A certain young man's friends thought he was dead, but he was only in a state of coma. When, in ample time to avoid being buried, he showed signs of life, he was asked how it seemed to be dead.
"Dead?" he exclaimed. "I wasn't dead. I knew all that was going on. And I knew I wasn't dead, too, because my feet were cold and I was hungry."
"But how did that fact make you think you were still alive?" asked one of the curious.
"Well, this way; I knew that if I were in heaven I wouldn't be hungry. And if I was in the other place my feet wouldn't be cold."
FATHER (impressively)—"Suppose I should be taken away suddenly, what would become of you, my boy?"
IRREVERENT SON—"I'd stay here. The question is, What would become of you?"
"Look here, now, Harold," said a father to his little son, who was naughty, "if you don't say your prayers you won't go to Heaven."
"I don't want to go to Heaven," sobbed the boy; "I want to go with you and mother."
On a voyage across the ocean an Irishman died and was about to be buried at sea. His friend Mike was the chief mourner at the burial service, at the conclusion of which those in charge wrapped the body in canvas preparatory to dropping it overboard. It is customary to place heavy shot with a body to insure its immediate sinking, but in this instance, nothing else being available, a large lump of coal was substituted. Mike's cup of sorrow overflowed his eyes, and he tearfully exclaimed,
"Oh, Pat, I knew you'd never get to heaven, but, begorry, I didn't think you'd have to furnish your own fuel."
An Irishman told a man that he had fallen so low in this life that in the next he would have to climb up hill to get into hell.
When P.T. Barnum was at the head of his "great moral show," it was his rule to send complimentary tickets to clergymen, and the custom is continued to this day. Not long ago, after the Reverend Doctor Walker succeeded to the pastorate of the Reverend Doctor Hawks, in Hartford, there came to the parsonage, addressed to Doctor Hawks, tickets for the circus, with the compliments of the famous showman. Doctor Walker studied the tickets for a moment, and then remarked:
"Doctor Hawks is dead and Mr. Barnum is dead; evidently they haven't met."
Archbishop Ryan once attended a dinner given him by the citizens of Philadelphia and a brilliant company of men was present. Among others were the president of the Pennsylvania Railroad; ex-Attorney-General MacVeagh, counsel for the road, and other prominent railroad men.
Mr. MacVeagh, in talking to the guest of the evening, said: "Your Grace, among others you see here a great many railroad men. There is a peculiarity of railroad men that even on social occasions you will find that they always take their lawyer with them. That is why I am here. They never go anywhere without their counsel. Now they have nearly everything that men want, but I have a suggestion to make to you for an exchange with us. We can give free passes on all the railroads of the country. Now if you would only give us—say a free pass to Paradise by way of exchange."
"Ah, no," said His Grace, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "that would never do. I would not like to separate them from their counsel."