Driving through Southern California, I stopped at a roadside stand that sold fruit, vegetables, and crafts.
As I went to pay, I noticed the young woman behind the counter was painting a sign.
“Why the new sign?” I asked.
“My boyfriend didn’t approve of the old one,” she said.
When I glanced at what hung above the counter, I understood. It declared, “Local Honey, Dates, Nuts.”
I hope they never find life on any other planet because sure as the world our government will send them money.
I ate 4 cans of vegetable soup and just had the biggest vowel movement ever…
Once you lick the frosting off a cup cake it’s a muffin and muffins are healthy……Your Welcome
I have come to the conclusion that dryer lint is the Cremated remains of missing socks.
When Alexandra, my niece, was preparing for her first day of school, she confided in her mom that she was concerned about how her cousin Thomas’s behavior in the classroom might reflect on her. “He burps and screams, he won’t listen and he won’t sit still,” she lamented.
“Well, how did it go at school?” her mom asked her when she picked Alexandra up at the end of the day. “Did Thomas do anything to embarrass you?”
“Oh, no,” Alexandra replied. “All the boys are like that!”
I’ll Get Too Tired
The baby pigeon said, “I can’t make it; I’ll get too tired.”
His mother said, “Don’t worry; I’ll tie a piece of string to one of your legs and the other end to mine.”
The baby started to cry.
“What’s wrong?” said the mother.
“I don’t want to be pigeon towed!”
Did you see the paper?
Bob opened the morning newspaper and was dumbfounded to read in the obituary column that he had died. He quickly phoned his best friend John.
“Did you see the paper?” asked Bob. “They say I died!”
“Yes, I saw it!” replied John. “Where are you callin’ from?”
On board an English steamer, a little ragged boy, aged nine years, was discovered on the fourth day of the voyage out from Liverpool to New York, and carried before the first mate, whose duty it was to deal with such cases. When questioned as to his object in being stowed away, and who had brought him on board, the boy, who had a beautiful sunny face, that looked like the very mirror of truth, replied that his step-father did it, because he could not afford to keep him, nor pay his passage out to Halifax, where he had an aunt who was well off, and to whose house he was going.
The mate did not believe the story, in spite of the winning face and truthful accents of the boy. He had seen too much of stowaways to be easily deceived by them, he said and it was his firm conviction that the boy had been brought on board and provided with food by the sailors.
The little fellow was very roughly handled in consequence. Day by day he was questioned and requestioned, but always with the same result. He did not know a sailor on board, and his father alone had secreted and given him the food which he ate. At last the mate, wearied by the boy’s persistence in the same story, and perhaps a little anxious to inculpate the sailors, seized him one day by the collar, and dragging him to the fore, told him that unless he told the truth, in ten minutes from that time he would hang from the yard-arm. He then made him sit down under it on the deck.
All around him were the passengers and sailors of the midday watch, and in front of him stood the inexorable mate, with chronometer in his hand, and the other officers of the ship by his side. It was a touching sight to see the pale, proud, scornful face of that noble boy; his head erect, his beautiful eyes, bright through the tears that suffused them.
When eight minutes had fled, the mate told him he had but two minutes to live, and advised him to speak the truth and save his life. But he replied with the utmost simplicity and sincerity, by asking the mate if he might pray. The mate said nothing, but nodded his head, and turned as pale as a ghost, and shook with trembling like a reed in the wind. And then all eyes turned on him, the brave and noble fellow this poor boy whom society owned not, and whose own step-father could not care for knelt with clasped hands and eyes upturned to heaven. There then occurred a scene as of Pentecost. Sobs broke from strong, hard hearts, as the mate sprang forward and clasped the boy to his bosom, and kissed him, and blessed him, and told him how sincerely he now believed his story, and how glad he was that he had been brave enough to face death, and be willing to sacrifice his life for the truth of his word. — Illustrated Weekly Telegraph.
THE MIDNIGHT CONFLICT
Shall I repeat a true story told me by the sufferer himself a few weeks ago? And may I repeat it, so far as memory serves me, in his own language? I can never forget the passionate energy of my friend, as he walked again in the darkened chambers of a wrecked life, and recalled the scene when alone he met the tempter. But to the story
“I left my New England home in boyhood. As I kissed my mother good-bye, she put her hand on either side of my cheeks, and said: “You are pure now, my son. Ever keep your soul sweet and clean, and never touch a glass of intoxicating liquor.’ The pledge I then made to her I kept under strong temptations, and in circumstances that severely tried my good resolutions. Serving through the war, I came out with a cough that threatened quick-consumption. My physician recommended cod-liver oil and whiskey. I took his prescription. The former cured me of one disease; the latter brought on one of deeper and deadlier nature.
Yet I was not conscious of it, till one day a friend roused me with the words: “Major, you must be careful. You are bringing disgrace to your family.” I was shocked, and resolved that this should never be said of me again; but I still pursued the vile way.
“A little later, my brother repeated the warning, and I pledged him that I would heed his kindly words. That pledge was broken. I had a delightful home, was blessed with wife and children, and to her wifely pleading I again said: “I’ll drink no more,” and went on to disgrace the name she bore.
“One morning as I passed the open door of my daughter’s room, I saw her on her bended knees, and heard her sweet voice crying out: “O God, spare my father, and save him from a drunkard’s grave.” Then and there, I vowed before God that I would never drink again. I was drunk before night! A little later I was summoned to see a loving sister that was sick. I hastened to her bedside only to find in a darkened room her dead body. As I leaned over that marble form, and my tears fell on her cold cheeks, there, with clasped hands, alone with the dead, I told my God that the cup should never again soil my lips. In three days I was as bad as ever! At last, in a fit of desperation, I sent for my father and mother to visit my home, securing for them a palace-car, making their long journey as pleasant as possible.
They came to my charming home to meet their drunkard-son. The dear mother begged and prayed with and for me, that my purity might be restored. “After their return, with the echo of her agonizing petition sounding in my ears, I said: “I will once more take the pledge, and if broken now, I will go to the Pacific coast, leaving wife and children, to hide myself where they shall never hear of me again. “With this came the resolve to invite in a few friends to take one more social glass together, and then to sign the pledge. I sent to Boston for the choicest liquors, and one night when I had been left alone in the house, invited them in. For an hour I waited, and no one came. I paced the floor, and looked out into the moonlight, longing for their presence, that I might satisfy the appetite that began to clamor.
“And the clock struck nine, and no friends came. Then rushed into my soul visions of my childhood, and the voice of my mother sounded out: “‘Keep your soul pure and clean, my son;” and her words of tenderness awakened memories that had long been sealed. I opened the Bible, and read: ‘No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God.” Ah! Does that mean me? Closing the book I paced the room, and longed for companionship, that these busy thoughts might be dispelled, and the clock struck ten. I listened for voices, but there was quiet everywhere save in my own tempest-tossed soul. Then it flashed upon me that alone I must meet the tempter, and alone take the promised pledge. I reached out my hand to unseal the bottle that never looked so attractive, when a voice seemed to sound. “Let it remain untouched-now is the decisive hour;” and again I paced the room, and again with greater force, appetite begged for satisfaction. The struggle began to be more bitter, the tempter made a heavier assault, the hour dragged wearily along, and the clock struck eleven. Then I felt that the next hour must be the point on which my destiny for eternity was poised. For I was impressed by the thought that if I could resist the tempter until midnight, in some way, I knew not how, God would bring to me a way of escape. Oh, how I longed to break the bottle, the contents of which were more attractive than anything on earth; and yet that voice sounded out: “Touch but a single glass, and you are lost.”’ Then said the tempter: “Why not drink just once? You have resolved tonight to take the pledge; it will be all right to indulge in a parting farewell to an old friend.”
I again opened the Bible, and read: “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” I fell on my knees, and with the open Bible before me, and the bottle by my side, implored and prayed for strength to hold on till midnight. Oh! how appetite begged and clamored; and yet I was conscious that if I yielded it would be fatal, and my soul would be lost. The minutes dragged along, oh! so slowly, till eleven and a half o’clock, and the voice cried: “Only hold on till twelve, and you are safe.” Fifteen minutes passed, and then came the sorest, bitterest conflict of soul that man ever experienced. I had been in the midst of great physical peril on the battlefield many a time, when death came on the right and on the left in fearful form, but never had been in such deadly danger as now; for it was a conflict with heaven on one side and hell on the other. One who has never been under the maddening control of a master passion cannot realize the agony that can be concentrated, into even a few moments; and so the bitterness of that last fifteen minutes seemed prolonged into hours. Can I hold out? Will this struggle end in life and peace? Will the tempter vanish, a defeated, baffled spirit, and leave me free? Five minutes more and the agony increased, as appetite begged and clamored with tenfold power. There pealed out on the still hour of the night the stroke of the distant clock: one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve! I leaped to my feet and shouted, Victory! Saved by the grace of God! The burden rolled into the open sepulchre, and I felt that I was saved, and saved forever. I went out on my back piazza, and held the bottle up in the moonlight, and looked at it as calmly as a mother would look at a sleeping child; and then, hurling it upon the pavement, fell upon my knees in glad thanksgiving, and then and there yielded my soul, my life, my all, to Him who had redeemed me with His precious blood. The final stroke of the midnight bell, as it heralded a new day, was the dawn of a new life for me. I was made conscious on the instant, my sins were washed away. From that hour to this I have had no taste or craving for liquor, and my life is devoted to scattering the leaves which shall be for the healing of the nations.”
Such is the story of my friend, who, in a Western city, is today doing service for the Master. Years have passed since that midnight conflict, and his life has been one of consecration, and many a soul has been lifted and inspired by his burning, loving words:
“Touch not, taste not, handle not,” even though it is placed to your lips under the seductive guise of “only a medicine.” — Congregationalist.