The conductor looked at him sharply.
The editor of that paper is in the smoker; come with me; if he identifies
you, all right.
He followed the conductor into the smoker; the situation was explained.
Mr. Editor said—
Oh, yes, I recognize him as one of the staff; it is all right.
Before leaving the train the lawyer again sought the editor.
Why did you say you recognized me? I’m not on your paper.
I’m not the editor either. I’m traveling on his pass, and was scared to
death lest you should give me away.
* * * * *
Judge Ben. B. Lindsey, the noted reformer of Denver, was lunching one
day—it was very warm—when a politician paused beside his table.
Judge, said the politician, I see you’re drinkin’ hot cawfee. That’s a
heatin’ drink.
Yes? said Judge Lindsey.
Oh, yes. In this weather you want iced drinks, judge—sharp, iced drinks.
Did you ever try gin and ginger ale?
No, said the judge, smiling, but I’ve tried several fellows who have.
* * * * *
Harry Bulger has recently added to his repertoire of stories a new
character vignette which has been received with laughter in the South.
As Mr. Bulger will be the guest of the Forty Club in Chicago during the
“Woodland” engagement in that city, he is reserving this story for the
post-prandial gossip.
It relates largely to a lawyer and a Jewish client during a civil action.
The attorney, watching the evidence and the countenance of the Judge,
whose reputation for severity was well known in the district, whispered
to his Hebrew client.
It looks very bad. We are going to lose the case. Whereupon the client
responded.
Vell, I will send the Judge a box of cigars.
Great heavens, no! That would end it.
The following day much to the surprise of the plaintiff’s attorney, the
decision was rendered for his client. Meeting his Jewish friend later the
lawyer exclaimed—
By Jove, I cannot understand this decision. Beats anything I ever heard.
Tell me, did you send the Judge a box of cigars?
Certainly. Of course I did.
What?
Yes, but I sent it with the card of the other fellow in it.
_Clerical Comicalities_
The blessed man that preached for us last Sunday, said Mr. Partington,
served the Lord for thirty years—first as a circus rider, and then as a
locust-preacher, and last as an exhauster.
* * * * *
Patience—Is your preacher sensational?
Patrice—I should say so! Why, he preached a sermon last Sunday and he
took for his subject, It’s hard to keep a good man down. Well? Oh, it was
all about Jonah and the whale.
* * * * *
A series of revival services were being held recently in a Missouri city,
and placards giving notice of the services were posted in conspicuous
places. One day the following notice was posted:
Hell, Its Location and Absolute Certainty. Thomas Jones, barytone
soloist, will sing, Tell Mother I’ll Be There.
* * * * *
There was once a clergyman’s son, who was educated for the ministry.
He finished his theological course at Oxford and returned home with
the Oxford accent. On the following Sunday he was invited to fill his
father’s pulpit for the morning service. The young preacher announced
his text as follows: And they wequiahed of him Bawabbas. Now Bawabbas
was a wobbah. At the evening service the old man resumed his pulpit and
preached an eloquent sermon from the text, O Lord, have mercy upon us,
for this my son is lunatic and we are sore distressed.
* * * * *
When was the automobile first mentioned in the Bible?
When Elijah crossed the river Jordan by a Ford and went up on high.
* * * * *
Clergyman—examining a Sunday School, Now, can any of you tell me what are
the sins of omission?
Small Scholar—Yes, sir, they’re the sins you ought to have committed, and
haven’t.
* * * * *
Rev. Goodman—Mr. Slick, our Sunday-school superintendent is a tried and
trusted employe of yours, is he not?
Banker—He was trusted, and he’ll be tried if we’re only fortunate enough
to catch him.
* * * * *
It is reported that Pope Gregory XVI offered his snuff-box to a Cardinal,
who declined it, saying: No, your holiness, I have not that vice. To
which the Pope replied in thoroughly human way, if it had been a vice you
would have had it.
* * * * *
Mama, said little Elsie, do men ever go to heaven?
Why of course, my dear. What makes you ask?
Because I never see any pictures of angels with whiskers.
Well, said the mother, thoughtfully, some men do go to heaven, but they
get there by a close shave.
* * * * *
The Bishop, addressing the little folks at the children’s service,
became impressive. Only think, children, he said, in Africa, there are
10,000,000 square miles of territory without a single Sunday school where
little girls and boys can spend their Sunday afternoons. Now, what should
we all try to save up our money for?
The children (unanimously)—To go to Africa.
* * * * *
At a sewing circle all the women were talking, and some of the subjects
got hopelessly confused. For instance, the subject of crickets and church
choirs. I never heard such a horrid noise as they made last Sunday, said
one woman, referring to the choir. Nor I, said another, thinking she
referred to the fall crickets. They say they make that noise with their
hind legs.
* * * * *
An evangelist who was conducting nightly services announced that on the
following evening he would speak on the subject of Liars. He advised his
hearers to read in advance the seventeenth chapter of Mark.
The next night he arose and said: I am going to preach on Liars tonight,
and I would like to know how many read the chapter I suggested. A hundred
hands were upraised.
Now, he said, you are the very persons I want to talk to—there isn’t any
seventeenth chapter of Mark.
* * * * *
A Baltimore man tells us of attending a church on one occasion when the
minister delivered a sermon of but ten minutes’ duration—a most unusual
thing for him.
Upon the conclusion of his remarks the minister had added: I regret to
inform you, brethren that my dog, who appears to be particularly fond
of paper, this morning ate that portion of my sermon that I have not
delivered.
After the service, the clergyman was met at the door by a man who, as a
rule, attended divine service in another parish. Shaking the good man by
the hand, he said:
Doctor, I should like to know whether that dog of yours has pups. If so,
I want to get one to give to my minister.
* * * * *
A clergyman preached a rather long sermon from the text, Thou art
weighed in the balance and found wanting. After the congregation had
listened about an hour, some began to get weary and went out; others
soon followed, greatly to the annoyance of the minister. Another person
started, whereupon the preacher stopped his sermon and said: That is
right gentlemen; as fast as you are weighed, pass out! He continued his
sermon some time after that, but no one disturbed him by leaving.
* * * * *
Not a few preachers would be glad to be the victims of such a practical
joke as was recently played upon the Rev. Mr. Hageman, of Oxford, Mich.
At the annual meeting of the church of which he is pastor the question of
hiring a preacher comes up for discussion.
At the last meeting of this society, when the subject was brought up,
a good deacon arose and said: All those in favor of retaining Brother
Hageman for another year—at the same salary—will please rise.
Not a person rose, and the minister, who was present, felt as
uncomfortable as possible, and heartily wished himself anywhere else.
Then the good deacon who had put the question arose again and said, with
a twinkle of the eye:
I see not one favors that motion, so I will put it again in this way:
All those in favor of keeping the Rev. Mr. Hageman—at an increased
salary—will please rise.
Everyone got upon his feet. Then it dawned upon Mr. Hageman that he
had been the victim of a joke, and a smile lighted his eye, and the
color returned to his cheeks. Some of his best friends had planned the
surprise, and the little scheme had worked to perfection.
* * * * *
The deacons and other officers of a church had met to discuss the best
method of getting rid of a pastor who had worn out his usefulness. After
various methods had been suggested without any of them seeming feasible,
one brother, who was a good deal of a wag, said:
I tell you what to do. Let’s pay him all his salary in arrears and raise
him to a thousand a year and he will drop dead.
* * * * *
A certain Duluth clergyman was a rather prosy speaker, but occasionally
he proved that he had ready wit. One evening he was addressing his
congregation on the beauty of leading an upright life, when he suddenly
paused and beckoned to the sexton. Brown, said he, in a clear, distinct
tone of voice, open a couple of windows on each side of the church,
please. Beg your pardon, sir! exclaimed the sexton, with a look of great
surprise. Did I understand you to say, open the windows? It is a very
bitter cold night, sir. Yes, I am well aware of that, Brown, was the
cold, hard reply of the clergyman, as he gazed around the church, but it
is not healthy to sleep with the windows shut! We refrain from going any
deeper into personalities.
* * * * *
The late Bishop Beckwith, of Georgia, was fond of his gun, and spent
much of his time hunting, says Representative Adamson. One day the
Bishop was out with his dog and gun, and met a member of his parish,
whom he reproved for his inattention to his religious duties. You should
attend church and read your Bible, said Bishop. I do read my Bible,
Bishop, was the answer, and I don’t find any mention of the Apostles
going a-shooting. No, replied the Bishop, the shooting was very bad in
Palestine, so they went fishing instead.
* * * * *
A preacher who went to a Kentucky parish where the parishioners bred
horses was asked to invite the prayers of the congregation for Lucy Grey.
He did so. They prayed three Sundays for Lucy Grey. On the fourth he was
told he need not do it any more.
Why, said the preacher, is she dead?
No, answered the man, she won the Derby.
* * * * *
The Rev. Mr. Spicer had for three days enjoyed the telephone, which had
been his last gift from an admiring parishioner. He had been using it
immediately before going to church.
When the time came for him to announce the hymn he rose and with his
usual impressive manner read the words. Then in a crisp, firm tone he
said, Let us all unite in hymn six double o; sing three.
* * * * *
That Henry Ward Beecher was spared much embarrassment by his quickness at
repartee is illustrated by the following story:
One evening as he was in the midst of an impassioned speech some one
attempted to interrupt him by suddenly crowing like a rooster. It was
done to perfection; a number of people laughed in spite of themselves,
and the speaker’s friends felt that in a moment the whole effect of
the meeting, and of Mr. Beecher’s thrilling appeals might be lost. The
orator, however, was equal to the occasion. He stopped, listened till the
crowing ceased, and then, with a look of surprise, pulled out his watch.
Morning already, he said; my watch is only at 10. But there can be no
mistake about it. The instincts of the lower animals are infallible.
There was a roar of laughter. The lower animal in the gallery collapsed,
and Mr. Beecher was able to resume as if nothing had occurred.
* * * * *
The maid had been using surreptitiously the bathtub of her employer, an
elderly bishop. He was a bachelor, very fastidious about his toilet, and
desired the exclusive use of his tub.
He reprimanded the maid with much indignation:
What distresses me most, Mary, is that you have done this behind my back.
* * * * *
A certain minister in a certain flock took permanent leave of his
congregation in the following manner:
Brothers and Sisters: I come to say good-bye. I don’t think God loves
this church, because none of you ever die. I don’t think you love each
other, because I never marry any of you. I don’t think you love me,
because you have not paid my salary. Your donations are moldy fruit
and wormy apples, and by their fruits ye shall know them. Brothers,
I am going to a better place. I have been called to be chaplain of a
penitentiary. Where I go ye cannot come, but I go to prepare a place for
you, and may the Lord have mercy on your souls. Good-bye.
* * * * *
Sister Henderson, said Deacon Hypers, you should avoid even appearance of
evil.
Why Deacon, what do you mean? asked Sister Henderson.
I observe that on your sideboard you have several cut-glass decanters,
and that each of them is half filled with what appears to be ardent
spirits.
Well, now, Deacon, it isn’t anything of the kind. The bottles look so
pretty on the sideboard that I just filled them half way with some floor
stain and furniture polish, just for appearances.
That’s why I am cautioning you, sister, replied the Deacon. Feeling a
trifle weak and faint, I helped myself to a dose from the big bottle in
the middle.
* * * * *
An archdeacon engaged as new footman a well-recommended youth who served
as stable boy. The first duty which the youth was called upon to perform
was to accompany the archdeacon on a series of formal calls.
Bring the cards, Thomas, and leave one at each house, ordered his master.
After two hours of visiting from house to house the archdeacon’s list was
exhausted. This is the last house, Thomas, he said; leave two cards here.
Beggin’ yor pardon, sir, was the deferential reply, I can’t; I’ve only
the ace of spades left.
* * * * *
Senator Gore, of Oklahoma, is given credit for this story, told on his
recent visit to a Methodist convention at St. Joseph. It is related by
the Rev. Mr. Williams, pastor of the Baptist Church of Pleasant Hill, who
happened to hear it.
According to Senator Gore, there was an accomplished hen with a brood
of chickens—five roosters and five pullets. The chicks matured and went
their various ways, while the mother hen busied herself with a new
brood. In course of time Methodist ministers came into the vicinity of
Chickenville to hold a conference, and, as might be suspected, the five
young roosters, fat, yellow-legged and extremely tender, were feasted
upon by various and sundry preachers. The young pullets, left behind,
were met by the mother hen a few days later. My children, she asked,
where are your brothers?
They have entered the ministry.
Bracing herself from the shock of disclosure, a look of resignation
spread over Biddy’s countenance as she replied:
Well, my dears, perhaps it is all for the best. They would not have made
very good lay members, anyway.
* * * * *
A Philadelphia clergyman, visiting an old schoolmate in Montana, was
called upon to speak during revival services in a large camp of Swedish
miners.
Looking straight at a powerful looking man who sat in front of him, the
minister asked:
My friend, don’t you want to work for the Lord?
The Swede thought a few seconds and replied slowly:
No, I tank no, de Norden Pacific fallers is good enough for me.
* * * * *
A short time ago a somewhat laughable incident took place in a northern
church. The minister, after proclaiming the banns of matrimony between
a young couple, concluded by saying, If there be any objections, they
can now be stated. A fashionable youth, an old admirer of the intended
bride, noticing the eyes of a portion of the congregation fixed upon
him, rose up and exclaimed, I have no objection for my own part, to the
astonishment of all about him, and resumed his seat, as if he had done a
mere formal piece of business.
* * * * *
Each Sunday the parson rode three miles to church. On this particular
Sunday it was raining very hard. He rode the distance on horseback and,
when he reached the church, was soaking wet.
Several of the good old sisters who were there early placed a chair
before the fire for him and hung his wet coat up to dry.