrace，and kiss，and weep on，when he comes.He wants to lay in a good stock of tears，you know，or five to one he will go dry before he gets a chance to do it.”