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The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, October 05, 1881, Image 1

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/2012218613/1881-10-05/ed-1/seq-1/

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||gp - y j
j Father Benwell rose and advanced t<
meet the visitor 'with his paternal smile
" I am heartily glad to see von," h<
said, and held oi?t his hand -with a
coming mixture of dignity and cordiality.
Penrose lifted the offered hand
respectfully to his lips. As one of the
" Provincials" of the Order, Father Ben well
occupied a high place among th
English Jesuits. He was accustomed
to acts of homage offered by his youngei
brethren to their spiritual chief.
"I fear you are not well," he proceeded,
gently. " Your hand is feverish,
" Thank you, Father; I sun as well as
"Depression of spirits, perhaps T
Father Benwell persisted.
Penrose admitted it with a pleasing
I "My spirits are not very lively," ha
K Father Benwell shook Ms head in
jentle disapproval of a depressed state
pf spirits in a young man.
F " This must be corrected," he remarked.
" Cultivate cheerfulness,
xthur. I am myself, thank God, a
laterally cheerful man. My mind rejects,
in some degree (and reflects
hatefully) the brightness and beauty
Bhich are part of the great scheme of
reation. A similar disposition is to be
Baltivated. A great trust is about to be
laced in you- Be socially agreeable,
Br you wiU fail to justify the trust,
his is Father Benwell's little sermon.
think it has a merit, Arthur?it is a
Rrmon soon over."
Penrose looked up at his superior,
?at?ar "Hpclt more.
I He was a very young man. His large,
Boughtful, well-opened gray eyes, and
Bs habitual refinement and modesty of
Bnner, gave a certain attraction to his
Birsonal appearance, of which it stood
some need. In stature he was little
Bd lean; his hair had become preftatnrely
'thin over his broad forehead;
Bere were hollows already in his
Reeks, and marks on either side of his
Bin delicate lips. Ho looked like a
Brson who had passed many miserable
Burs in needlessly despairing of himHLf
and his ^prospects. With all this
Bere^was something in him so irresistiOrc
fmfhfnl ririrt sin?so sn<r<rA.ctiv<>
Ben where he might be wrong, of a
Birely conscientious belief in his own
Brors?that he attached people to him
Bithout an effort, and without being
fcare of it himself. What would his
Blends have said if they had been told
Kit the religions enthusiasm of this
Kntle, self-distrustful, melancholy man
Bight, in its very innocence of susBpion
and self-seeking, be perverted to
Bngerous uses in unscrupulous hands?
Ks friends would, one and all, have revived
the scandalous assertion with
Bntempt; and Penrose himself, if he
Sid heard of it, might havo failed to
Emtrolhis temper for the first time in
Ks iiie.
" May I ask a question, without giv?
Bp offense?" he said, timidly.
Father Benwell took his ha id. " My
Ksar Arthur, let us open oil- minds to
fech other without reserve. "What is
Brar question?'
" You have spoken, Father, of a great
Bust that is about to be placed in me."
I "Xes. You are anxious, no doubt,
k> hear what it is!"
"I am anxious to know, in the first
lace, if it requires me to go back to
Father Benwell dropped his young
.end's hand. "Do you dislike Ox|Drd
?' he asked, observing Penrose, attentively.
S "Bear with me, Father, if I speak too
Confidently. I dislike the deception
Ir^ich has obliged me to conceal that I
tin a Catholic and a priest."
m Father Benwell set this little difficulty
ight, with the air of a man who could
Bake benevolent allowance for unreafcnable
scruples. "I think, Arthur*
Bu forget two important consul eraRns,"
he said. "In the first place
Kz have a dispensation from yom
inferiors which absolves vou of all refusibility
in respect of the concealBt
that you have practiced. In the
t>Iace we conltl onlv nbtnin in
Bation of the progress which our
Bh is silently making at the uniBy
by employing von in the capaBof?let
ice say?an independent
Hrer. However, if it will contribByour
case of mind, I see no ob
to informing yon that you will
pstmctea to return to Oxford.
Bieve you ?'
could be no question of it.
Bbreathed more ^freely in every
Btho word.
Be same time," Fatter Benwell
B, "let us not misunderstand
B. In the new sphere of action
Bdesign for you, you will not
Hiiberty to acknowledge that
Btholic, it will be absolutely
Bt you should do so. But
Bnne to wear the ordinary
Bnglish gentleman, and to
Bstrictest secrecy on the
Br admission tc the priestare
further advised by
Blear Arthur, read that
^Lrecessary preface to all
B say to you.'*
Bontained a few pages
Bting the early history
wn the days of the
BM??MM?BBM??i-l II1IT ! !
eighth to have it all his own way tor
Penrose looked at Lis superior in
blank bewilderment. His superior
withheld a ay further information for
the present.
T/c-orrfliirtrr irv ifo fn-rn "
Father resumed; "the time of expla[
aation has not vet come. I have something
else to show you first. One oi
the most interesting relics in England.
Look here."
Ho unlocked a flat mahogany box,
rnd displayed to view some writings of
rellnm, evidently of great age.
* Yon haro iiad. a liitle sermon already,"
he said. " You shall have a
little story now. No doubt you have
heard of Newstead Abbey-famous among
s the readers of poetry as the residence
Df Byron? King Henry treated New
stead exactly as he treated Vango Abbej!
1 Many^years since the lake at Newstead
> was dragged, and the brass eagle which
had served as the lectern in the old
i church was rescued from the waters in
I which it had lain for centuries. A secret
! receptacle was discovered in the body of
the eagle, and the ancient title deeds of
i the Abbey were found in it. The monks
had taken that method of concealing the
Legal proof of their rights and privileges
in the hope?a vain hope, I need
scarcely say?that a timo might coma
when justice would restore to them the
prope: ty of which they had been
robbed. Only last summer one of our
bishops, administering a northern
diocese, spoke of these circumstances
to a devout Catholic friend, and said he
thought it possible that the precaution
taken by the monks at >iewstead might |
also have been taken by the monks at J
Vange. The friend, I should tell you, f
was an enthusiast. Saying nothing
to the bishop (whose position and re- ;
gponsibilities he was bound to respect), |
he xook into his confidence persons ]
whom he could trust. One moonlight (
night?in the absence of the present ,
proprietor, or I should rather say, the ?
present usurper, of the estate?the lake ]
at Yange was privately dragged, with ?
a result that proved the bishop's con- {
jecture to be right. Eead those valu- i
able documents, Arthur. Knowing j
tout strict sense of honor, and your <
i j vi~ t
SiUiniriUJic tcuuciut^ Ui iuuo<Jie.uv/i?, JL I
wish you to bo satisfied of the title of 5
the church to the lands cf Yange, by (
evidence which is beyond dispute." ]
With this little preface he waited ?
while Penrose read the title deeds.
" Any do oJjz on your mind?", he asked, ]
when the reading iiad come to an end. ?
" Not the shadow of a doubt."
" Is the church's right to the prop- ?
erty clear?" j
" As clear, father, as words can make t
it." ?
" Very good. We will lock up the I
documents. Arbitrary confiscation, ]
i Arthur, even on tlie part of a king, can- <
not override tlie law. "What the church ]
once lawfully possessed, the church has *
a right to recover. Any doubt about z
that in your mind?'
" Only the doubt of how ths church j
:an recover. I3 there anything in this particular
case to be hoped from the ^
Law?" * x
" Nothing whatever."
" And yet, father, you speak as if you ,
saw some prospect of the restitution of ^
the property. By -what cleans can the ^
restitution be made?" * ^
'-'By peaceful and worthy means,'' ^
Father Benwell answered. "By honor- 1
able restoration of the confiscated prop- -j
erty to the church on the part of the
person who is now in possession of it." .
Penrose was surprised and interested. ^
| " Is the person a Catholic?" he asked. t
! , t
"Not yet."' Father Benwell laid a ^
strong emphasis on those two little i
words. His fat fingers drummed rest- $
Iessly on the table; his vigilant eyes ^
rested expectantly on Penrose. j,
" Surely you understand me, Arthur?"
he added, after an interval. s
rm 1
JLlie UUiUi :usc mu mj nuiu j.ai^a g
of Penrose. c
" I am afraid to understand you," he 3
said. f
"I am not sure that it is my better a
sense which understands. lam afraid,
Father, it may be my vanity and pre- =
! sumption." f
Father Benwell leaned back luxur- s
j iously in his chair. 3
"I like that modesty," he said, with *
a relishing smack of his lips, as if mod- 9
esty was as good as a meal to him. 1
"There is po.ver of the right sort, *
Arthur, hidden under the diffidence '
that does you honor. I am more than E
ever satisfied that I have been right in
reporting you as worthy of this most c
serious trust. I beliovc ihe conver
sion of the owner of Vange Abbey is? *
in your hands?no more than a matter c
of time." *
" May I ask what his name-is V
" Certainly. His name is Lewis *
" "When do you introduce me to j
him?" ' s
" Impossible to say. I have not yet
been introduced myself." <
"You don't know Mr. RomayneT *
" I have never even seen him."
These discouraging replies were made [
with the perfect composure of a man s
who saw his way clearly before him. <
i Sinking from one depth of perplexity to '
another, Penrose ventured on putting a I
last question. J
"How am Its approach Mr. Romayne?" I
he asked. '
" I can og^answer that, Arthur, by 1
admitting still further into my con- 1
j fidence. It is disagreeable to me," '
I said the reverend gentleman, with the 1
| mosi becoming humility, " to speak of '
j myself. But it must be done. Shall \
i we have a little coffee to help us through 1
j the coming extract from Father Ben- *
j well's autobiography ? Don't look so '
j serious, my son! When the occasion 1
I permits it, let us take life lightly."
He rang the bell and ordered the coffee, (
as if he was the master of the house.
ttfifl&MBMMi&jlith the most 1
Having sweetened liis coffee, with the
closest attention to the process, lie was
at liberty to enlighten his young friend.
He did it so easily and so cheerfully,
that a far less patient man than Penrose
jyould have listened to him with interest
" Excepting my employment here in
the librarv," Father Bonwell began,
" and some interesting conversation
with Lord Loring, to which I shall presently
allude, I am almost as great a
stranger in this house, Arthur, as yourself.
When the object which we now
have in view was first taken seriously
into consideration, I had the honor of
being personally acquainted with Lord
Loring. I was aho aware that ho was
an intimuta and trusted friend of
Romayne. Under these circumstavwes,
his lordship presented himself to our
point of view as a means of approaching
the owner of Yange Abbey without exciting
distrust. I was charged accordingly
with the duty of establishing myaell
on terms of intimacy in this houaf ,
By way of making room for me, the
spiritual director of Lord and Lady
Loring was attached, iu some inferior
sapacity, to a mission abroad. And
hero I am in this place! 2>y the way,
ion't treat me (when we are in the pressnco
of visitors) with any special marks
af respect. I am not provincial of our
Drder in Lord Loriug's house?I am one
3f the inferior clergy."
Penrose looked at him with admiration.
" It is a great sacrifice to make,
Father, in your position, and at your
"Not at all, Arthur. A position ol
rothority involves certain temptations to
pride. I feel this change as a lesson in
aumility which is good for mo. For
sample, Lady Loring (as I can plainly
>ee) dislikes and distrusts me. Then,
igain, a young lady lias recently arrived
lere on a visit. She is a Protestant,
md avoids mo so carefully, poor sonl,
:hat I have never seen her yet. These
rebuffs are wholesome] reminders of his
'allible human nature to a man who has
)ccupied a place of high trust and comnand.
Besides, there have been obstacles
in my way which have had an
jxcellent effect in rousing my energies,
low do you feel, Arthur, when you
jncounter obstacles ?"
" I do my best to remove them, Father.
But I am sometimes conscious of a
>ense of discouragement."
" Curious," said Father Bon well, "I
an only conscious, myself, of a souse oi
mpatience. What right has an obstacle
;o get in my way??that is how I look
it it. For example, the first thing I
leard, when I came here, was that
ilomayne had left England. My introluction
to him was indefinitely delayed;
[ had to look to Lord L :ring for all the
nformation I wanted, relating to the
nan and his habits. There was an>ther
obstacle! Not living in the house,
[ was obliged to find an excuse for beng
constantly on the spot, ready to
ake advantage of his lordship's leisure
noments for conversation. I sat down
n this room, and I said to myself, ' Be.'ore
I get up again, I mean to brush
fiicsns -LiU.pCJL LiUCUO uu J vi. xuj
vay!' The state of the books suggested
;he idta of which I was in search. Be'ore
I left the house I was charged
nth the re-arrangement of the library,
from that moment I came and went as
ften as I liked. Whenever Lord Lorag
was disposed for a little talk, there
was, to lead the talk in the right direcipn.
And what is the result ? On the
irst occasion when Bomayne presents
.itnself I can place yon in a position
o become his daily companion. All
[ue, .Arthur, in the first instance, to my
mpatience of obstacles. Amusing,
sn't it?"
Penrose was perhaps deficient in the
ense of humor. Instead of being
imnsed he appeared to be anxious for
Qore information. "In what capacity
m I to be Mr. Romayne's companion?"
le asked.
Father Benwell poured himself out
.nother cup of coffee.
"SupposeI tell yon'first," he snggesfcd,
"how Komayne is marked out, by
labits and disposition, as a promising
mbject for conversion. He is young;
itill a single man; romantic, sensitive,
lighly cultivated. No near relations
ire alive to influence him?he is compromised
by any illicit attachment,
le has devoted himself for years past
o books, and is collecting materials for
? work of immense research on the
)rigin of Religion. Somo great sorrow
>r remorse?Lord Loring did not menion
what it was?lias told seriously on
iis nervous system, already injured by
light study. Add to this, that he is now
vithin our reach. He has lately returned
.0 London, and is living Quite alone at
i private hotel. For some reason which
[ am not acquainted with he keeps
iway from Yange Abbey?the very
)lace, as I should have thought, for a
studious man."
Penrose began to bo interested.
'Have you been to the Abbey?" he
"I made a little excursion to that
?art of Yorkshire, Arthur, not long
since. A very pleasant trip?apart, from
.he painful associations connected with
.he ruin and profanation of a sacred
>laee. There is no doubt Tabout the
evenues. I know the value of that
productive pari of the estate which
stretches southward, away from the bar en
resrion round the house. Let us
etnm for a moment to Itomayne, and
o your position as liis future companon.
He has had his books sent to him
rom Yange, and has persuaded himself
hat continued study is the one remedy
or his troubles, whatever they may be.
It Lord Loring's suggestion, a consulation
of physicians was held on his case
ihe other day."
"Is he so ill as that!" Penrose exclaimed.
"So it appears," Father Ben well replied.
"Lord Lcaing is mysteriously
silent about the illness. One result of
ihe consultation I extracted from him,
^tat^iyou are interested. The docjfifred
against his employing
Mis proposed book. He was
K^^sten to them. There
Htara that they could
jjhiented to spars
Hatte, by em
ploying an amanuensis. It was left tc
Lord Loring to find the man. I wa*
consulted by liis lord&liip; I was eve:
invited to undertake the duty myself,
Each one in his proper sphere, my son!
The person who converts Romayne musi
be young enough and pliable enough tc
be his friend and companion. Yoru
part is there, Arthur?you are the futur*
amanuensis. How does the prospect
strike you now?"
" i. - -- t il I Tr m -
JL DSg your paruoa, iataer: x ieai
I am unworthy of tho confidence whici
is placed in me."
" In what way?"
Penrose answered with 'unfeigned
humility :
"I am afraid I may fail to justify
your belief in me," he said, " unless 1
can really feel tliat I am converting Mr.
Romayue for his own soul's sake. However
righteous the cause may be, I cannot
find, in the restitution of the church
property, a sufficient motive for persuading
him to change his religious
faith. There is something so serious in
the responsibility which you lay on me,
that I shall sink under tho burden unless
my whole heart is iu tho work. If
JL XCCi WVWUrlU AUI.1.. uc
when I first see him, if he wins npon
me, littlo by little, until I love him like
a brother?then, indeed, I can promise
that his conversion shall be the dearest
object of my life. But, if there is not
this intimate sympathy between us?
forgivo me if I say it plainly?I implore
you to pass me over, and to commit the
task to the hands of another man."
His voice trembled; his eyes moistened.
Father Beuwell handled his
young friend's rising emotion with the
dexterity of a skilled angler humoring
the struggles of a lively fish.
?Good Arthur!" he said, "I see
much?too much, dear boy?of selfseeking
people. It is as refreshing to
inn f.o h&ir von as a drauffht of water tc
ft thirsty man. At the same time, let
me suggest that you are innocently raising
difficulties where no difficulties
exist. I have already mentioned as one
j>f the necessities of the case that you'
and Romayno should be friends. How
<*an th>it be unless there is precisely that
sympathy between you which you have
50 well described? I am a sanguine
man, and Ibelieve you will like each
Dther. Wait till you see him."
As the words passed his lips the door
that led to the picture-gallery was
opened. Lord Loring entered the
He looked quickly round him?apparently
in search of some person who
might, perhaps, be found in the room.
A transient shade of annoyance showed
itself in lus facc, anddisappeared again,
as he bowed.
"Don't let mo disturb you," he said,
looking at Penrose. " Is this the gentleman
who is to assist Mr. Romayne ?"
Father Ben well presented his young
friend. "Arthur Penrose, my lord. I
ventured to suggest that he should call
here to-day, in caso you wished to put
any questions to him."
11 Quite needless, after your recommendation,"
Lord Loring answered,
graciously. "Mr. Penrose could not
have como here at a more appropriate
time. As it happens, Mr. Romajne has
paid us a visit to-day?ho is now in the
?iio priests looicea an eacn otner.
Lord Loring left them as lie spoke. He
walked to the opposite door of the
library, opened it, glanced round the
hall and at the stairs, and returned
again, with the passing expression of
annoyance visible once more. " Come
svith me to the gallery, gentlemen," he
laid; "I shall be happy to introduce
you to Mr. Romayne."
Penrose accepted the proposal. Father
Benwell pointed with a smile to the
books scattered about him.
" With permission, I will follow your
lordship," he said.
" Wh ) was my lord looking for?"
That Wi s the question in Father Benwell's
n ind, while he put some of the
books a way on the shelves, and collected
the scattered papers on the table, relating
to his correspondence with Rome.
It had become a habit o? his life to be
suspicions of any circumstances occuring
within his range of observation for
which he was unable to account. He
might have felt some stronger emotion
on this occasion if he Lr.d known that
the conspiracy in the library to convert
Komavne was matcbs-j by the conspiracy
in the picture-gantry to marry
# * # i # *
Lady Loring's narrative of tlie conversation
which had taken place between
Stella and herself had encouraged
her husband to try his proposed experiment
without delay. " I shall send a
letter at once to Eomayne's hotel," he
" Inviting him to come here to-day?"
her ladyship inquired.
" Yes. I shall say I particularly wish
to consult him about a picture. Are w?
to prepare Stella to see him, or would
it be better to let the meeting take hei
by surprise?"
" Certainly not!" said Lady Loring.
" With her sensitive disposition I am
afraid of taking Stella by surprise. Let
me only tell her that Eomayne is the
original of her portrait, and that he is
likely to call on you to see the picture
to-day?and leave the rest to mo."
Lady '.Loring's suggestion was immediately
carried out. In the first fervor
of her agitation Stella had declared
that her courage was not equal to a
meeting with Eomayne on that day.
Becoming more composed she yielded
to Lady Loring's persuasion so far as to
promise that she would at least make
the attempt to follow her friend to the
gallery. "If I go down with you," she
said, " it will look as if we had arranged
the thing between us. I can't bear
even to think of that ? Let me look ie.
by myself, as if it was by accident."
Consenting to this arrangement Lady
Loring had proceeded alone to the gallery,
when Romayne's visit was announced.
The minutes passed and
Stella did not appear. Lord Loring
thought it possible that she might
shrink from openly presenting herself
at the main entrance to the gallery,
and might prefer?especially if she was
not aware of the priest's presence in the
room?to slip in quietly by the library
door. Failing to find her. on putting
this idea to the test, he had discovered
Penrose; and had so listened the intro
) duction of the younger of tlie two
i Jesuits to Bomayne.
t * * * * ?
Having gathered Lis papers together
! Father Benwell crossed the library to
s the deep bav-wirdow -which lighted the
room, and opened his dispatch-box
standing on a scvaU table in the recess.
> Placed in this position he was invisible
! to any person entering the room by the
hall door.
' "FTo lio/l cumn'A." Tn's iwn#v>*<? in flip (lis.
1 patch-box, and bad just closed and
locked it, when lie heard the door
cautiously opened.
The instant afterward the rustling of
a woman's dress over the carpet caught
' liis ear. Other men migh t have walked
out of the recess r.nd shown themselves.
Father Ben well staid where he was, and
waited until the lady crossed liia range
of view.
The priest observed with.cold atten- 1
lion her darkly-beautiful eyes and hair, :
aer n uickly-cha^^ . *
grace of movement STuulv,- an?- in ,
evident agitation, she advanced to ths I
door, of the picture gallery?and paused, 1
as if she was afraid to open it. Father J
Benwell heard her sigh to herself/ (
softly: "Oh, how shall I meet him?' ]
Sloe turned aside to the looking-glass 1
over tlie fireplace. The reflection of '
her charming face seemed to rouse her ^
^ c
courage. She retraced her steps and
timidly opened the door. Lord Loring
mnst hare been clor>e by at the moment, t
His voice immediately made itself heard 1
in the library. j
" Come in, Stella?come in! Here \
is a new picture for you to see ; and a c
friend whom I want to present to you, 1
who mnst be your friend, too?Mr. *
Lewis Tvomayne."
The door was closcd again. Father 0
Benwell stood still as a statue in the f
recess, with his head down, deep in f
thought. After a while he roused him- e
self, and rapidly returned to the writ- *
ing-table. With a roughnes?, stra: g ly
unlike his customary deliberation or c
movement, he snatched a sheet of c
paper out of the case, and, frowning t
heavily, v,to te these lines on it: ?
I " bmce my letter was scaled I have ,
made a discovery which must be com- ^
municated without the loss of a post. I
greatly fear there may be a woman in j.
our way. Trust me to combat this jj
obstacle as I have combated other ob- f;
stacles. In the meantime the work goes r!
on. Penrose has received his first in- ^
structions,and has to-day been presented c
to Eomayne."
lie addressed this letter to Home, as
he had addressed the letter preceding it.
" Now for the woman!" he said to him- n
self?and opened the door of the pic toe ^
gallery. 0
[to be eorr-vvd.J t]
An Un gathered Harvest.
The New York Tribune of a recent
date says: Now, when the sumac is
coloring the hills fron the Lakes to the ^
Gnlf of Mexico- withii.s rich crimson, jH
thft fertile fcn (xTflTV nrt* " -. r\? rwv ?
agriculturists to the scheme of the Agn-~~r^
cultural Bureau for making it a source ,
of real profit to the country. The *
leaves of the sumac, are used, as our j?
readers know, for purposes of tanning, ,
and the varieties spontaneously produced
in the "dinted States, while not
so valuable for this use as the Sicilian. J
are hardy and bear the change of our
climate. It has hitherto proved impossible
to acclimate either Sicilian, ^
French or Spanish sumac in this country.
The importation of foreign sumac averages
8,000 tons annually, outside of an ^
immense amount smuggled into the
country; the imported article being j
worth $50 per ton more than the native. ?
I ^ ?!1 -1 J
VJUT WUll SlUliUC a > vt ijuigt
to the leather and fails to give it the ?
snowy delicacy to which the tannic acid
obtained^ from the Sicilian bleaches it. >
Dr. Macufettrie, who has published an ,
official report oirtlrisaaaUer, states that
this difficulty can be obviated by gather- ^
ing the sumac leaves in June if they are* %
required for tanning white or very light
leather; the tannin then present being
smaller in quantity but of purer quality,
and the value of the ground leaves being
equal to the Sicilian.
There is no reason, says the depart- ?
meut very justly, why the $1,000,000 in ?
gold paid yearly for foreign sumac ?
should not be kept at home. The plant ,
grows like a weed on every stretch of '
poor ground or mountain :-ange, and it ,
requires but a little culture and skill in o
harvesting to add it to our profitable r
lesser crops. It requires to be kept ,
free from weeds; the crop should be
gathered the year after planting, by
breaking off all the leaves; after that
year in Sicily the tree is either stripped ^
of all leaf-bearing branches and pruned v
down to a straight stalk, or else, which T
is best, hand-picked three times a year.
At present the crop of American sumac
is reaped almost exclusively by negroes f
and poor whites, especially in Virginia.
< Abont 8,000 tons are brought annually *
I to the Virginia mills, carelessly gathered
| and cured, and consequently worth
I about half the value of the imported
article. ^
A Small Heroine. 0
Children four years old are not, as a c
! rale, competent to be left alone witii ^
j "the'baby." Is there one in a thousand
of such wee nurses that could have done (
1 as well as the little Dakota girl did? It c
is a story of the Western floods, told in i
the Cincinnati Commercial: ^
She was a little girl only four years 0
old, and was left alone with a baby a f
I year old while the mother went out for j
| a day's work. While the good old
I auntie was busy over soapsuds, she ?
1 heard some boys shouting,?
j "The Di kota is out of its banks !" a
! She started bareheaded toward her t
j dwelling, and saw the water whirling ,
! around it five or six feet deep. The j
i poor old woman was frantic, and a mem- c
j ber of the life-saving crew took her in "
and ferried her to the door.
There was not a sound; the poor little ^
ones mnst have drowned. The mother's
cries brought a curly head to the ^
window. j
"Here we is, mammy ; I fetched sissy ^
up in ';he loft, 'cause there is water down
there." ^
Then the baby was lifted up by the j
small arms to see mammy, and in a few ?
j minutes both the little folks were en- (
! joying their first ride in a boat. .
I * ? 1
'i Device for Arranging Flowers.
A new device for arranging flowers,
as given in Vick's Monthly, consists of a ]
piece of cork about a quarter of an inch <
thick, circular in form and perforated <
with holes like the nose of a watering- <
pot. The diameter of the csrk is made <
to correspond to the size of the saucer or \
shallow dish with which it is to be used, j ]
The cork floating on the top of the <
water supports the flowers, whose stems i
are inserted through the holes. For j
the display of small flowers and those ]
j having short stems, this method seems 1
I well adapted; possibly it may be better ]
I than damp sand, though that is doubt- <
j ful; but, as the cork may be'preserved, ]
| it would always be at hand, arid it might <
i not be convenient sois^tlmes to procure i t
j sand. ^ i i
And 0?l?l Ways of Making a Living.
When the census taker cannot fin<'
that a man has a profession or trade, h<
is quite sure to pnt him down as a la
borer, and in this way he covers uj
many odd people and many odd ways o.
making a living.
"glass t' put in."
Yon see him daily, and this parfcicn
lar cry always attracts notice. It is al
ways an old man, always a foreigner,
and somehow or other all look alike. li
is an odd business, this depending or
accidents to onr windows. The old mac
is not a glazier, and seldom sets a pane
in- a new sash. In fact, he would
J/? 1 7 1
ratner replace a Drosen pane, not uecatise
there is more money in it, but
because it delights his soul to hear the
jingle of broken glass. As you walk to
and fro you have an eye on pedestrians,
buildings, carriages and the kaleidsscope
of the street. v This old man has
an -eye cnly for mndows. It is his
trade to look for broken panes.'.Having
discovered t?em it is his duty to solicit
thejcb- of putting in mew ^oaes. While
courage hitfi un'ess it is a front window.
His mournful voice tells of repeated
disappointments and cold refusals, and
pet he is comfortably clad, reasonably
fat and probably makes a fair living. It
.Jll.l .1 11
ja.U.UUL uts iciucuiuweu muiuiie ui uuem
bas been arrested for drunkenness,
brawliEg, or other street offense, and
from this yon may argne that broken
panes bring a mantle of peace and a desire
to dwell in harmony.
Come, now, give me an honest answer.
Haven't you got at least three
vounded, crippled, smashed and terriled
nmbrellas lying aroxmd the honse ?
Df conrse yon have. Handles are
jroken, ribs snapped, catches gone,
md desolation gallops o'er the cover,
'sot one family in five ever has an nm>rella
mended. It will be canied
ibont with broken ribs, and fadtd
:over nntil some gnst turns it inside out,
ind then it i3 stowed away in the attic
or mice or tossed over the alley-fence
or the boys. And yet old "tJm-beriT
4-~ - i 3
lv dicuu maf-es a xxviug aiiu.
years a look of contentment. Those
ew and far between people who hav6
heir umbrellas repaired are yet suffiient
to support a dozen umbrella-men[ers
in a city the size of Detroit. They
ake your umbrellR and return you
Leither check nor rcceipt, and not once
n a dozen times are they asked to give
heir place of abode. They may have
wenty crippled umbrellas under their
rm as they take yours, but who ever
leard of them making a mistake ? Back
.e comes after a ten days' absence, and
rom a score of repaired, reformed and
ehabiliated umbrellas he selects yours
rith steady hand, ducks his head in
ourtesy and remarks:
"Him all right?two shillin's."
About three years ago the grease-spot
lan suddenly presented himself to the
ublic and asked for chance to make
living. So far as known there are
illy two in JDetroit, and they divide
ii mL
Lie vii/j uciwccu tuciii. JLIJ.9 grease- i
pot man is not the chap who sells lit- i
.e cakes of soap on the street and shows
ae crowd how to remove paint and
rease, but he goes from house to hotlse
ith a bottle under liis arm and a speech
1 his mouth which reads :
" Jfr-Tninf' have anv
iove them in five mil tes without clislrbing
a thing in the rooin. 1 removs
aint or tar 01* grease or fruit stains
om all sorts of fabrics without the
ightest injury to the goods."
"Where is the house without its greaseoots.
Children arid bread and but;r
and grease-spots dwell in
nity together. If the carpets have
scaped, dresses and coats have not.
Saby's greasy hands have grabbed the
attains, butter has melted into the
over of an upholstered chair, and when
Millie kicked on castor oil lis sent the
* i :ii t Ji
pOOJlIUi over ?jik ur uruauciuou. jl/chj
our household skeletons, but admit
our household grease spots and the
Tease spot man. The contents of that
ottle are applied with a brush or
ponge, a few rubs and a twist of the
rrist follow, and lo! the grease spot
as been absorbed into the middle of
extweek. He is a well-spoken man,
is charges are reasonable, and grease
as lost half its terrors since his advent.
" v^J'Sij6L<D YOUR TiSS."
Have jwlived ail your days without
eeing a washdish with a rag pulled
hrough a hole in the bottom? Haven't
ou vourseif tried to Scop a leak in the
in dipper with melted lead? Is there
n old-fashioned mother who doesn't
;now that a pinch of dough will stop a
?ak in the wash-boiler? And the man
ho sends leaky tinware to the shop to
>e repaired is a rare man. He woriJt
arryit, the shop won't send for it, and,
y-and-by we have $10 worth of tinware
rang np for the want of thirty cents'
forth of so!dei\
Now comes old "Men Your Tins." No
aatter whether it's wash-day, baking
lay or any other day in the week?call
iim in. He'll take all tbe dishes into
he back yard, scrape, clean and mend,
mdfor a trifle yon are made good as
iew. He won't bother yon with quesions
or annoy yon with suggestions,
nd bis visit assnres peace and harmony
or months to come.?Detroit Free Press.
Growth of the Opium Habit;
The growth of the "opium habit" in
his country is strikingly presented by
,n article in a September magazine. The
lumber of opium eaters in the United
5t*tes is estimated at 250,000, fully
onr-flftbs of whom are women. The
ncrease in tbe u?e of the drug in the
3ity of Albany, X. Y., is a fair sample
;f the spread of the habit. Twentyive
years ago, with a population of 57,>00,
the annual sales of opium in Albany
^mounted only to 350 pounds and 375
ranees of morphia. Jsow, with a popuation
of 91,000, 3,500 pounds of opium
nd 5,500 ounces of morphia are sold
mnually in that city. It is true that
"Ti/iVi r.f 41-itiio djTifrs io mpdifiin
il use, but tie suggestive fact remains
hat the increase in the population of
Ubany has been but .59, while the
ucrease in the sale of opium has been
100 per cent, and of morphia 1,100 per
:ent. One of the druggists of Albany
s quoted as saying that, where twentyive
years ago he made laudanum by the
rallon, he now prepares it by the barrel.
Jnfortunately, what is true of Albany
n this respect seems to be true of the
est of the country, and there is force
n the writer's suggestion that it is time
o regulate and limit the Gales of opium
)y legislative enactment. "Let it
ilone," and he fears that "opinm may,
ire many years, be used as extensively
n America as in China."
*nqc ?
Never forsake a friend. "When enenies
gather around, when sickness falls
jn the heart, when the world is dark and
cheerless?is the time to try true friendship.
They who turn from the scene o?
listress betray their hypocrisy and prove
i;hat interest only moves them. If yon
ctave a friend who loves you?who has
studied your interest and happiness?be
sure to sustain him in adversity. Let
him feel that his former kindness is appreciated,
and that his love was not
hrown away. Eeal fidelity maybe rare,
but it exists?in the heait. They only
leny its worth and power who have
lever loved a friend, or labored to igakj
>ne happy. Thega^^nd theJd?*
affectionate anatne^SfrKM
"eel tie
Humaii Sacrifice In Dahomey.
The "Wesley an Missionary at Dah<
mey, the Rev. John Milnm, gives a nioi
1 sickening acconnt of the practices (
2 the Dahomeyan King, Gelele,which fail
- confirms the statements published pr<
) vionsly concerning the King's sacrifice!
f Every year Gelele makes extensive sa<
rifices in honor of the memory of hi
father, the victims being prisoners c
_ I war. The Dahomeyans make war o:
" j the neighboring tribes and manage t
capture a large iianoer 01 prisoners
[ The custom last year lasted through
I several days, there being a slaughte
L every day and night. Mr. Milum wa
s several times summoned to the palace
' and, though he saw no sacrifices, th
' evidences of them were unmistakable
' On December 31, after several day3 ha<
' been occupied with the revolting ceremo
nies of the "custom," Mr. Milum wrote
' "The yearly custom made byKinj
Gelele to his father Gezo is not yet fin
ished, a number of important matter
interfering and calling for the presenc*
! of the King to settle, it appears tha'
forty human victims are reserved to com
| plete the^ ceremony?twenty men anc
guise or mercy, one-half will be lib
e rated. Contrary to statements made
by previous travelers, these human victims
are all prisoners of war and have
committed no crime, but have simph
been unfortunate enough to be captured
while defending their homes against
the invading foe. The people, knowing
my opinion upon the subject, are reluctant
to furnish me with full information
oil flio t.hnl f.at-A nlac.A : hnh
I am strongly impressed that they are
offered every day, for every morning I
hear the King's crier crying the great
names of the King, and beating his bell,
and going through the whole ceremony
that I described in connection with the
poor woman sacrifice in the marketplace,
and soon after I heard the tattoo
of drums and the firing of muskets,
which announces that the cruel deed is
done. Moreover, the birds never cease
to congregate in the region of the ravine
where the bodies are thrown, close to
the wretched hut in which I am lodged,
and whenever the wind blows in this
direction I obtain a most sickening smell
of putrifying flesh, and I have but to go
outside the walls of the compound to see
the gorged vultures and turkey-buzzards
sitting in grim silence in the trees near
the dreadful place or on the wing circling
over it.
"The victims this year, as well as the
last, are from Mikkam, a large town to
the east of Dahomey, which was invaded
and destroyed b v the Dahomeyans
last year, and from which, it is stated
by some intelligent natives, there were
brought a little over 17,000 captives and
7,200 heads. I give these numbers as I
have received them. I only know that
it was a very populous town, and that
all the women and children were within
the Walls when it was attacked by the
Dahomeyan army. This year the Dahomeyans
sought in vain for a place to
capture, the inhabitants fleeing from
every town upon their approach, which
accounts for the fact that the poor Mikkam
people have become the victims
this yea? to the sacrifice. I have no .
desire to be sensational, but I should
like the English public to look at the
following facts: King Gelele began to
reign about the year 1853 ; he, therefore,
has been reigning about twentyseven
years. During that time he has
offered, upon a very moderate average,
200 human sacrifices yearly. It there-.
his reign, in cold blood, at least 5,400
prisoners of war. If to this l>e added
the thousands of heads brought home
from war, I think the present King of
Dahomey may be regarded as the greatest
murderer living; and what seems
suoh an extraordinary thing is that these
sacrifices take place within sixty miles,
and the towns that are desolated by this
cruel people are mostly within 100 miles
of the coast. It appears to ne that this
is an evil nearly if not quite equal to
the slave trade, and calls loudly to Ihe
civilized Powers for suppression. The
Dahomey an army is now clamoring to
the King to be allowed to go back to
Abeoknta for their next war. If they
go, they may not actually capture the
town; but they will kidnap unwary
travelers, stop all agricultural operations,
destroy all the farms, and spread
desolation on every hand. This is what
recurs dnrins the first three or four
months of every year, the harvest
months of the farmer.
"I Lave but to refer to my detention
and the inconveniences caused me to
prove that the King disregards the terms
of the treaty made with him in May,
1877. I believe it would be one of the
greatest sets of mercy to thousands of
poor, down-trcdden people, if the Brit
ish Government were to annex the whole
coast-line between Qnetta and Lagos to
the Gold Coast Colony."
Detectives At Weddings,
j In the East detectives are employed
| toN attend big weddings, it is their
! business to hover around the collection
j of cohly presents and see that none of
I the higMoned guests steal anything.
S It is only^L weddings attended by the
| very hightSfctajed that detectives are
; necessary, T^^fck^rathei^^^mpliment
to peoj^^^f^fRoSpretefflSI^
any particular tone themselves. These
detectives have to be men of intelligence
and good address, and they are
required to attire themselves ia swallow-tails
of the regulation pattern, so
that they may pass for guests and ex'1
"kiln flvarm'ciner
cue no rcaiiun vfiHAo ?
necessary vigilance. l*ct if they are
young men asd converse intelligently,
they must form a striking contrast to
the Ja-de-da society fellows of the day,
and this would bo suspicious in itself.
But the intelligent detective probably
holds his intelligence in check upon
such occasions. Kleptomania, unknown
to the lower w*lks of life, where they
simply steal when they take something
that doesn't belong to them, 13 an unfortunate
malady that sometimes attacks
i people moving in the higher circles,
i and it is to guard against this that deJ
tectives are engaged for these great
events which dazzle the social world.
They of course must be posted as to the
peculiarities of guests and thoroughly
informed on the subject of priceless^
gems. A
The fair kleptomaniac approaches tjR
table and takes up an elegant diain^H
ring, which she is about to place ojH
finger to study its effect. "PeruM^H
madam," says the detective, gen? I
adroitly taking it from her^H H
your attention to the peculiar]?
in this gem. This diamojfl
Benares, one of the sacred|^
dia. For centuries it blaz!^
head of one of theimageM
Gautama Buddba himsdi
richest jewel in hisshi^B
of the many wars in^H
pie was piliaged
came into the
j of the famous Begj?
, prized it above Jfl
sions, but at lajfl
i of it by one ot^fl
! Impej, of wj?
cauley's es.^B
and in yoi^|
ter 9
I c
I n
st The
Shanghai lias been making a special in
7 vestigation which enables him to thrcK
3- some light on this interesting inquiry
> Skilled laborers?artisans, workers a
5- trades, etc.?live mostly in the cities
s where all prices are higher than outside
Art and taste, although appreciated, ar<
Q not paid accordingly. A painter ma;
o win renown, and his name or his sea
> may live after him; but during life h<
h will be no better off than his neighbo:
r who makes coffins. Painters of porce
s lain, designers and weavers of the mosi
i, exquisite patterns of silks and the ar
0 tisan who makes wonderful pieces o.
!? enamel or "china," are satisfied if thej
1 put by enough for burial expenses; the
- butcher does as well as any of them,
: Gold and silversmiths and others whose
I work' is peculiarly responsible do a
- little better; the weaver or spinner oi
3 silk is probably the best paid day
i. laborer, getting to $1 to $2 a day. The
t average pay of skilled labor is probably
- ?3 a week for a master, $1.50 for a
I workman and fifty cents for '^youngsters
hold goods; he pays $72 a year for
i food, $36 for rent and sundries, $12 for
clothing, and is rich with $36 left. The
> ordinary workman, if unmarried, lives
r with his parents or with some friend.
^ His effects may bo worth $15, and he
; pays $45, $12 and $8 for the three items
; above mentioned. Temales and youngsters
are assumed to cost all they can
earn. On the farm everybody must
work, the children beginning at six
years. Two and a-half acres of arable
land, with a house built of mud and
reeds and thatched with straw, and a
cow, a few fowls and pigs, and some
very primitive tools may constitute a
well-to-do farmer's property. The 'soil
will usually support the family, and
twenty cents a day will pay for" their
food. Rice, or bread, with vegetables
and common tea5 varied by a little poultry
or pork on festive occasions, makes
/N ( lnn/^ TV%OTT TAO
tilCll UlC t. JL llCii ImTIU VI 10X1U iniii t K/<s
worth ?100, the annual working expenses
may be $42, and they will produce
about $160, leaving about $50
clear. In cotton the land wiil average
1,600 pounds at four cents; cost of cultivation
and tax, $31; net yield, $33. if
the soil suits cotton. A woman weaves
one piece per day of cotton cloth, six to j
nine yards, thirty-nine to forty-six inches
wide; she spins one-third of a pound of
yarn, at six cents for labor; six working
days convert the raw fibre into one
and one-eighth pounds of cloth, worth
sixty cents. The farm laborer gets ten
to fifteen cents a day, or seventy cents
to $1.05 a week, in harvest time, besides
his Lod, estimated at ten cents a day;
by the month, $1.50 to $2, and board ;
by the year, $12, '*and found." About
82 a year will clothe him, and he does
well if he saves twice that in a year.
For coolie labor, comprising boatmen,
carriers, wheelbarrow men, etc., from
five to thirty cents a day are paid; the
carriers in west China, who carry for
I twenty consecutive days 300 to 400
i pounds of tea on their back over a
mountainous country, are considered
well paid at twenty-five cents a day.
The ordinaiy coolie earns $4.50 a month,
and spends $4. Coal is mined entirely
by hand and sells at the pit's mouth for
$1 a ton. Gold diggers on the Han
river, in 1870, were earning five to
fifteen cents a day; seven men were
estimated to wash twen+y tons of gravel,
a day, Tiding three four cents a ton.
Hotf a Murderer ?ras Discovered.
A letter dated Post Boy, Ohio, to the
Cleveland Leader says: This little
station on the Cleveland and Marietta
milrr>p..d. insfc three miles south of New
comerstown, is located on ilie spot
where a bloody murder was committed
over half a century ago, and, in fact, it
derives its name from the occupation of
tbe murdered victim, lie being a "post
boy" or mail carrier. The circumstances
of this tragedy may be of interest to the
readers of the Leader from the fact that
the perpetrator of the crime was the
first and only man who ever paid the
death penalty within the limits of Tuscarawas
"William Cartwell, a young man about
eighteen years old, carried the United
States mail on horseback from Coshocton
to WestChester, and traveled what
is now known as the old Cadiz road. On
the ninth day of September, 1825, he
was shot by a highwayman, who pillaged
the mail bag and made his escape. A
man named Johnson, who was hunting
in the vicinity, heard the report of the
rifle, and on repairing to the spot was
horrified on discovering the lifeless remains
of young Caxtwell lying by the
I roadside. He raised the alarm and
aroused the whole neighborhood, wnicn
was soon laboring under the most intense
excitement. In their mad frenzy
the neighbors accused Johnson of the
crime, and he was arrested and coni
fined in the jail at New-Philadelphia,
i Johnson protested his innocence, and
J told the sheriff that, as socn as he
! emerged from the wood soon after hear!
ing the shot, he caught a glimpse of the
i murderer as he made hi3 escape, and he
! averred his ability to detect him iu a
I crowd, be it ever so large. Accordingly
(_the whole male population of the county
wSSTNuested to report at the jail in
New-Ir^jfc^lphia on a certain day, and
there b^S^Bjfcied by Johnson, in order,
if possibf. gnilty party.
About thre& ^^^MtooDded to the
request on the ap^^^^kfey, and by
some strange infatua^^^^hrilty man
j appeared among
to know
i the danger. _ lnfl
i two files facing^B
passed betwee^
; gaze. All^H
and secme^B
his eyes
and, in.ML
"That m
! shojfl
i *pim
^reports a remlH
bj Mr. ISfeaadfi^AdaraH B
v Postoflice Telegrap^~I>?|lJBH
; the existence of electric tidesnl^^^^l
I graphic circuits. By long-continued 1
and careful observations he has deter- !
' mined distinct variations of streDgth in y
j those earth currents, which are invari~j
ably presenton all telegraphic wires, folj
lowing the different diurnal positions
3 of the moon with respect to the earth."
r A fuller an d more satisfactory exposition
. of the matter was to be given by the
t author.
S!/-inr?zj timfl flia T1CO nf CITT/lnsf.
E in mortar was recommended as superior
r even to hair for tlie prevention of crack;
ing and subsequent peelingoff of rough
, casing under the,action of. storms and
! frost. Some one by the name of Siehr t
says that his own house, exposed to pro
longed storms on the seacoast, had r
pieces of mortar to be renewed eacfc '
i spring; and after trying -without effect
- a number of substances to prevent it, he
r found "sawdust perfectly satisfactory. *
i tit was first thoroughly dried andf sifted
was made by mixing one part of cement,
two of lime, two of sawdust and five of
sharp sand, the sawdust being first well
mixed dry with the cement and sand.
An official publication of the German
postoffice contains a report on the disturbances
in telegraphic communication
caused last August by a display of the
aurora borealis. It is well known that
both storms and the aurora borealis disturb
the electric currents passing ever
telegraphic cables, but recent experience "
seems to prove that the disturbing influences
of storms chiefly affects short
lines, while the longer lines are more
liable to be affected by the northern
lights. There was a strong disturbance
of the latter kind from the 11th to the
14th of August, 1880. It seems to have
manifested itself throughout the greater
portion oi tne nortnern section ci ine
eastern hem1*sphere. sending off, how- I
ever, a southerly stream in the direction 1
of Mozambique, which reached to Natal.
It does not appear that the western con- fl
tinent was affected. The general fea
tures of the disturbance consisted in..
manifestations of the presence of strange
currents ("earta currents," as they are
called) of fluctuating intensity, the .
| duration and fluctuations varying in
different localities and the direction of
recurrents changing frequently.
Blimber Puts Uis Foot in It.
Yesterday when old Blimber went v
home to dinner he carried his newspaper v"
with him and, as is his wont, read aloud
to his family such paragraphs as afforded
him opportunity for a growl, or to J
how off his superior knowledge of men m
nd things by commenting thereon for
the edification of his wife and six daughters.
Yesterday the old man read aloud: jH
"Hoop skirts are again coming into
ashion. A sudden demand has sprang fl
up that the factories cannot meeV
though they are running to their full ^1
capacity." i
"Now," said Blimber, "that is sensible.
I am glad that the ladies have
concluded to go back to the good old.
fashion of twenty years ago. A modest
dress! good, modest dress! No pailback
or pinchbeck about 'em! Now,
I-" _. ]
Chorus of wife and daughters: ' Oh, j
we must all have the jaew hoops'; We'll
<3<vvn towia'?1^^ Are tEeiy to"be Trad -4
* Ahem! ah?broke m old iiiimber;
"ah?well, I declare! Here is I
something further." Beads: "Later
?Since the above was put in type we m
learn that it is all a mistake about the
revival of the fashion of wearing hoop
skirts. It appears that the story of the
revival was ail a hoax?the mere inverttion
of some stupid xsaragrapher.
"To thin!" cried all the feminines of
the family. "The 'later' is all your
own invention. You are making all
up as you go along."
The paper was snatched from Old
Blimber's hand; his miserly cunning fl
was exposed, and he was laughed at, fl
sneered at and scouted and flouted.
It was shown that the paragraph was
just as first read, and also was shown
that there could be but one reason for
Blimber's feeble attempt to foist upon H
his auditors a "later."
There stood poor old Blimber with
hi3 "blushing honors thick npon him,"
Finally he said:
*?*11 ?^ ( TfrtTT oTvoll JlOVO f.llA r.PW?
hoops as ^
what they mar. I said I nas is fa70*
of 'era, and I am, No more about i^rB
not another word !" Peace
was thus made at once?sgneo?|
sealed and delivered?but the "womeiH
folks" little suspected why old H
was in such great haste to shut oft
further talk on the subject?they h$M
knew that he feared that they O&V
suspect that many other paragraph^?
had read aloud to them hadv
tored to suit his views. He pad founM
it a convenient means of making kno^vB
his views in advance on a groat varie?
of subjects and questions, and he difl
not care to have his little game disco*
ered, else there might be a general jfl
vuiL mw nib it;a.cmuyi.i?^TTT7CTi
(Xer.) Eniei'prise.
Bearers at Work in Europe, fl
Possibly some naturalist's, and a greM
many other people, are qaite unawaiM
that the beaver is still living in consicM
erable numbers in a part of GermanjM
file kn^^B^jj^oBritain, where thfl
once itfl
fcapts have beefl

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