PREACHING

The railroad official invited the stern citizen to communicate his troubles.

“I want you to give orders,” demanded the visitor, “that the engineer of the express which passes through Elm Grove at 11:55 be restrained from blowing his whistle Sunday mornings.”

“Impossible!” exploded the official.  “What prompts you to make such a ridiculous request?”

“Well, you see,” explained the citizen in an undertone, “our pastor preaches until he hears the whistle blow and that confounded express was twenty minutes late last Sunday.”

The American in England affords cause for much perplexity and astonishment to his English kinsmen.

A Yankee soldier was being shown over an old church wherein hundreds of people were buried.

“A great many people sleep between these walls,” said the guide, indicating the inscription-covered floor with a sweep of his hand.

“So?” said the Sammy.  “Same way over in our country.  Why don’t you get a more interesting preacher?”

A colored preacher called on a white minister.

He found the white man busy writing.

“What you-all doin’?” he asked.

“I’m preparing notes for my sermon for next Sunday.”

The colored gentleman shook his head.

“I certainly would nebber do dat, sir,” he said.  “De debbil am a-lookin’ right over your shoulder and knows everything you gwine to say and he am prepared for you.  Now, I don’t make no notes and when I gets up to talk, neder me nor de debbil hisself don’t know what I’m goin’ to say.”

Bishop Partridge is a collector of anecdotes about ministers, and in an anecdotal mood he said the other day: 

“I once asked a minister how he had got through a certain service.  He answered grimly: 

“‘Well, bishop, the service was soothing, moving and satisfactory.’

“‘Yes,’ I said a little puzzled.

“‘Yes, exactly,’ said he.  ’It was soothing because over half the congregation went to sleep.  It was moving because half of the other half left before I was through.  And it must have been satisfactory, inasmuch as I wasn’t asked to come again.’”

The minister had just preached his farewell sermon to the congregation with whom he had had much trouble.

“How beautiful!” said a visitor to one of the deacons, “and how appropriate for a farewell sermon!”

“Think so?” said the deacon gruffly.

“Why, yes.  What better text could he find than ’In My Father’s house are many mansions....  I go to prepare a place for you.’  By the way, where is he going?”

The deacon smiled sourly as he answered:  “He becomes chaplain of the State penitentiary.”

While a certain Scottish minister was conducting religious services in an asylum for the insane, one of the inmates cried out wildly: 

“I say, have we got to listen to this?”