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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/rss2full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Tue, 20 Mar 2012 11:40:36 +0000</lastBuildDate><category>quotes stories</category><category>History Stories</category><category>Chinese Festival</category><category>Art</category><category>biography</category><category>motivation stories</category><category>writing</category><category>Funny Stories</category><category>artifact</category><category>short stories</category><title>Planet Stories</title><description>When every thing you can easy find</description><link>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>92</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/PlanetStories" /><feedburner:info uri="planetstories" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-8351205477135883862</guid><pubDate>Thu, 11 Feb 2010 13:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-02-11T05:18:28.197-08:00</atom:updated><title>unbrod</title><description>&lt;iframe style="border: 0pt none ; overflow: hidden; width: 720px; height: 362px;" src="http://www.movshare.net/embed/gbbwsuw53if2z/?width=720&amp;amp;height=306" scrolling="no"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/ga5mGiFsuoY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/ga5mGiFsuoY/unbrod.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2010/02/unbrod.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-6117285719347858071</guid><pubDate>Sun, 27 Sep 2009 15:25:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:25:57.955-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">short stories</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">writing</category><title>Sichuan Earthquake</title><description>Recently, devastating images in the news from the Sichuan Earthquake sadden me. Undoubtly, we feel depressed when we talk about Sichuan Earthquake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Sichuan Earthquake was at a magnitude of 7.8 on the Richter Scale, it has affected over half of our china. It killed more than 20.000 peoples. Our premier wen jia bo has appeared in many areas stricken and was extremely concerned about the victims of the disaster and their families.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we know, the earth quake resulted in the rivers having a risk of overflowing. People were forced to leave their hometown and go to safe places. Many residents escaped from the mountains and some got away from the countryside. Everyone was nervous and scared, especially the rescuers. It was a horrible condition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Relief workers tried to save the quake victims out of the rubble day by day. However, it is unfortunate that most of them were already dead. Also, their families suffered deep pain and hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nature can be heartless and uncontrollable. None can escape from the disaster. We should join forces to fight the disaster. Fortunately, volunteers have revealed their goodness. They have volunteered to donate blood and money, which are needed to save quake victims.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This great misery can remind us that we are very fortunate. We should treasure our families and our lives.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/wUV5rq-Ym60" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/wUV5rq-Ym60/sichuan-earthquake.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/09/sichuan-earthquake.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-4754119716594587564</guid><pubDate>Sun, 03 May 2009 16:48:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-27T08:10:24.970-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Art</category><title>Armour ‘Tosei Gusoku’, Japan</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SKG_15uD3qI/AAAAAAAAAF8/HXBeW7Ow240/s1600-h/Tosei+Tsudoku.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SKG_15uD3qI/AAAAAAAAAF8/HXBeW7Ow240/s320/Tosei+Tsudoku.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233675174729211554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.uniqueinteraction.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;Mid-18th century&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tosei Gusoku is one of the many types of Japanese armour and was widely used on battlefields during the 15-16th century.&lt;span class="fullpost"&gt; Built for defense and flexibility in a form similar to that used in the West, its design change as battle methods altered.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SKHAeAy4eRI/AAAAAAAAAGM/MVEcCZgPClM/s1600-h/Tosei+Armour.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SKHAeAy4eRI/AAAAAAAAAGM/MVEcCZgPClM/s200/Tosei+Armour.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233675863823251730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This suit belonged to a family in Hokine-Han (now Shiga-Ken) . It is from the collection of Yiyinaoyoshi of the Yiyi family, who held a major position under the warlord General Tokugawa during the Edo period. Gusoku means simple armour suit&lt;a href="http://www.uniqueinteraction.com/"&gt;.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/iwnlQKqpols" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/iwnlQKqpols/armour-tosei-gusoku-japan_9037.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SKG_15uD3qI/AAAAAAAAAF8/HXBeW7Ow240/s72-c/Tosei+Tsudoku.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2008/09/armour-tosei-gusoku-japan_9037.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-5561300972431495300</guid><pubDate>Tue, 28 Apr 2009 16:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-12T23:04:57.253-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">History Stories</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Art</category><title>The Massage</title><description>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SJlRyFgzJOI/AAAAAAAAAD8/JxjWEEIxi0I/s1600-h/p02s.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231302363082597602" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SJlRyFgzJOI/AAAAAAAAAD8/JxjWEEIxi0I/s320/p02s.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt; &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Thomas Cooper GOTCH (British, 1854 - 1931)&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Oil on canvas, signed and dated 1903, D:84cm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gotch of Northamptonshire studied painting at Antwerp and Paris when he wes young. A trip to Italy in 1891 became a turning piont in his career of art. The choice of Bablical subject in 'The Massage', the use of round painting, or the expressions of the mind with gentures are deeply influenced by Renaissance paintings, whereas the contemporaryfigures, poppies and background are characteristic of the artist's work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/ZdGjdjVV_sY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/ZdGjdjVV_sY/thomas-cooper-gotch-british-1854-1931.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SJlRyFgzJOI/AAAAAAAAAD8/JxjWEEIxi0I/s72-c/p02s.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/thomas-cooper-gotch-british-1854-1931.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-5333398594641525883</guid><pubDate>Fri, 24 Apr 2009 13:57:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:26:37.475-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">motivation stories</category><title>Why We Live as Long as We Do...</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZrqfDKtllI/AAAAAAAAAeo/h5zrfeR9JJs/s1600-h/Why+We+Live+as+Long+as+We+Do....jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 112px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZrqfDKtllI/AAAAAAAAAeo/h5zrfeR9JJs/s320/Why+We+Live+as+Long+as+We+Do....jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303809330329261650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://lubangbisnis.blogspot.com/"&gt;On the first&lt;/a&gt; day God created the cow. God said, "You must go to the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer I will give you a life span of sixty years."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cow said, "That's a kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. Let me have twenty years and I'll give back the other forty."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And God agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the second day, God created the dog. God said, "Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. I will give you a life span of twenty years."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dog said, "That's too long to be barking.  Give me ten years and I'll give back the other ten."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So God agreed &lt;a href="http://planetsnip.blogspot.com/"&gt;(sigh).&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the third day God created the monkey. God said, "Entertain &lt;a href="http://planetsnip.blogspot.com/"&gt;people&lt;/a&gt;, do monkey tricks, make them laugh. I'll give you a twenty year life span."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The monkey said, "How boring, monkey tricks for twenty years? I don't think so. Dog gave you back ten, so that's what I'll do too, okay?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And God agreed again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the fourth day God created man.  God said, "Eat, sleep, play.  Do nothing, just enjoy, enjoy.  I'll give you twenty years."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man said, "What? Only twenty years? No way! Tell you what, I'll take my twenty, and the forty cow gave back, and the ten dog gave back and the ten monkey gave back. That makes eighty, okay?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay," said God. "You've got a deal."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this is why for the first twenty years we eat, sleep, play, enjoy, and do nothing;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain our grandchildren;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and for the last ten years we sit in front of the house and bark at everybody.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/4K_8O1uoZVo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/4K_8O1uoZVo/why-we-live-as-long-as-we-do.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZrqfDKtllI/AAAAAAAAAeo/h5zrfeR9JJs/s72-c/Why+We+Live+as+Long+as+We+Do....jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-we-live-as-long-as-we-do.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-2505401342380026169</guid><pubDate>Tue, 21 Apr 2009 13:54:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:29:52.002-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>A Letter To God</title><description>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZq7YiBobII/AAAAAAAAAeI/ehYKLwh0dUk/s1600-h/Funny+story+about+a+an+old+lady+who+has+no+money.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 143px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZq7YiBobII/AAAAAAAAAeI/ehYKLwh0dUk/s320/Funny+story+about+a+an+old+lady+who+has+no+money.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303757541307083906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Funny story about a an old lady who has no &lt;a href="http://planetsnip.blogspot.com"&gt;money&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;A man worked in a post office. His job was to process all mail that had illegible addresses.&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt; One day a letter came to his desk, addressed in shaky handwriting to God. He thought, "I better open this one and see what it's all about." So he opened it and it read: "Dear God, I am a 83 year old widow living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had a hundred dollars in it which was all the money I had until my next pension check."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Next Sunday is Mother's Day, and I had invited my last two friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with." "I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me?" The postal worker was touched, and went around showing the letter to all the others. Each of them dug into his wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected 96 dollars, which they put into an envelope and sent over to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of the nice thing they had done. Mother's Day came and went, and a few days later came another letter from the old lady to God. All the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read, "Dear God, How can I ever thank you enough for what you did for me?" "Because of your generosity, I was able to fix a lovely dinner for my friends. We had a very nice day, and I told my friends of your wonderful gift. " "By the way, there was 4 dollars missing. It was no doubt those thieving bastards at the post office!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/GoJRtQLx6CY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/GoJRtQLx6CY/letter-to-god.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZq7YiBobII/AAAAAAAAAeI/ehYKLwh0dUk/s72-c/Funny+story+about+a+an+old+lady+who+has+no+money.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/letter-to-god.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-6989445481093581546</guid><pubDate>Mon, 20 Apr 2009 13:53:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:26:37.476-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">motivation stories</category><title>Ad In The Paper</title><description>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;This is a very funny  story about an old lady whose husband  died and she want to put an ad in&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZq6TeWNFXI/AAAAAAAAAeA/98XUf6YRo0o/s1600-h/Ad+In+The+Paper.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 88px; height: 125px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZq6TeWNFXI/AAAAAAAAAeA/98XUf6YRo0o/s320/Ad+In+The+Paper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303756354908657010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt; the paper about his funeral&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The local newspaper funeral notice telephone operator received a phone call. A woman on the other end asked, "How much do funeral notices cost?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"$5.00 per word, Ma'am," came the response.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good, do you have a paper and pencil handy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Ma'am."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK, write this: 'Fred dead.'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sorry, Ma'am; I forgot to tell you there's a five-word minimum."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hmmph," came the reply, "You certainly did forget to tell me that." A moment of silence. "Got your pencil and paper?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Ma'am."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK, print this: 'Fred dead, Cadillac for sale.' "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/OLqRMjmLL0I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/OLqRMjmLL0I/ad-in-paper.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZq6TeWNFXI/AAAAAAAAAeA/98XUf6YRo0o/s72-c/Ad+In+The+Paper.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/ad-in-paper.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-1596952306358539235</guid><pubDate>Sat, 18 Apr 2009 13:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:31:42.222-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">motivation stories</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">quotes stories</category><title>Happiness</title><description>There is that in me-i do not know what it is-but I know it is in me.&lt;br /&gt;Wrench'd and sweaty-calm and cool then my body becomes.&lt;br /&gt;I sleep-I sleep long.&lt;br /&gt;I do not know it-it is without name-it is word unsaid , it is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol....&lt;br /&gt;do you see O my brother and sisters?&lt;br /&gt;it is not chaos or death-it is from, union, plan-it is eternal life- it is Happiness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeXk_FGdraI/AAAAAAAAAiA/uIgP4P8PTfo/s1600-h/Life+of+Happiness.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 84px; height: 128px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeXk_FGdraI/AAAAAAAAAiA/uIgP4P8PTfo/s320/Life+of+Happiness.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324913906787659170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;♥ ♥ ..HapPiNeSs..♥ ♥&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; HaPpIneSS Is HapPinESS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HapPinEss MAkEs you wHispEr,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAppinEss MAkes YoU Love,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappInEss Takes comManD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappInEss MakeS You Calm,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HaPpInEss GiVEs You coMfORt,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HaPpInEss MAKes you haPpy,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappInEss MAkES you murMur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HApPiNess TuRnEd peOplE To Love You,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappInEss IS loVe,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HapPiNess Is HonEstY,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappIneSs FOrm PeAce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappIneSs IS What we’re waiTiNg,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappInEss Is DeeP DoWn InSide,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HappInESs Is GOnNa save Us,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hapPineSs Might jUst heLp Me FiNd True Love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/SDZX1d1dGJ8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/SDZX1d1dGJ8/happiness_18.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeXk_FGdraI/AAAAAAAAAiA/uIgP4P8PTfo/s72-c/Life+of+Happiness.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/happiness_18.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-8859277637418423269</guid><pubDate>Thu, 16 Apr 2009 14:31:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:27:44.980-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">biography</category><title>Benjamin Franklin</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeNQO6wXtBI/AAAAAAAAAhw/LfDdx-5HedA/s1600-h/WilliamFranklin.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 120px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeNQO6wXtBI/AAAAAAAAAhw/LfDdx-5HedA/s320/WilliamFranklin.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324187401702585362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Benjamin Franklin died, the largest crowd the country had ever seen gathered in Philadelphia for his funeral. The multitalented Franklin was a world-famous publisher, inventor, statesman, and writer, a man whose rise from poverty to riches and fame represented the promise of America.&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Franklin came from a large and poor Boston family and had to earn his own living at an early age. When he was twelve he became the apprentice of his older brother, a printer. When he was seventeen he ran away to Philadelphia, where he eventually owned and operated his own printing business. At twenty-four he was publishing Poor Richard’s Almanack. Franklin’s success enabled him to retire early and to devote himself to public service, politics, science, and inventing. His accomplishments included founding the university of Pennsylvania, performing important experiment with electricity, and inventing bifocals, the lightning rod, and the Franklin stove. Franklin never patented or profited from any from his inventions, preferring to contribute them freely in an effort to better the human condition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;If you would not be forgotten,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;as soon as you are dead &amp;amp; rotten,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;either write things worth reading,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;or do things worth the writing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Benjamin Franklin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/vUSR1w3QlLY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/vUSR1w3QlLY/benjamin-franklin.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeNQO6wXtBI/AAAAAAAAAhw/LfDdx-5HedA/s72-c/WilliamFranklin.jpeg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/benjamin-franklin.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-5867986210522783774</guid><pubDate>Thu, 16 Apr 2009 12:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-15T02:41:04.399-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>Arkansas</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwJsOPmapI/AAAAAAAAAgg/HI2j7Y_V-c0/s1600-h/Arkansas+is+beautiful+place.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 105px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwJsOPmapI/AAAAAAAAAgg/HI2j7Y_V-c0/s320/Arkansas+is+beautiful+place.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304125116478024338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After having their 10th child, an Arkansas couple decided that that was enough. So the husband went to his doctor and told him that he and his wife didn't want to have any more children. The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor told the man that he was to go home, get a cherry bomb, put it in a can, then hold the can up to his ear and count to 10. The Arky said to the doctor "I may not be the smartest man, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a can next to my ear is going to help me." So the couple drove to Missouri to get a second opinion. The doctor was just about to tell them about the procedure for a vasectomy when he noticed they were from Arkansas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This doctor also told the man to go home and get a cherry bomb, place it in a tin can, hold it next to his ear and count to 10. Figuring that both doctors couldn't be wrong, the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5..." at which point he paused, placed the can between his legs and resumed counting on his other hand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/MybI6HOYMEs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/MybI6HOYMEs/arkansas_16.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwJsOPmapI/AAAAAAAAAgg/HI2j7Y_V-c0/s72-c/Arkansas+is+beautiful+place.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/arkansas_16.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-112931846496984505</guid><pubDate>Wed, 15 Apr 2009 11:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:32:24.376-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">motivation stories</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">quotes stories</category><title>the meaning of Happiness</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeXJ1BT1YdI/AAAAAAAAAh4/FFoLW7n4lm4/s1600-h/Happiness.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 95px; height: 129px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeXJ1BT1YdI/AAAAAAAAAh4/FFoLW7n4lm4/s320/Happiness.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324884047157354962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The great end of all human industry is the attainment of happiness. For this were arts invented, sciences cultivated, laws ordained, and societies modelled, by the most profound wisdom of patriot and legislators. Even the lonely savage,who lies exposed to the inclemency of the elements and the fury of wild beasts, forgets not, for a moment, this grand object of his being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;‘Does Happiness depend upon comfort? ’&lt;br /&gt;The answer is definitely a big, ‘No! ’&lt;br /&gt;Happiness lies in not comforts alone!&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is not a static quality of the human mind, body and soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All can’t remain happy all the time.&lt;br /&gt;It would be foolishness to wish for a life, filled with happiness alone;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is more when woes come in-between.&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is just a feeling weird!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life could become boring and monotonous, when happiness is prolonged.&lt;br /&gt;Even the pauper can be happier than the prince.&lt;br /&gt;Even the beggar smiles and sleeps well, despite much strife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is a frame of mind that’s dynamic in nature;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is a kind of mood of feeling very well;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is a state of one, when life seems worth living;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is something strange that varies with time, experience and wisdom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is all within;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in giving;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in sharing;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is the ceiling, whatever you fix!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness does not wholly depend on comforts;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness cannot be bought by money;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is not all luxury;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is abstract to the core!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in being child-like, though adult;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in making and seeing the less fortunate ones, smile;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in acting adult-like, although a child&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in giving something to someone, although you still need it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in sacrificing for others’ sake;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in giving up your chance to someone, who most needs it;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in doing acts of charity;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is when you’ve led a righteous life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness to some is in dreams alone;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness to some doing risky feats;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness to a few is in a sheer lazy life;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness to some is in yeoman service to mankind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is a phenomenon;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is a quirk of fate;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is quite rare and scarce at times;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness to some is in living in a virtual world!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in braving the storms of life;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in toiling for others’ sakes;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in sharing your talents and ken;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness is in loving your poor brethren.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/KnLtyD4b8vM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/KnLtyD4b8vM/happiness.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeXJ1BT1YdI/AAAAAAAAAh4/FFoLW7n4lm4/s72-c/Happiness.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/happiness.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-1918944032514980953</guid><pubDate>Tue, 14 Apr 2009 12:13:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:25:45.108-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">biography</category><title>Albert Einstein</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeMtgKK3OrI/AAAAAAAAAho/ePXgfgJTqxM/s1600-h/Albert+Einstein.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 281px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeMtgKK3OrI/AAAAAAAAAho/ePXgfgJTqxM/s320/Albert+Einstein.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324149214991039154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As Albert grew he seemed slow to learn and this worried his parents. He was nine years old before he could express ideas clearly. But at an early age he has a very curious mind. When he was five, his father gave him a compass. How surprised his parents were to see Albert's excitement at how the compass worked. This was the beginning of his lifelong love of science.&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although Albert would someday be a famous scientist, he did not like school. In the Germany of his time, school rules were strict and teachers were as stern as army officers. He often did poorly, for he didn’t like studying things that didn’t interest him. Only his history teacher understood this independent student……&lt;br /&gt;Einstein was indeed a puzzle. But without this great and complex man’s contributions to the scientific world, we would not have gained the understanding we have today of time, space, matter and energy. Still, even today, we do not truly understand what this remarkable man gave to the world of science.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/jiaW5GJPBYE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/jiaW5GJPBYE/albert-einstein.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SeMtgKK3OrI/AAAAAAAAAho/ePXgfgJTqxM/s72-c/Albert+Einstein.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/albert-einstein.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-3639194639994673767</guid><pubDate>Mon, 13 Apr 2009 02:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-04-28T09:55:03.273-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Chinese Festival</category><title>Chinese Spring Festival / Chun Jie / Chinese New Year</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1f6i3qmFI/AAAAAAAAAhc/MwklLYXgK8w/s1600-h/snowbranch.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 169px; height: 81px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1f6i3qmFI/AAAAAAAAAhc/MwklLYXgK8w/s320/snowbranch.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322515794019129426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Far and away the most important holiday in China is Spring Festival, also known as the Chinese New Year. To the Chinese people it is as important as Christmas to people in the West. The dates for this annual celebration are determined by the lunar calendar rather than the Gregorian calendar, so the timing of the holiday varies from late January to early February.&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the ordinary Chinese, the festival actually begins on the eve of the lunar New Year's Day and ends on the fifth day of the first month of the lunar calendar. But the 15th of the first month, which normally is called the Lantern Festival, means the official end of the Spring Festival in many parts of the country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preparations for the New Year begin the last few days of the last moon, when houses are thoroughly cleaned, debts repaid, hair cut and new clothes purchased. Houses are festooned with paper scrolls bearing auspicious antithetical couplet (as show on both side of the page) and in many homes, people burn incense at home and in the temples to pay respects to ancestors and ask the gods for good health in the coming months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Guo Nian," meaning "passing the year," is the common term among the Chinese people for celebrating the Spring Festival. It actually means greeting the new year. At midnight at the turn of the old and new year, people used to let off fire-crackers which serve to drive away the evil spirits and to greet the arrival of the new year. In an instant the whole city would be engulfed in the deafening noise of the firecrackers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On New Year's Eve, all the members of families come together to feast. Jiaozi, a steamed dumpling as pictured below, is popular in the north, while southerners favor a sticky sweet glutinous rice pudding called nian gao.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/8OHHo5fvMo4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/8OHHo5fvMo4/chinese-spring-festival-chun-jie.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1f6i3qmFI/AAAAAAAAAhc/MwklLYXgK8w/s72-c/snowbranch.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/chinese-spring-festival-chun-jie.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-6033188410592273686</guid><pubDate>Sun, 12 Apr 2009 12:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-06-04T06:31:59.391-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>Why did the Chicken cross the road?</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwJWiEqEHI/AAAAAAAAAgY/bek53d_DzIE/s1600-h/Why+did+the+Chicken+cross+the+road.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 124px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwJWiEqEHI/AAAAAAAAAgY/bek53d_DzIE/s320/Why+did+the+Chicken+cross+the+road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304124743843713138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Anderson Consultant:&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deregulation of the chicken's side of the road was threatening its dominant market position. The chicken was faced with significant challenges to create and develop the competencies required for the newly competitive market. &lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andersen Consulting, in a partnering relationship with the client, helped the chicken by rethinking its physical distribution strategy and implementation processes. Using the Poultry Integration Model (PIM) Andersen helped the chicken use its skills, methodologies, knowledge capital and experiences to align the chicken's people, processes and technology in support of its overall strategy within a Program Management framework. Andersen Consulting convened a diverse cross-spectrum of road analysts and best chickens along with Andersen consultants with deep skills in the transportation industry to engage in a two-day itinerary of meetings in order to leverage their personal knowledge capital, both tacit and explicit, and to enable them to synergize with each other in order to achieve the implicit goals of delivering and successfully architecting and implementing an enterprise-wide value framework across the continuum of poultry cross-median processes.  The meeting was held in a park like setting enabling and creating an impactful environment which was strategically based, industry-focused, and built upon a consistent, clear, and unified market message and aligned with the chicken's mission, vision, and core values. This was conducive towards the creation of a total business integration solution. Andersen Consulting helped the chicken change to become more successful.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/hBE-wW3V_mk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/hBE-wW3V_mk/why-did-chicken-cross-road_12.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwJWiEqEHI/AAAAAAAAAgY/bek53d_DzIE/s72-c/Why+did+the+Chicken+cross+the+road.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-did-chicken-cross-road_12.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-7922938369546858035</guid><pubDate>Sat, 11 Apr 2009 02:36:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-04-28T09:55:42.619-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Chinese Festival</category><title>The Moon Festival / Zhong Qiu Jie / Mid-Autumn Festival</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1ffgwbghI/AAAAAAAAAhU/jxo-GvHFexc/s1600-h/chang%27e_fly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 251px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1ffgwbghI/AAAAAAAAAhU/jxo-GvHFexc/s320/chang%27e_fly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322515329595441682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar, the moon is round and the Chinese people mark their Moon (or Mid-autumn) Festival. The round shape to a Chinese means family reunion. Therefore the Moon Festival is a holiday for members of a family to get together wherever it is possible.&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On that day sons and daughters will bring their family members back to their parents' house for a reunion. Sometimes people who have already settled overseas will come back to visit their parents on that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As every Chinese holiday is accompanied by some sort of special food. On the Moon Festival, people eat moon cakes, a kind of cookie with fillings of sugar, fat, sesame, walnut, the yoke of preserved eggs, ham or other material. In Chinese fairy tales, there live on the moon the fairy Chang E, a wood cutter named Wu Gang and a jade rabbit which is Chang E's pet. In the old days, people paid respect to the fairy Chang E and her pet the jade rabbit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The custom of paying homage to the fairy and rabbit is gone, but the moon cakes are showing improvement every year. There are hundreds of varieties of moon cakes on sale a month before the arrival of the Moon Festival this year. Some moon cakes are of very high quality and very delicious. An overseas tourist is advised not to miss it if he or she happens to be in China during the Moon Festival.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poems on Moon and Home&lt;br /&gt;       &lt;br /&gt;         &lt;em style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Mid-Autumn Moon&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           by Li Qiao&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           A full moon hangs high in the chilly sky,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           All say it's the same everywhere, round and bright.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           But how can one be sure thousands of li away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           Wind and perhaps rain may not be marring the night?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         &lt;br /&gt;          &lt;em style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Yo-Mei Mountain Moon&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           by Li Bai&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           The autumn moon is half round above the Yo-mei Mountain;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           The pale light falls in and flows with the water of the Ping-chiang River.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           Tonight I leave Ching-chi of limpid stream for the three Canyons.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;           And glide down past Yu-chow, thinking of you whom I can not see.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/doEwmmti410" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/doEwmmti410/moon-festival-zhong-qiu-jie-mid-autumn.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1ffgwbghI/AAAAAAAAAhU/jxo-GvHFexc/s72-c/chang%27e_fly.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/moon-festival-zhong-qiu-jie-mid-autumn.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-2285560120992774603</guid><pubDate>Fri, 10 Apr 2009 12:08:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-15T02:41:37.766-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>A Mime in a Zoo</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwI37a8axI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/baZ-ymJEgd8/s1600-h/A+Mime+in+a+Zoo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 102px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwI37a8axI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/baZ-ymJEgd8/s320/A+Mime+in+a+Zoo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304124218072132370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One day an out of work mime is visiting the zoo and attempts to earn some money as a street performer. As soon as he starts to draw a crowd, a zoo keeper grabs him and drags him into his office. The zoo keeper explains to the mime that the zoo's most popular attraction, a gorilla, has died suddenly and the keeper fears that attendance at the zoo will fall off. He offers the mime a job to dress up as the gorilla until they can get another one. The mime accepts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the next morning the mime puts on the gorilla suit and enters the cage before the crowd comes. He discovers that it's a great job. He can sleep all he wants, play and make fun of people and he draws bigger crowds than he ever did as a mime. However, eventually the crowds tire of him and he tires of just swinging on tires. He begins to notice that the people are paying more attention to the lion in the cage next to his. Not wanting to lose the attention of his audience, he climbs to the top of his cage, crawls across a partition, and dangles from the top to the lion's cage. Of course, this makes the lion furious, but the crowd loves it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the day the zoo keeper comes and gives the mime a raise for being such a good attraction. Well, this goes on for some time, the mime keeps taunting the lion, the crowds grow larger, and his salary keeps going up. Then one terrible day when he is dangling over the furious lion he slips and falls. The mime is terrified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lion gathers itself and prepares to pounce. The mime is so scared that he begins to run round and round the cage with the lion close behind. Finally, the mime starts screaming and yelling, "Help, Help me!", but the lion is quick and pounces. The mime soon finds himself flat on his back looking up at the angry lion and the lion says, "Shut up you idiot! Do you want to get us both fired?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/N6VPb7C3UCI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/N6VPb7C3UCI/mime-in-zoo_10.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwI37a8axI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/baZ-ymJEgd8/s72-c/A+Mime+in+a+Zoo.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/mime-in-zoo_10.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-7770232551149195520</guid><pubDate>Thu, 09 Apr 2009 12:06:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-15T02:42:05.311-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>America vs. Russia</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwIMyeqLQI/AAAAAAAAAgI/IXo4DeKGz9A/s1600-h/America+vs.+Russia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 101px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwIMyeqLQI/AAAAAAAAAgI/IXo4DeKGz9A/s320/America+vs.+Russia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304123476937420034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Americans and Russians, at the height of the arms race, realized that if they continued in the usual manner they were going to blow up the whole world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day they sat down and decided to settle the whole dispute with one dog fight. They'd have five years to breed the best fighting dog in the world and whichever side's dog won would be entitled to dominate the world. The losing side would have to lay down its arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Russians found the biggest, meanest Doberman and Rottweiler ------- in the world and bred them with the biggest meanest Siberian wolves. They selected only the biggest and strongest puppy from each litter, killed his siblings, and gave him all the milk. They used steroids and trainers and after five years came up with the biggest meanest dog the world had ever seen. Its cage needed steel bars that were three inches thick and nobody could get near it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the day came for the fight, the Americans showed up with a strange animal. It was a nine-foot long Dachshund. Everyone felt sorry for the Americans because they knew there was no way that this dog could possibly last ten seconds with the Russian dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the cages were opened up, the Dachshund came out and wrapped itself around the outside of the ring. It had the Russian dog almost completely surrounded. When the Russian dog leaned over to bite the Dachshund's neck, the Dachshund reached out and consumed the Russian dog in one bite. There was nothing left at all of the Russian dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Russians came up to the Americans, shaking their heads in disbelief. `We don't understand how this could have happened. We had our best people working for five years with the meanest Doberman and Rottweiler ------- in the world and the biggest, meanest Siberian wolves."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's nothing," an American replied. "We had our best plastic surgeons working for five years to make an alligator look like a Dachshund."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/WFO9q3sG5EA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/WFO9q3sG5EA/america-vs-russia_09.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwIMyeqLQI/AAAAAAAAAgI/IXo4DeKGz9A/s72-c/America+vs.+Russia.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/america-vs-russia_09.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-9167205449055317840</guid><pubDate>Thu, 09 Apr 2009 02:34:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-04-28T09:56:32.142-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Chinese Festival</category><title>"Duan Wu Jie" or Dragon Boat Festival -- A Festival in Memory of a Patriotic Poet</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1e7hgDvBI/AAAAAAAAAhM/vejKtAN3_58/s1600-h/Qu+Yuan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 170px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1e7hgDvBI/AAAAAAAAAhM/vejKtAN3_58/s320/Qu+Yuan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322514711319919634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 5th day of the 5th month of the lunar year is an important day for the Chinese people. The day called "Duan Wu" (meaning Day of Right Mid-Day) is observed everywhere in China. This unique Chinese celebration dates back to earliest times and a number of legends explain its origins.&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best known story centers on a patriotic court official named Qu Yuan, of the State of Chu during the Warring States Period more than 2,000 years ago. Qu tried to warn the emperor of an increasingly courrupt government, but fails. In a last desperate protest, he throws himself into the river and drowns. The State of Chu was soon annexed by the State of Qin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later Qu Yuan's sympathizers jump into boats, beat the water with their oars and made rice dumplings wrapped in reed-leaves (zongzi) and scatter them into the Miluo River in the hope that fish in the river would eat the rice dumplings instead of the body of the deceased poet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The custom of making rice dumplings spread to the whole country. Today, people eat glutinous rice cakes to mark the occasion.&lt;br /&gt;At the news of the poet's death, the local people raced out in boats in an efforts of searching his body. Later the activity became a boat race and the boats gradually developed into dragon-boats. In many places along rivers and on the coast today, the holiday also features dragon-boat races. In these high-spirited competitions, teams of rowers stroke their oars in unision to propel sleek, long vessels through the water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/uNzD696-TiU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/uNzD696-TiU/duan-wu-jie-or-dragon-boat-festival.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1e7hgDvBI/AAAAAAAAAhM/vejKtAN3_58/s72-c/Qu+Yuan.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/duan-wu-jie-or-dragon-boat-festival.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-2739234188559575320</guid><pubDate>Thu, 09 Apr 2009 02:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-04-28T09:57:10.023-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Chinese Festival</category><title>Chong Yang Festival / The Double Nineth Festival</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1dHw0KXaI/AAAAAAAAAhE/VMxYd7jFU44/s1600-h/chongyang+festival.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 97px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1dHw0KXaI/AAAAAAAAAhE/VMxYd7jFU44/s320/chongyang+festival.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322512722565946786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Chongyang Festival falls on the ninth day of the ninth month of the Chinese lunar calendar, so it is also known as the Double Ninth Festival.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The festival is based on the theory of Yin and Yang, the two opposing principles in nature. Yin is feminine, negative principle, while Yang is masculine and positive. The ancients believed that all natural phenomena could be esplained by this theory. Numbers are related to this theory. Even numbers belong to Yin and odd numbers to Yang. The ninth day of the ninth lunar month is a day when the two Yang numbers meet. So it is called Chongyang. Chong means double in Chinese.Chongyang has been an important festival since ancient times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The festival is held in the golden season of autumn, at harvest -time. The bright clear weather and the joy of bringing in the harvest make for a festive happy atmosphere.The Double Ninth Festival is usually perfect for outdoor activities. Many people go hiking and climbing in the country, enjoying Mother Nature's final burst of color before she puts on her dull winter cloak. Some will carry a spray of dogwood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is hard to say when these customs were created. But there are many stories which are closely related. The book Xu Qi Xie Ji ,written by Wu Jun in the sixth century has one such story. In ancient times, there lived a man named Huan Jing. He was learning the magic arts from Fei Changfang, who had become an immortal after many years of practicing Taoism. One day, the two were climbing a muntain. Fei Changfang suddenly stopped and looked very upset. He told Huan Jing,On the ninth day of the ninth month, disaster will come to your hometown. You must go home immediately. Remember to make a red bag for each one of your family members and put a spray of dogwood in every one. Then you must all tie your bags to your arms, leave home quickly and climb to the top of a mountain. Most importantly, you must all drink some chrysanthemum wine. Only by doing so can your family avoid this disaster.&lt;br /&gt;On hearing this, Huan Jing rushed home and asked his family to do exactly as his teacher said. The whole family climbed a nearby mountain and did not return until the evening. When they got back home, they found all their animals dead, including chickens, sheep,dogs and even the powerful ox. Later Huan Jing told his teacher, Fei Changfang, about this. Fei said the poultry and livestock died in place of Huan Jing's family, who escaped disaster by following his instructions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so it happened that climbing a mountain, carring a spray of dogwood and drinking chrysanthemum wine became the traditional activities of the Chongyang Festival.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dogwood is a plant with a strong fragrance, and is often used as a Chinese herbal medicine. People in ancient times believed it could drive away evil spirits and prevent one from getting a chill in lalte autumn. So its history as a medicine goes back many centuries. But the custom of carrying a spray of dogwood during the Double Ninth Festival is slowly dying out and many people, especially young people in the cities, do not even know what a dogwood spray looks like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even thouht the tradition of carrying a few sptigs of dogwood dies out, that of climbing mountains is reaching new heights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Early in the Western Han Dynasty, about 2,000 years ago, people used to climb a high platform outside the capital city of Chang'an on the occasion of the Chongyang Festival. For many, it was the last outing of the year before the onset of winter. The custom evolved into its present form, when people go climbing to get some exercise as well as enjoy the autumn scenery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what about those people who live in flat regions far from any mountain? The problem is solved by going for a picnic and eating cakes. The Chinese word for cake is Gao, a homonym of the Chinese word for high.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mountains are high, so eating cake can, by a stretch of the imagination, take the place of going for a climb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since nine is the highest odd digit, people take two of them together to signify longevity. Therefore, the ninth day of the ninth month has become a special day for people to pay their respects to the elderly and a day for the elderly to enjoy themselves. It has also been declared China's day for the elderly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/3_167HX29MY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/3_167HX29MY/chong-yang-festival-double-nineth.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sd1dHw0KXaI/AAAAAAAAAhE/VMxYd7jFU44/s72-c/chongyang+festival.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/chong-yang-festival-double-nineth.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-7435623026764800038</guid><pubDate>Wed, 08 Apr 2009 09:07:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:25:45.108-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">biography</category><title>Abraham Lincoln</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sdx6viXfrxI/AAAAAAAAAgs/8YyDBgFCSh0/s1600-h/Abraham+Lincoln.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 136px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sdx6viXfrxI/AAAAAAAAAgs/8YyDBgFCSh0/s320/Abraham+Lincoln.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322263816742874898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;THERE have been many painful crises since the impatient vanity of South Carolina hurried ten prosperous Commonwealths into a crime whose assured retribution was to leave them either at the mercy of the nation they had wronged, or of the anarchy they had summoned but could not control, when no thoughtful American opened his morning paper without dreading to find that he had no longer a country to love and honor.&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt; Whatever the result of the convulsion whose first shocks were beginning to be felt, there would still be enough square miles of earth for elbow-room; but that ineffable sentiment made up of memory and hope, of instinct and tradition, which swells every man's heart and shapes his thought, though perhaps never present to his consciousness, would be gone from it, leaving it common earth and nothing more. Men might gather rich crops from it, but that ideal harvest of priceless associations would be reaped no longer; that fine virtue which sent up messages of courage and security from every sod of it would have evaporated beyond recall. We should be irrevocably cut off from our past, and be forced to splice the ragged ends of our lives upon whatever new conditions chance might leave dangling for us. We confess that we had our doubts at first whether the patriotism of our people were not too narrowly provincial to embrace the proportions of national peril. We felt an only too natural distrust of immense public meetings and enthusiastic cheers. That a reaction should follow the holiday enthusiasm with which the war was entered on, that it should follow soon, and that the slackening of public spirit should be proportionate to the previous over-tension, might well be foreseen by all who had studied human nature or history. Men acting gregariously are always in extremes; as they are one moment capable of higher courage, so they are liable, the next, to baser depression, and it is often a matter of chance whether numbers shall multiply confidence or discouragement. Nor does deception lead more surely to distrust of men, than self-deception to suspicion of principles. The only faith that wears well and holds its color in all weathers is that which is woven of conviction and set with the sharp mordant of experience. Enthusiasm is good material for the orator, but the statesman needs something more durable to work&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in,--must be able to rely on the deliberate reason and consequent firmness of the people, without which that presence of mind, no less essential in times of moral than of material peril, will be wanting at the critical moment. Would this fervor of the Free States hold out? Was it kindled by a just feeling of the value of constitutional liberty? Had it body enough to withstand the inevitable dampening of checks, reverses, delays? Had our population intelligence enough to comprehend that the choice was between order and anarchy, between the equilibrium of a government by law and the tussle of misrule by *pronunciamiento?* Could a war be maintained without the ordinary stimulus of hatred and plunder, and with the impersonal loyalty of principle? These were serious questions, and with no precedent to aid in answering them. At the beginning of the war there was, indeed, occasion for the most anxious apprehension. A President known to be infected with the political heresies, and suspected of sympathy with the treason, of the Southern conspirators, had just surrendered the reins, we will not say of power, but of chaos, to a successor known only as the representative of a party whose leaders, with long training in opposition, had none in the conduct of affairs; an empty treasury was called on to supply resources beyond precedent in the history of finance; the trees were yet growing and the iron unmined with which a navy was to be built and armored; officers without discipline were to make a mob into an army; and, above all, the public opinion of Europe, echoed and reinforced with every vague hint and every specious argument of despondency by a powerful faction at home, was either contemptuously sceptical or actively hostile. It would be hard to over-estimate the force of this latter element of disintegration and discouragement among a people where every citizen at home, and every soldier in the field, is a reader of newspapers. The peddlers of rumor in the North were the most effective allies of the rebellion. A nation can be liable to no more insidious treachery than that of the telegraph, sending hourly its electric thrill of panic along the remotest nerves of the community, till the excited imagination makes every real danger loom heightened with its unreal double. And even if we look only at more palpable difficulties, the problem to be solved by our civil war was so vast, both in its immediate relations and its future consequences; the conditions of its solution were so intricate and so greatly dependent on incalculable and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;uncontrollable contingencies; so many of the data, whether for hope or fear, were, from their novelty, incapable of arrangement under any of the categories of historical precedent, that there were moments of crisis when the firmest believer in the strength and sufficiency of the democratic theory of government might well hold his breath in vague apprehension of disaster. Our teachers of political philosophy, solemnly arguing from the precedent of some petty Grecian, Italian, or Flemish city, whose long periods of aristocracy were broken now and then by awkward parentheses of mob, had always taught us that democracies were incapable of the sentiment of loyalty, of concentrated and prolonged effort, of far- reaching conceptions; were absorbed in material interests; impatient of regular, and much more of exceptional restraint; had no natural nucleus of gravitation, nor any forces but centrifugal; were always on the verge of civil war, and slunk at last into the natural almshouse of bankrupt popular government, a military despotism. Here was indeed a dreary outlook for persons who knew democracy, not by rubbing shoulders with it lifelong, but merely from books, and America only by the report of some fellow-Briton, who, having eaten a bad dinner or lost a carpet-bag here, had written to *The Times* demanding redress, and drawing a mournful inference of democratic instability. Nor were men wanting among ourselves who had so steeped their brains in London literature as to mistake Cockneyism for European culture, and contempt of their country for cosmopolitan breadth of view, and who, owing all they had an all they were to democracy, thought it had an air of high-breeding to join in the shallow epicedium that our bubble had burst. But beside any disheartening influences which might affect the timid or the despondent, there were reasons enough of settled gravity against any over-confidence of hope. A war--which, whether we consider the expanse of the territory at stake, the hosts brought into the field, or the reach of the principles involved, may fairly be reckoned the most momentous of modern times--was to be waged by a people divided at home, unnerved by fifty years of peace, under a chief magistrate without experience and without reputation, whose every measure was sure to be cunningly hampered by a jealous and unscrupulous minority, and who, while dealing with unheard-of complications at home, must soothe a hostile neutrality abroad, waiting only a pretext to become war. All this was to be done without warning and without preparation,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sdx-DIbehAI/AAAAAAAAAg0/opUrPZg_aAg/s1600-h/Abraham+Lincoln+Scupture.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 130px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sdx-DIbehAI/AAAAAAAAAg0/opUrPZg_aAg/s320/Abraham+Lincoln+Scupture.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322267451912520706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;while at the same time a social revolution was to be accomplished in the political condition of four millions of people, by softening the prejudices, allaying the fears, and gradually obtaining the cooperation, of their unwilling liberators. Surely, if ever there were an occasion when the heightened imagination of the historian might see Destiny visibly intervening in human affairs, here was a knot worthy of her shears. Never, perhaps, was any system of government tried by so continuous and searching a strain as ours during the last three years; never has any shown itself stronger; and never could that strength be so directly traced to the virtue and intelligence of the people,--to that general enlightenment and prompt efficiency of public opinion possible only under the influence of a political framework like our own. We find it hard to understand how even a foreigner should be blind to the grandeur of the combat of ideas that has been going on here,--to the heroic energy, persistency, and self-reliance of a nation proving that it knows how much dearer greatness is than mere power; and we own that it is impossible for us to conceive the mental and moral condition of the American who does not feel his spirit braced and heightened by being even a spectator of such qualities and achievements. That a steady purpose and a definite aim have been given to the jarring forces which, at the beginning of the war, spent themselves in the discussion of schemes which could only become operative, if at all, after the war was over; that a popular excitement has been slowly intensified into an earnest national will; that a somewhat impracticable moral sentiment has been made the unconscious instrument of a practical moral end; that the reason of covert enemies, the jealousy of rivals, the unwise zeal of friends, have been made not only useless for mischief, but even useful for good; that the conscientious sensitiveness of England to the horrors of civil conflict has been prevented from complicating a domestic with a foreign war;--all these results, anyone of which might suffice to prove greatness in a ruler, have been mainly due to the good sense, the good-humor, the sagacity, the large-mindedness, and the unselfish honesty of the unknown man whom a blind fortune, as it seemed, had lifted from the crowd to the most dangerous and difficult eminence of modern times. It is by presence of mind in untried emergencies that the native metal of a man is tested; it is by the sagacity to see, and the fearless honesty to admit, whatever of truth there may be in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;an adverse opinion, in order more convincingly to expose the fallacy that lurks behind it, that a reasoner at length gains for his mere statement of a fact the force of argument; it is by a wise forecast which allows hostile combinations to go so far as by the inevitable reaction to become elements of his own power, that a politician proves his genius for state-craft; and especially it is by so gently guiding public sentiment that he seems to follow it, by so yielding doubtful points that he can be firm without seeming obstinate in essential ones, and thus gain the advantages of compromise without the weakness of concession; by so instinctively comprehending the temper and prejudices of a people as to make them gradually conscious of the superior wisdom of his freedom from temper and prejudice,--it is by qualities such as these that a magistrate shows himself worthy to be chief in a commonwealth of freemen. And it is for qualities such as these that we firmly believe History will rank Mr. Lincoln among the most prudent of statesmen and the most successful of rulers. If we wish to appreciate him, we have only to conceive the inevitable chaos in which we should now be weltering, had a weak man or an unwise one been chosen in his stead. "Bare is back," says the Norse proverb, "without brother behind it;" and this is, by analogy, true of an elective magistracy. The hereditary ruler in any critical emergency may reckon on the inexhaustible resources of *prestige,* of sentiment, of superstition, of dependent interest, while the new man must slowly and painfully create all these out of the unwilling material around him, by superiority of character, by patient singleness of purpose, by sagacious presentiment of popular tendencies and instinctive sympathy with the national character. Mr. Lincoln's task was one of peculiar and exceptional difficulty. Long habit had accustomed the American people to the notion of a party in power, and of a President as its creature and organ, while the more vital fact, that the executive for the time being represents the abstract idea of government as a permanent principle superior to all party and all private interest, had gradually become unfamiliar. They had so long seen the public policy more or less directed by views of party, and often even of personal advantage, as to be ready to suspect the motives of a chief magistrate compelled, for the first time in our history, to feel himself the head and hand of a great nation, and to act upon the fundamental maxim, laid down by all publicists, that the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;first duty of a government is to depend and maintain its own existence. Accordingly, a powerful weapon seemed to be put into the hands of the opposition by the necessity under which the administration found itself of applying this old truth to new relations. Nor were the opposition his only nor his most dangerous opponents. The Republicans had carried the country upon an issue in which ethics were more directly and visibly mingled with politics than usual. Their leaders were trained to a method of oratory which relied for its effect rather on the moral sense than the understanding. Their arguments were drawn, not so much from experience as from general principles of right and wrong. When the war came, their system continued to be applicable and effective, for here again the reason of the people was to be reached and kindled through their sentiments. It was one of those periods of excitement, gathering, contagious, universal, which, while they last, exalt and clarify the minds of men, giving to the mere words *country, human rights, democracy,* a meaning and a force beyond that of sober and logical argument. They were convictions, maintained and defended by the supreme logic of passion. That penetrating fire ran in and roused those primary instincts that make their lair in the dens and caverns of the mind. What is called the great popular heart was awakened, that indefinable something which may be, according to circumstances, the highest reason or the most brutish unreason. But enthusiasm, once cold, can never be warmed over into anything better than cant,--and phrases, when once the inspiration that filled them with beneficent power has ebbed away, retain only that semblance of meaning which enables them to supplant reason in hasty minds. Among the lessons taught by the French Revolution there is none sadder or more striking than this, that you may make everything else out of the passions of men except a political system that will work, and that there is nothing so pitilessly and unconsciously cruel as sincerity formulated into dogma. It is always demoralizing to extend the domain of sentiment over questions where it has no legitimate jurisdiction; and perhaps the severest strain upon Mr. Lincoln was in resisting a tendency of his own supporters which chimed with his own private desires, while wholly opposed to his convictions of what would be wise policy. The change which three years have brought about is too remarkable to be passed over without comment, too weighty in its lesson not to be laid to heart. Never did a President enter upon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;office with less means at his command, outside his own strength of heart and steadiness of understanding, for inspiring confidence in the people, and so winning it for himself, than Mr. Lincoln. All that was known of him was that he was a good stump-speaker, nominated for his *availability,*--that is, because he had no history,--and chosen by a party with whose more extreme opinions he was not in sympathy. It might well be feared that a man past fifty, against whom the ingenuity of hostile partisans could rake up no accusation, must be lacking in manliness of character, in decision of principle, in strength of will; that a man who was at best only the representative of a party, and who yet did not fairly represent even that, would fail of political, much more of popular, support. And certainly no one ever entered upon office with so few resources of power in the past, and so many materials of weakness in the present, as Mr. Lincoln. Even in that half of the Union which acknowledged him as President, there was a large, and at that time dangerous, minority, that hardly admitted his claim to the office, and even in the party that elected him there was also a large minority that suspected him of being secretly a communicant with the church of Laodicea.(1) All he did was sure to be virulently attacked as ultra by one side; all that he left undone, to be stigmatized as proof of luke warmness and backsliding by the other. Meanwhile he was to carry on a truly colossal war by means of both; he was to disengage the country from diplomatic entanglements of unprecedented peril undisturbed by the help or the hindrance of either, and to win from the crowning dangers of his administration, in the confidence of the people, the means of his safety and their own. He has contrived to do it, and perhaps none of our Presidents since Washington has stood so firm in the confidence of the people as he does after three years of stormy administration. (1) See *Revelation,* chapter 3, verse 15. Mr. Lincoln's policy was a tentative one, and rightly so. He laid down no programme which must compel him to be either inconsistent or unwise, no cast-iron theorem to which circumstances must be fitted as they rose, or else be useless to his ends. He seemed to have chosen Mazarin's motto, *Le temps et moi.*(1) The *moi,* to be sure, was not very prominent at first; but it has grown more and more so, till the world is beginning to be persuaded that it stands for a character of marked individuality and capacity for affairs. Time was his prime-minister, and, we began to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sdx-PGzgJ5I/AAAAAAAAAg8/b-yg5162YKM/s1600-h/Abraham+Lincoln+Wilcox.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 81px; height: 130px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sdx-PGzgJ5I/AAAAAAAAAg8/b-yg5162YKM/s320/Abraham+Lincoln+Wilcox.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322267657634850706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;think, at one period, his general-in-chief also. At first he was so slow that he tired out all those who see no evidence of progress but in blowing up the engine; then he was so fast, that he took the breath away from those who think there is no getting on safety while there is a spark of fire under the boilers. God is the only being who has time enough; but a prudent man, who knows how to seize occasion, can commonly make a shift to find as much as he needs. Mr. Lincoln, as it seems to us in reviewing his career, though we have sometimes in our impatience thought otherwise, has always waited, as a wise man should, till the right moment brought up all his reserves. Semper nocuit differre paratis, (2) is a sound axiom, but the really efficacious man will also be sure to know when he is *not* ready, and be firm against all persuasion and reproach till he is. (1) Time and I. Cardinal Mazarin was prime-minister of Louis XIV. of France. Time, Mazarin said, was his prime-minister. (2) It is always bad for those who are ready to put off action. One would be apt to think, from some of the criticisms made on Mr. Lincoln's course by those who mainly agree with him in principle, that the chief object of a statesman should be rather to proclaim his adhesion to certain doctrines, than to achieve their triumph by quietly accomplishing his ends. In our opinion, there is no more unsafe politician than a conscientiously rigid *doctrinaire,* nothing more sure to end in disaster than a theoretic scheme of policy that admits of no pliability for contingencies. True, there is a popular image of an impossible He, in whose plastic hands the submissive destinies of mankind become as wax, and to whose commanding necessity the toughest facts yield with the graceful pliancy of fiction; but in real life we commonly find that the men who control circumstances, as it is called, are those who have learned to allow for the influence of their eddies, and have the nerve to turn them to account at the happy instant. Mr. Lincoln's perilous task has been to carry a rather shaky raft through the rapids, making fast the unrulier logs as he could snatch opportunity, and the country is to be congratulated that he did not think it his duty to run straight at all hazards, but cautiously to assure himself with his setting-pole where the main current was, and keep steadily to that. He is still in wild water, but we have faith that his skill and sureness of eye will bring him out right at last. A curious, and, as we think, not inapt parallel, might be drawn between Mr. Lincoln and one of the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;most striking figures in modern history,--Henry IV. of France. The career of the latter may be more picturesque, as that of a daring captain always is; but in all its vicissitudes there is nothing more romantic than that sudden change, as by a rub of Aladdin's lamp, from the attorney's office in a country town of Illinois to the helm of a great nation in times like these. The analogy between the characters and circumstances of the two men is in many respects singularly close. Succeeding to a rebellion rather than a crown, Henry's chief material dependence was the Huguenot party, whose doctrines sat upon him with a looseness distasteful certainly, if not suspicious, to the more fanatical among them. King only in name over the greater part of France, and with his capital barred against him, it yet gradually became clear to the more far-seeing even of the Catholic party that he was the only centre of order and legitimate authority round which France could reorganize itself. While preachers who held the divine right of kings made the churches of Paris ring with declamations in favor of democracy rather than submit to the heretic dog of Bearnois,(1)--much as our *soi-disant* Democrats have lately been preaching the divine right of slavery, and denouncing the heresies of the Declaration of Independence,-- Henry bore both parties in hand till he was convinced that only one course of action could possibly combine his own interests and those of France. Meanwhile the Protestants believed somewhat doubtfully that he was theirs, the Catholics hoped somewhat doubtfully that he would be theirs, and Henry himself turned aside remonstrance, advice and curiosity alike with a jest or a proverb (if a little *high,* he liked them none the worse), joking continually as his manner was. We have seen Mr. Lincoln contemptuously compared to Sancho Panza by persons incapable of appreciating one of the deepest pieces of wisdom in the profoundest romance ever written; namely, that, while Don Quixote was incomparable in theoretic and ideal statesmanship, Sancho, with his stock of proverbs, the ready money of human experience, made the best possible practical governor. Henry IV. was as full of wise saws and modern instances as Mr. Lincoln, but beneath all this was the thoughtful, practical, humane, and thoroughly earnest man, around whom the fragments of France were to gather themselves till she took her place again as a planet of the first magnitude in the European system. In one respect Mr. Lincoln was more fortunate than Henry. However some may think him&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wanting in zeal, the most fanatical can find no taint of apostasy in any measure of his, nor can the most bitter charge him with being influenced by motives of personal interest. The leading distinction between the policies of the two is one of circumstances. Henry went over to the nation; Mr. Lincoln has steadily drawn the nation over to him. One left a united France; the other, we hope and believe, will leave a reunited America. We leave our readers to trace the further points of difference and resemblance for themselves, merely suggesting a general similarity which has often occurred to us. One only point of melancholy interest we will allow ourselves to touch upon. Mr. Lincoln has also been reproached with Americanism by some not unfriendly British critics; but, with all deference, we cannot say that we like him any the worse for it, or see in it any reason why he should govern Americans the less wisely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(1) One of Henry's titles was Prince of Bearn, that being the old province of France from which he came. People of more sensitive organizations may be shocked, but we are glad that in this our true war of independence, which is to free us forever from the Old World, we have had at the head of our affairs a man whom America made, as God made Adam, out of the very earth, unancestried, unprivileged, unknown, to show us how much truth, how much magnanimity, and how much statecraft await the call of opportunity in simple manhood when it believes in the justice of God and the worth of man. Conventionalities are all very well in their proper place, but they shrivel at the touch of nature like stubble in the fire. The genius that sways a nation by its arbitrary will seems less august to us than that which multiplies and reinforces itself in the instincts and convictions of an entire people. Autocracy may have something in it more melodramatic than this, but falls far short of it in human value and interest. Experience would have bred in us a rooted distrust of improved statesmanship, even if we did not believe politics to be a science, which, if it cannot always command men of special aptitude and great powers, at least&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;demands the long and steady application of the best powers of such men as it can command to master even its first principles. It is curious, that, in a country which boasts of its intelligence the theory should be so generally held that the most complicated of human contrivances, and one which every day becomes more complicated, can be worked at sight by any man able to talk for an hour or two without stopping to think. Mr. Lincoln is sometimes claimed as an example of a ready-made ruler. But no case could well be less in point; for, besides that he was a man of such fair-mindedness as is always the raw material of wisdom, he had in his profession a training precisely the opposite of that to which a partisan is subjected. His experience as a lawyer compelled him not only to see that there is a principle underlying every phenomenon in human affairs, but that there are always two sides to every question, both of which must be fully understood in order to understand either, and that it is of greater advantage to an advocate to appreciate the strength than the weakness of his antagonist's position. Nothing is more remarkable than the unerring tact with which, in his debate with Mr. Douglas, he went straight to the reason of the question; nor have we ever had a more striking lesson in political tactics than the fact, that opposed to a man exceptionally adroit in using popular prejudice and bigotry to his purpose, exceptionally unscrupulous in appealing to those baser motives that turn a meeting of citizens into a mob of barbarians, he should yet have won his case before a jury of the people. Mr. Lincoln was as far as possible from an impromptu politician. His wisdom was made up of a knowledge of things as well as of men; his sagacity resulted from a clear perception and honest acknowledgment of difficulties, which enabled him to see that the only durable triumph of political opinion is based, not on any abstract right, but upon so much of justice, the highest attainable at any given moment in human affairs, as may be had in the balance of mutual concession. He was not a man who held it good public economy to pull down on the mere chance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;of rebuilding better. Mr. Lincoln's faith in God was qualified by a very well-founded distrust of the wisdom of man. perhaps it was his want of self-confidence that more than anything else won him the unlimited confidence of the people, for they felt that there would be no need of retreat from any position he had deliberately taken. The cautious, but steady, advance of his policy during the war was like that of a Roman army. He left behind him a firm road on which public confidence could follow; he took America with him where he went; what he gained he occupied, and his advanced posts became colonies. The very homeliness of his genius was its distinction. His kingship was conspicuous by its workday homespun. Never was ruler so absolute as he, nor so little conscious of it; for he was the incarnate common-sense of the people. With all that tenderness of nature whose sweet sadness touched whoever saw him with something of its own pathos, there was no trace of sentimentalism in his speech or action. He seems to have had one rule of conduct, always that of practical and successful politics, to let himself be guided by events, when they were sure to bring him out where he wished to go, though by what seemed to unpractical minds, which let go the possible to grasp at the desirable, a longer road. Undoubtedly the highest function of statesmanship is by degrees to accommodate the conduct of communities to ethical laws, and to subordinate the conflicting self-interests of the day to higher and more permanent concerns. But it is on the understanding, and not on the sentiment, of a nation that all safe legislation must be based. Voltaire's saying, that "a consideration of petty circumstances is the tomb of great things," may be true of individual men, but it certainly is not true of governments. It is by a multitude of such considerations, each in itself trifling, but all together weighty, that the framers of policy can alone divine what is practicable and therefore wise. The imputation of inconsistency is one to which every sound politician and every honest thinker must sooner or later subject himself. The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinion. The course of a great statesman resembles that of navigable rivers, avoiding immovable obstacles with noble bends of concession, seeking the broad levels of opinion on which men soonest settle and longest dwell, following and marking the almost imperceptible slopes of national tendency, yet always aiming at direct advances, always recruited from sources&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nearer heaven, and sometimes bursting open paths of progress and fruitful human commerce through what seem the eternal barriers of both. It is loyalty to great ends, even though forced to combine the small and opposing motives of selfish men to accomplish them; it is the anchored cling to solid principles of duty and action, which knows how to swing with the tide, but is never carried away by it,--that we demand in public men, and not sameness of policy, or a conscientious persistency in what is impracticable. For the impracticable, however theoretically enticing, is always politically unwise, sound statesmanship being the application of that prudence to the public business which is the safest guide in that of private men. No doubt slavery was the most delicate and embarrassing question with which Mr. Lincoln was called on to deal, and it was one which no man in his position, whatever his opinions, could evade; for, though he might withstand the clamor of partisans, he must sooner or later yield to the persistent importunacy of circumstances, which thrust the problem upon him at every turn and in every shape. It has been brought against us as an accusation abroad, and repeated here by people who measure their country rather by what is thought of it than by what is, that our war has not been distinctly and avowedly for the extinction of slavery, but a war rather for the preservation of our national power and greatness, in which the emancipation of the negro has been forced upon us by circumstances and accepted as a necessity. We are very far from denying this; nay, we admit that it is so far true that we were slow to renounce our constitutional obligations even toward those who had absolved us by their own act from the letter of our duty. We are speaking of the government which, legally installed for the whole country, was bound, so long as it was possible, not to overstep the limits of orderly prescription, and could not, without abnegating its own very nature, take the lead off a Virginia reel. They forgot, what should be forgotten least of all in a system like ours, that the administration for the time being represents not only the majority which elects it, but the minority as well,--a minority in this case powerful, and so little ready for emancipation that it was opposed even to war. Mr. Lincoln had not been chosen as general agent of the an anti-slavery society, but President of the United States, to perform certain functions exactly defined by law. Whatever were his wishes, it was no less duty than policy to mark out for himself a line of action that would not further&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;distract the country, by raising before their time questions which plainly would soon enough compel attention, and for which every day was making the answer more easy. Meanwhile he must solve the riddle of this new Sphinx, or be devoured.&lt;br /&gt;Though Mr. Lincoln's policy in this critical affair has not been such as to satisfy those who demand an heroic treatment for even the most trifling occasion, and who will not cut their coat according to their cloth, unless they can borrow the scissors of Atropos,(1) it has been at least not unworthy of the long-headed king of Ithaca.(2) Mr. Lincoln had the choice of Bassanio(3) offered him. Which of the three caskets held the prize that was to redeem the fortunes of the country? There was the golden one whose showy speciousness might have tempted a vain man; the silver of compromise, which might have decided the choice of a merely acute one; and the leaden,--dull and homely-looking, as prudence always is,--yet with something about it sure to attract the eye of practical wisdom. Mr. Lincoln dallied with his decision perhaps longer than seemed needful to those on whom its awful responsibility was not to rest, but when he made it, it was worthy of his cautious but sure-footed understanding. The moral of the Sphinx-riddle, and it is a deep one, lies in the childish simplicity of the solution. Those who fail in guessing it, fail because they are over-ingenious, and cast about for an answer that shall suit their own notion of the gravity of the occasion and of their own dignity, rather than the occasion itself. In a matter which must be finallysettled by public opinion, and in regard to which the ferment of prejudice and passion on both sides has not yet subsided to that equilibrium of compromise from which alone a sound public opinion can result, it is proper enough for the private citizen to press his own convictions with all possible force of argument and persuasion; but the popular magistrate, whose judgment must become action, and whose action involves the whole country, is bound to wait till the sentiment of the people is so far advanced toward his own point of view, that what he does shall find support in it, instead of merely confusing it with new elements of division. It was not unnatural that men earnestly devoted to the saving of their country, and profoundly convinced that slavery was its only real enemy, should demand a decided policy round which all patriots might rally,--and this might have been the wisest course for an absolute ruler. But in the then unsettled state of the public mind, with a large&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;party decrying even resistance to the slaveholders' rebellion as not only unwise, but even unlawful; with a majority, perhaps, even of the would-be loyal so long accustomed to regard the Constitution as a deed of gift conveying to the&lt;br /&gt;South their own judgment as to policy and instinct as to right, that they were in doubt at first whether their loyalty were due to the country or to slavery; and with a respectable body of honest and influential men who still believed in the possibility of conciliation,--Mr. Lincoln judged wisely, that, in laying down a policy in deference to one party, he should be giving to the other the very fulcrum for which their disloyalty had been waiting. (1) One of the three Fates. (2) Odysseus, or Ulysses, the hero of Homer's Odyssey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(3) See Shakespeare's *Merchant of Venice.* It behooved a clear-headed man in his position not to yield so far to an honest indignation against the brokers of treason in the North as to lose sight of the materials for misleading which were their stock in trade, and to forget that it is not the falsehood of sophistry which is to be feared, but the grain of truth mingled with it to make it specious,--that it is not the knavery of the leaders so much as the honesty of the followers they may seduce, that gives them power for evil. It was especially his duty to do nothing which might help the people to forget the true cause of the war in fruitless disputes about its inevitable consequences. The doctrine of State rights can be so handled by an adroit demagogue as easily to confound the distinction between liberty and lawlessness in the minds of ignorant persons, accustomed always to be influenced by the sound of certain words, rather than to reflect upon the principles which give them meaning. For, though Secession involves the manifest absurdity of denying to the State the right of making war against any foreign power while permitting it against the United States; though it supposes a compact of mutual concessions and guaranties among States without any arbiter in case of dissension; though it contradicts common-sense in assuming that the men who framed our government did not know what they meant when they substituted Union for confederation; though it falsifies history, which shows that the main opposition to the adoption of the Constitution was based on the argument that it did not allow that independence in the several States which alone would justify them in seceding;--yet, as slavery was universally admitted to be a reserved right, an inference could be drawn from any direct attack upon it (though only in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;self- defence) to a natural right of resistance, logical enough to satisfy minds untrained to detect fallacy, as the majority of men always are, and now too much disturbed by the disorder of the times, to consider that the order of events had any legitimate bearing on the argument. Though Mr. Lincoln was too sagacious to give the Northern allies of the Rebels the occasion they desired and even strove to provoke, yet from the beginning of the war the most persistent efforts have been made to confuse the public mind as to its origin and motives, and to drag the people of the loyal States down from the national position they had instinctively taken to the old level of party squabbles and antipathies. The wholly unprovoked rebellion of an oligarchy proclaiming negro slavery the corner-stone of free institutions, and in the first flush of over-hasty confidence venturing to parade the logical sequence of their leading dogma, "that slavery is right in principle, and has nothing to do with difference of complexion," has been represented as a legitimate and gallant attempt to maintain the true principles of democracy. The rightful endeavor of an established government, the least onerous that ever existed, to defend itself against a treacherous attack on its very existence, has been cunningly made to seem the wicked effort of a fanatical clique to force its doctrines on an oppressed population. Even so long ago as when Mr. Lincoln, not yet convinced of the danger and magnitude of the crisis, was endeavoring to persuade himself of Union majorities at the South, and to carry on a war that was half peace in the hope of a peace that would have been all war,- -while he was still enforcing the Fugitive Slave Law, under some theory that Secession, however it might absolve States from their obligations, could not escheat them of their claims under the Constitution, and that slaveholders in rebellion had alone among mortals the privilege of having their cake and eating it at the same time,--the enemies of free government were striving to persuade the people that the war was an Abolition crusade. To rebel without reason was proclaimed as one of the rights of man, while it was carefully kept out of sight that to suppress rebellion is the first duty of government. All the evils that have come upon the country have been attributed to the Abolitionists, though it is hard to see how any party can become permanently powerful except in one of two ways, either by the greater truth of its principles, or the extravagance of the party opposed to it. To fancy the ship of state, riding safe at&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;her constitutional moorings, suddenly engulfed by a huge kraken of Abolitionism, rising from unknown depths and grasping it with slimy tentacles, is to look at the natural history of the matter with the eyes of Pontoppidan.(1) To believe that the leaders in the Southern treason feared any danger from Abolitionism, would be to deny them ordinary intelligence, though there can be little doubt that they made use of it to stir the passions and excite the fears of their deluded accomplices. They rebelled, not because they thought slavery weak, but because they believed it strong enough, not to overthrow the government, but to get possession of it; for it becomes daily clearer that they used rebellion only as a means of revolution, and if they got revolution, though not in the shape they looked for, is the American people to save them from its consequences at the cost of its own existence? The election of Mr. Lincoln, which it was clearly in their power to prevent had they wished, was the occasion merely, and not the cause of their revolt. Abolitionism, till within a year or two, was the despised heresy of a few earnest persons, without political weight enough to carry the election of a parish constable; and their cardinal principle was disunion, because they were convinced that within the Union the position of slavery was impregnable. In spite of the proverb, great effects do not follow from small causes,--that is, disproportionately small,--but from adequate causes acting under certain required conditions. To contrast the size of the oak with that of the parent acorn, as if the poor seed had paid all costs from its slender strong- box, may serve for a child's wonder; but the real miracle lies in that divine league which bound all the forces of nature to the service of the tiny germ in fulfilling its destiny. Everything has been at work for the past ten years in the cause of anti-slavery, but Garrison and Phillips have been far less successful propagandists than the slaveholders themselves, with the constantly growing arrogance of their pretensions and encroachments. They have forced the question upon the attention of every voter in the Free States, by defiantly putting freedom and democracy on the defensive. But, even after the Kansas outrages, there was no wide-spread desire on the part of the North to commit aggressions, though there was a growing determination to resist them. The popular unanimity in favor of the war three years ago was but in small measure the result of anti-slavery sentiment, far less of any zeal for abolition. But every month of the war,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;every movement of the allies of slavery in the Free States, has been making Abolitionists by the thousand. The masses of any people, however intelligent, are very little moved by abstract principles of humanity and justice, until those principles are interpreted for them by the stinging commentary of some infringement upon their own rights, and then their instincts and passions, once aroused, do indeed derive an incalculable reinforcement of impulse and intensity from those higher ideas, those sublime traditions, which have no motive political force till they are allied with a sense of immediate personal wrong or imminent peril. Then at last the stars in their courses begin to fight against Sisera. Had any one doubted before that the rights of human nature are unitary, that oppression is of one hue the world over, no matter what the color of the oppressed,--had any one failed to see what the real essence of the contest was,--the efforts of the advocates of slavery among ourselves to throw discredit upon the fundamental axioms of the Declaration of Independence and the radical doctrines of Christianity, could not fail to sharpen his eyes. (1) A Danish antiquary and theologian. While every day was bringing the people nearer to the conclusion which all thinking men saw to be inevitable from the beginning, it was wise in Mr. Lincoln to leave the shaping of his policy to events. In this country, where the rough and ready understanding of the people is sure at last to be the controlling power, a profound common-sense is the best genius for statesmanship. Hitherto the wisdom of the President's measures has been justified by the fact that they have always resulted in more firmly uniting public opinion. One of the things particularly admirable in the public utterances of President Lincoln is a certain tone of familiar dignity, which, while it is perhaps the most difficult attainment of mere style, is also no doubtful indication of personal character. There must be something essentially noble in an elective ruler who can descend to the level of confidential ease without losing respect, something very manly in one who can break through the etiquette of his conventional rank and trust himself to the reason and intelligence of those who have elected him. No higher compliment was ever paid to a nation than the simple confidence, the fireside plainness, with which Mr. Lincoln always addresses himself to the reason of the American people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;let us reason together about this matter," has been the tone of all his addresses to the people; and accordingly we have never had a chief magistrate who so won to himself the love and at the same time the judgment of his countrymen. To us, that simple confidence of his in the right-mindedness of his fellowmen is very touching, and its success is as strong an argument as we have ever seen in favor of the theory that men can govern themselves. He never appeals to any vulgar sentiment, he never alludes to the humbleness of his origin; it probably never occurred to him, indeed, that there was anything higher to start from than manhood; and he put himself on a level with those he addressed, not by going down to them, but only by taking it for granted that they had brains and would come up to a common ground of reason. In an article lately printed in *The Nation,* Mr. Bayard Taylor mentions the striking fact, that in the foulest dens of the Five Points he found the portrait of Lincoln. The wretched population that makes its hive there threw all its votes and more against him, and yet paid this instinctive tribute to the sweet humanity of his nature. Their ignorance sold its vote and took its money, but all that was left of manhood in them recognized its saint and martyr. Mr. Lincoln is not in the habit of saying, "This is *my* opinion, or *my* theory," but "This is the conclusion to which, in my judgment, the time has come, and to which, accordingly, the sooner we come the better for us." His policy has been the policy of public opinion based on adequate discussion and on a timely recognition of the influence of passing events in shaping the features of events to come. One secret of Mr. Lincoln's remarkable success in captivating the popular mind is undoubtedly an unconsciousness of self which enables him, though under the necessity of constantly using the capital *I*, to do it without any suggestion of egotism. There is no single vowel which men's mouths can pronounce with such difference of effect. That which one shall hide away, as it were, behind the substance of his discourse, or, if he bring it to the front, shall use merely to give an agreeable accent of individuality to what he says, another shall make an offensive challenge to the self- satisfaction of all his hearers, and an unwarranted intrusion upon each man's sense of personal importance, irritating every pore of his vanity, like a dry northeast wind, to a goose-flesh of opposition and hostility. Mr. Lincoln has never studied Quintilian;(1) but he has, in the earnest simplicity and unaffected Americanism&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;of his own character, one art of oratory worth all the rest. He forgets himself so entirely in his object as to give his *I* the sympathetic and persuasive effect of *We* with the great body of his countrymen. Homely, dispassionate, showing all the rough-edged process of his thought as it goes along, yet arriving at his conclusions with an honest kind of every-day logic, he is so eminently our representative man, that, when he speaks, it seems as if the people were listening to their own thinking aloud. The dignity of his thought owes nothing to any ceremonial garb of words, but to the manly movement that comes of settled purpose and an energy of reason that knows not what rhetoric means. There has been nothing of Cleon, still less of Strepsiades(2) striving to underbid him in demagogism, to be found in the public utterances of Mr. Lincoln. He has always addressed the intelligence of men, never their prejudice, their passion, or their ignorance. (1) A famous Latin writer on the *Art of Oratory.* (2) Two Athenian demagogues, satirized by the dramatist Aristophanes. On the day of his death, this simple Western attorney, who according to one party was a vulgar joker, and whom the *doctrinaires* among his own supporters accused of wanting every element of statesmanship, was the most absolute ruler in Christendom, and this solely by the hold his good-humored sagacity had laid on the hearts and understandings of his countrymen. Nor was this all, for it appeared that he had drawn the great majority, not only of his fellow-citizens, but of mankind also, to his side. So strong and so persuasive is honest manliness without a single quality of romance or unreal sentiment to help it! A civilian during times of the most captivating military achievement, awkward, with no skill in the lower technicalities of manners, he left behind him a fame beyond that of any conqueror, the memory of a grace higher than that of outward person, and of a gentlemanliness deeper than mere breeding. Never before that startled April morning did such multitudes of men shed tears for the death of one they had never seen, as if with him a friendly presence had been taken away from their lives, leaving them colder and darker. Never was funeral panegyric so eloquent as the silent look of sympathy which strangers exchanged when they met on that day. Their common manhood had lost a kinsman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/gGXY07u3rSI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/gGXY07u3rSI/abraham-lincoln.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/Sdx6viXfrxI/AAAAAAAAAgs/8YyDBgFCSh0/s72-c/Abraham+Lincoln.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/abraham-lincoln.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-4873165395287819294</guid><pubDate>Tue, 07 Apr 2009 12:05:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-15T02:43:07.739-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>EuroEnglish</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwHvt2DTyI/AAAAAAAAAgA/YcO1qaHDdxs/s1600-h/EuroEnglish.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 75px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwHvt2DTyI/AAAAAAAAAgA/YcO1qaHDdxs/s320/EuroEnglish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304122977477152546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The European Commission have just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the EU rather than German, which was the other possibility. As part of the negotiations, Her Majesty's govt conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5 year phase in plan that would be known as "EuroEnglish":&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt; -- In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c".. Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favor of the "k". This should klear up konfusion and keyboards kan have 1 less letter. There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year, when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with the "f". This will make words like "fotograf" 20% shorter. In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkorage the removal of double letters, which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horible mes of the silent "e"'s in the language is disgraceful, and they should go away. By the 4th yar, peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v". During ze fifz year, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaiining "ou" and similar changes vud of kors be aplid to ozer kombinations of leters. After zis fifz yer, ve vil hav a reli sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubls or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech ozer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/O0MKre1wgkE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/O0MKre1wgkE/euroenglish_07.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwHvt2DTyI/AAAAAAAAAgA/YcO1qaHDdxs/s72-c/EuroEnglish.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/euroenglish_07.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-7067128480361173281</guid><pubDate>Sun, 05 Apr 2009 12:03:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-15T02:43:44.522-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>Baked beans</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwHPrNwU4I/AAAAAAAAAf4/4WrHVIOpC6U/s1600-h/Baked+beans.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 90px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwHPrNwU4I/AAAAAAAAAf4/4WrHVIOpC6U/s320/Baked+beans.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304122427015451522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Once upon a time there lived a woman who had a maddening passion for baked beans. She loved them but unfortunately they had always had a very embarrassing and somewhat lively reaction to her. Then one day she met a guy and fell in love. &lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;When it became apparent that they would marry she thought to herself, " He is so sweet and gentlemanly, he would never go for this carrying on." So she made the supreme sacrifice, and gave up the beans. Some months later, her car broke down on the way home from work. Since she lived in the country she called her husband and told him that she would be late because she had to walk home. On her way she passed a small diner and the odor of the baked beans was more than she could stand. Since she still had miles to walk, she figured that she would walk off any ill effects by the time she reached home. So, she stopped at the diner and before she knew it, she had consumed three large orders of baked beans. All the way home she putt-putted. And upon arriving home she felt reasonably sure she could control it. Her husband seemed excited to see her and exclaimed delightedly, "Darling, I have a surprise for dinner tonight." He then blindfolded her and led her to her chair at the table. She seated herself and just as he was about to remove the blindfold from his wife, the telephone rang. He made her promise not to touch the blindfold until he returned. He then went to answer the phone. The baked beans she had consumed were still affecting her and the pressure was becoming almost unbearable, so while her husband was out of the room she seized the opportunity, shifted her weight to one leg and let it go. It was not only loud, but it smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a skunk in front of pulpwood mill. She took her napkin and fanned the air around her vigorously. Then, she shifted to the other cheek and ripped three more, which reminded her of cooked cabbage. Keeping her ears tuned to the conversation in the other room, she went on like this for another ten minutes. When the phone farewells signaled the end of her freedom, she fanned the air a few more times with her napkin, placed it on her lap and folded her hands upon it, smiling contentedly to herself. She was the picture of innocence when her husband returned, apologizing for taking so long, he asked her if she peeked, and she assured him that she had not. At this point, he removed the blindfold, and she was surprised!! There were twelve dinner guests seated around the table to wish her a "Happy Birthday"!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/nHaOJcORj04" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/nHaOJcORj04/baked-beans_05.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZwHPrNwU4I/AAAAAAAAAf4/4WrHVIOpC6U/s72-c/Baked+beans.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/baked-beans_05.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-8237839985996069688</guid><pubDate>Fri, 03 Apr 2009 16:09:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:27:44.981-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">motivation stories</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">biography</category><title>Angels, at the truck stop</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZhMl63qvKI/AAAAAAAAAd0/ZsjaNfke3Ts/s1600-h/Angels.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 94px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZhMl63qvKI/AAAAAAAAAd0/ZsjaNfke3Ts/s320/Angels.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303072775570373794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the  gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave 15 dollars a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was  a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job. The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed, crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job. Still no luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town,  was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money - fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added another strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them  with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered. I made a deal with the owner of the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I  remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up. When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning I hurried to the car. I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and get the presents from the basement and place them under the tree (We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the road down by the dump.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the car - or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was full to the top with boxes of all  shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crumbled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There were candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.  There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/HyGsjDe07kA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/HyGsjDe07kA/angels-at-truck-stop.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZhMl63qvKI/AAAAAAAAAd0/ZsjaNfke3Ts/s72-c/Angels.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/angels-at-truck-stop.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-2870570007907122780</guid><pubDate>Thu, 02 Apr 2009 16:07:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-28T06:27:44.981-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">motivation stories</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">biography</category><title>The Glass Of Milk</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZhMPX-vJ1I/AAAAAAAAAds/YGYP_lUqqiw/s1600-h/The+Glass+Of+Milk.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 135px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZhMPX-vJ1I/AAAAAAAAAds/YGYP_lUqqiw/s320/The+Glass+Of+Milk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303072388247660370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);font-family:Verdana;" &gt;A short true inspirational stories  about   Kindness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door. Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it slowly, and then asked, "How much do I owe you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You don't owe me anything," she replied. "Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said..... "Then I thank you from my heart." As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Year's later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease. Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to the case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She read these words.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Paid in full with one glass of milk"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Signed)&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Howard Kelly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed: "Thank You, God, that Your love has spread abroad through human hearts and hands."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/VX9vo5wwLO8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/VX9vo5wwLO8/glass-of-milk.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4FqoHslsTyo/SZhMPX-vJ1I/AAAAAAAAAds/YGYP_lUqqiw/s72-c/The+Glass+Of+Milk.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/glass-of-milk.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5738914613753301545.post-6150444227493598522</guid><pubDate>Thu, 02 Apr 2009 12:00:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-15T02:44:13.555-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Funny Stories</category><title>A Religious Hunter</title><description>A man was out hunting. He just happened to be hunting bears. As he trudged through the forest looking for the beasts, he came upon a large and steep hill.  Thinking that perhaps there would be bear on the other side of the hill, he climbed up the steep incline and, just as he was pulling himself up over the last outcropping of rocks, a huge bear met him nose to nose.
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="fullpost"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;The bear roared fiercely. The man was so scared that he lost his balance and fell down the hill with the bear not far behind. As he tumbled down the hill, the man lost his gun. When he finally stopped at the bottom, he found that he had a broken leg.  Escape was impossible and so the man, who had never been particularly religious (in fact this just happened to be a Sunday morning), prayed, "God, if you will make this bear a Christian I will be happy with whatever lot you give me for the rest of my life."
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;The  bear was no more than three feet away from the man when it stopped dead in its tracks... looked up to the heavens  quizzically... and then fell to its knees and prayed in a loud voice, "O Lord, bless this food of which I am about to partake."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PlanetStories/~4/DDmv8hnE4h8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PlanetStories/~3/DDmv8hnE4h8/religious-hunter_02.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (p4ladin)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://newplanetstories.blogspot.com/2009/04/religious-hunter_02.html</feedburner:origLink></item></channel></rss>
