"You don't quite realize," said the
park orator, "what I'm trying to make clear. I want you to understand
that I don't believe for a single, solitary moment that such a
place as 'eaven exists." "All right, all right," answered the curate
pleasantly, "go to hell, only don't make quite so much fuss about it."
A Massachusetts Senator was back home, looking after his political
fences, and was asking the minister about some of his old
acquaintances.
"How's old Mr. Jones?" he inquired. "Will I be likely to see him
again?"
"You'll never see Mr. Jones again," said the minister. "Mr Jones has
gone to heaven."
"Now, boys," said the teacher in the juvenile Sunday-school class,
"our lesson today teaches us that if we are good while here on earth,
when we die we will go to a place of everlasting bliss. But suppose we
are bad, then what will become of us?"
"We'll go to a place of everlasting blister," promptly answered the
small boy at the pedal extremity of the class.
"I wish, reverend father," said Curran to Father O'Leary, "that you
were St. Peter, and had the keys of heaven, because then you could let
me in."
"By my honor and conscience," replied O'Leary, "it would be better for
you that I had the keys of the other place, for then I could let you
out.
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