Good Stories Reprinted from the Ladies' Home Journal of Philadelphia Part 27

"For Heaven's sake, have me arrested!"

Some Amusing Blunders

A divine in drawing the attention of his congregation to a special communion service on the following Sunday informed them that "the Lord is with us in the forenoon and the Bishop in the evening."

A Scotch minister innocently, perhaps, hit the mark by telling his people, "Weel, friends, the kirk is urgently in need of siller, and as we have failed to get money honestly we will have to see what a bazar can do for us."

There is a certain amount of excuse to be made for the young curate who, remarking that some people came to church for no better reason than to show off their best clothes, finished up as he glanced over his audience, "I am thankful to see, dear friends, that none of you has come here for that reason."

A negro student when conducting the prayers at one of the great missionary colleges, said, "Give us all pure hearts, give us all clean hearts, give us all sweet hearts," to which the entire congregation made response, "Amen."

The giving-out of church notices has often proved a pitfall for the unwary. "During Lent," said a rector lately, "several preachers will preach on Wednesday evenings, but I need not give their names, as they will be all found hanging up in the porch."

_They Come High--But_

A stranger in New York asked a newsboy to direct him to a certain bank, promising him half a dollar for it. The boy took him about three doors away and there was the bank. Paying the fee, the man said, "That was half a dollar easily earned, son."

"Sure," said the boy, "but youse mustn't fergit that bank directors is paid high in Noo Yawk."

_At Any Cost_

A darky preacher was lost in the happy selection of his text, which he repeated in vigorous accents of pleading.

"Oh, bredern, at de las' day dere's gwine to be sheep and dere's gwine to be goats. Who's gwine to be de sheep, an' who's gwine to be de goats? Let's all try to be like de li'l white lambs, bredern.

Shall we be de goats, sisters? Naw, we's gwine to be de sheep.

Who's gwine to be de sheep, bredern, an' who's gwine to be de goats?

Tak' care ob youh souls, sisters; tak' care ob youh souls. Remember, dere's gwine to be goats an' sheep. Who's gwine to be de sheep an'

who's gwine to be de goats?"

Just then a solitary Irishman who had been sitting in the back of the church, listening attentively, rose and said:

"Oi'll be the goat. Go on; tell us the joke, Elder. Oi'll be the goat!"

_Where Was Bill_?

Bill Jones is a country storekeeper down in Louisiana, and last spring he went to New Orleans to purchase a stock of goods. The goods were shipped immediately and reached home before he did. When the boxes of goods were delivered at his store by the drayman his wife happened to look at the largest; she uttered a loud cry and called for a hammer. A neighbor, hearing the screams, rushed to her a.s.sistance and asked what was the matter. The wife, pale and faint, pointed to an inscription on the box which read as follows;

"Bill inside."

_All That Glisters is Not Gold_

One day an Irishman was seated in the waiting-room of a station with an odorous pipe in his mouth. One of the attendants called his attention to the sign: "No smoking."

"Well," said Pat, "I'm not a-smokin'."

"But you have a pipe in your mouth."

"Shure, an' I've shoes on me feet an' I'm not walkin'."

_Her Affectionate Brothers_

It was Commencement Day at a well-known girls' seminary, and the father of one of the young women came to attend the graduation exercises. He was presented to the princ.i.p.al, who said, "I congratulate you, sir, upon your extremely large and affectionate family."

"Large and affectionate?" he stammered and looking very much surprised.

"Yes, indeed," said the princ.i.p.al. "No less than twelve of your daughter's brothers have called frequently during the winter to take her driving and sleighing, while your eldest son escorted her to the theatre at least twice a week. Unusually nice brothers they are."

_The Voice of the Lady_

"Life" recently printed this extremely clever sketch by Tom Ma.s.son:

It was a quiet Sunday rooming on a side street. A playful breeze had lifted off the tarpaulin that covered the newsstand, and the magazines were enjoying a quiet hour by themselves.

"Harper's" took occasion to edge away from "McClure's."

"Your cheapness makes me dizzy," it observed, with a superior sniff.

"My cheapness is as nothing to your dullness,", exclaimed "McClure's," with some heat.

"Nonsense!" replied "Harper's." "Why, I once published an interesting story."

A chorus of groans greeted this admission.

"The trouble with you fellows," observed "The Century," "is that you do not understand the really serious side of life."

"How can we," observed "The Metropolitan," "for we have not, like you, a humorous department? We----"

There was a commotion. While these observations were going on "Munsey's" and "Everybody's" were having a dispute.

"I publish sillier stuff than you," said "Munsey's."

"I defy you to prove it," said "Everybody's."

"Let's form a ring and have them fight it out," suggested a rank outsider--"The Clipper."