"When I get to heaven," said Brown, as he laid down the book he had been
reading--"when I get to heaven, the very first person I want to see
will be Shakespeare."
"And what do you want to see Shakespeare for?" inquired his wife.
"Why, I just want to ask him whether he wrote his own plays, or whether
he got some one else to write them for him, and have this question
settled."
"Well, but"--objected his wife, "how do you know he'll be there? Not all
people will get to heaven."
"That's so, that's so," said Brown meditatively. "Well, I'll tell you
what we'll do--if he isn't there, then suppose you ask him?"
"LOUDER!"
At a criminal trial both judge and counsel had a deal of trouble to make
the timid witnesses speak loud enough to be heard by the jury, and it is
possible that the temper of the counsel may thereby have been turned
from the even tenor of its way. After this gentleman had gone through
the various stages of bar pleading, and had coaxed, threatened and even
bullied the witnesses, there was called into the box a young hostler who
appeared to be simplicity itself.
"Now, sir," said the counsel, in a tone that would at any other time
have been denounced as vulgarly loud, "I hope we shall have no
difficulty in making you speak out."
"I hope not, sir," was shouted, or rather bellowed out, by the witness
in tones which almost shook the building, and would certainly have
alarmed any timid or nervous person.
"How dare you speak in that way, sir?" demanded the counsel.
"Please, sir, I can't speak no louder," roared the perplexed witness,
evidently thinking that fault was found with him for speaking too
softly.
"Pray, have you been drinking this morning?" shouted the counsel, who
had now thoroughly lost the last remnant of his temper.
"Yes, sir," was the stentorian reply.
"And what have you been drinking?"
"Corfee, sir."
"And what did you have in your coffee?"
"A spune, sir," bawled the witness in his highest key amidst the roars
of the court.