HAVING arisen from the tomb, a Woman presented herself at the gate
of Heaven, and knocked with a trembling hand.

  "Madam," said Saint Peter, rising and approaching the wicket,
"whence do you come?"

  "From San Francisco," replied the Woman, with embarrassment¹, as
great beads² of perspiration³ spangled her spiritual brow.

  "Never mind, my good girl," the Saint said, compassionately⁴. 
"Eternity⁵ is a long time; you can live that down."

  "But that, if you please, is not all."  The Woman was growing more
and more confused.  "I poisoned my husband.  I chopped up my
babies.  I - "

  "Ah," said the Saint, with sudden austerity, "your confession⁶
suggests a very grave possibility.  Were you a member of the
Women's Press Association?"

  The lady drew herself up and replied with warmth:

  "I was not."

  The gates of pearl and jasper swung back upon their golden hinges,
making the most ravishing music, and the Saint, stepping aside,
bowed low, saying:

  "Enter, then, into thine eternal rest."

  But the Woman hesitated.

  "The poisoning - the chopping - the - the - " she stammered⁷.

  "Of no consequence, I assure you.  We are not going to be hard on a
lady who did not belong to the Women's Press Association.  Take a
harp⁸."

  "But I applied⁹ for membership - I was blackballed."

  "Take two harps¹⁰."

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