FUTURE LIFE
Mr. Tarzon Jones was sitting down to breakfast one morning when he was astounded to see in the paper an announcement of his own death.
He rang up his friend Howard Smith at once. "Halloa, Smith!" he said. "Have you seen the announcement of my death in the paper?"
"Yes," replied Smith. "Where are you speaking from?"
TEACHER—"And what was Nelson's farewell address?"
BRIGHT BOY—"Heaven, ma'am."
At the grave of the departed the old darky pastor stood, hat in hand. Looking into the abyss he delivered himself of the funeral oration.
"Samuel Johnson," he said sorrowfully, "you is gone. An' we hopes you is gone where we 'specks you ain't."
POST—"A man can die but once."
PARKER—"Once used to be enough, until these psychic experts got busy."
A French biologist declares that by a freezing process, somewhat similar to that used in preserving fish, the span of human life can be indefinitely extended. By going into cold storage here, we can postpone a hot time hereafter.
"Well, Bill," asked a neighbor. "Hear the boss has had a fever? How's his temperature today?"
The hired man scratched his head and decided not to commit himself.
"'Tain't fer me to say," he replied. "He died last night."
A park orator returning home flushed with his oratorical efforts, and also from other causes, found a mild curate seated opposite in the tram-car. "It may interest you to know," he said truculently, "that I don't believe in the existence of a 'eaven." The curate merely nodded, and went on reading his newspaper. "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."