From the Christian Witness,
terture no more with the scourge and the chain
!he fetter that bound me is broken in twain ;
I lev you the links with the blood-runt thereon,
tiicsj pf deeds that the despot hatli done.
ay tgd for ever I spurn the control
t nati bttered my body, and bowed down my soul
b the jh ide of a freeman I trample in scorn
yoh liiat my neck hath too patiently borne !
Ve mi follow my trac't where the herbage is red,
to mrJbohath been bathed in the blood of your dead
emafollow In vengeance but o for the hour!
IV yo footsteps are girt by a perilous power!'
Jile spui-f-and the triumph of vengeance was seen
jta thcani of his eye and the pride of'his mein,
Ind hniattered a curse on the land of the South,
hikmilc of derision still played round his mouth.
new! on the spot which his hatred hath cursed,
niimyi like a steed of the wild, he hath burst!
fEinl,he bounds over hill-top and plain,
f Aniia foot spurns the earth with the pride of disdain.
Jaiore shall the blood of the fugitive drip
Avanly and red from the overseer's whip
W.f shall thrill on the fugitive's car,
; ;4 threat of the master, the taunt, and the jeer.
Jriy to the land of the North for her star
l fji-acon thy course from its blue home afar
if, jjke the wind pausing not to look back,
J shi seeker of blood shall be quick on thy track !
fthe home of the planter magnificent stood,
are smouldering ruins and foot-prints in blood,
the tone of the viol rose soft on the air,
roice of the mourner the wail of despair !
JJp wo! for the lovely, the good, and the brave,
jr the whirldwind of vengeance swept down to the grave
of the spoiler swept on like a demon of wrath.
id Massacre yelled in his havoc strown path!
Jn the still air of midnight, a terrible cry,
fke the trumpet of Doom, called the sleepers to die!
They woke but the prayer of their anguish was vain,
,'ul the sabre is red with the blood of the slain!
(Then the morning looked out from the East with its sun,
fhe work of destruction and vengeance was done
Ind the smoke, like a pall, wrapt the desolate scene.
Rain scowled darkly where Beauty had been!
'What marvel? Yet weep for the tree and the flower
Swept down to the dust in a terrible hour!
For tho strength that hath passed ftom tho place where it
For the light that was quenched in a tempest of blood!
Oh! this was the work of revenge and despair,
When the fetter and yoke were too galling to bear
For the iron had entered the fugitive's soul,
Till he spurned in his hatred the tyrant's control.
From his wife and his child they had torn him apart.
Unheeding the anguish that gnawed at his heart
And he knew that the daughter he idolized, must
Be doomed to a life of pollution and lust.
Then the demon awoke and he vowed in his wrath,
That the blood of the master should crimson his path,
And that .Ruin should howl o'er their desolate hearth,
Who had scoffed at his wo in the madness of mirth.
And dark was the hatred lie. nursed in his breast,
Till the thirst for revenge robbed his spirit of rest
Then he swept o'er their home like a whirlwind of fire.
And Destruction trod close in the path of his ire!
Flow darkly, St. Ilia! for .nixed with thy flood,
There are tears in the track of the Shedder of blood!
And thy waves have a tone like a funeral wail,
As they fling their low voice to tho answering gale!
From his death-work the Slayer in triumph hath gone
Weep, land of the South! for his deed is thine own!
Ah, weep! till thine eyeballs in agony swim,
For the cup of thy trembling is filled to the brim !
W. II. B.
From the Michigan Observer.
To Ilenrjr Clay.What is Liberty ?
Is it to take from others that
Which never can be thine?
To steal what never can be bought,
And call thy right divine?
Is it to bind thy brother down
With slavery's cursed chain,
Then on his sorrows cast a frown
To aggravate his pain?
Is it to ateal thy brother man
From child, from home, from wifo
And Lynch the noble soul who can
Desire him happier life?
Is it to scourge his body sore
With loaded whip and lash?
Is it to feed upon his gore,
And sell his soul for cash?
Is it to torture him to death
With anguish keen and slow?
Or if I please prolong his breath,
His misery and wo?
Is it to hide him from the word
Of life which God hath given,
Nor let him know there is a Lord
Who over-rules in heaven?
And this is liberty they tayl
How many lives it cost!
And then its champion, Henry Clay,
Out glorioua country's boast!!!
Fleecy locks end black complexion
'" fw"J'"'.' claim;
A Mother's Grave.
I followed into the burying ground, in the sub
urbs of the city, a small train of persons, not more
than a dozen, who had come to bury one ol tnei
acquaintance. The clergyman in attendance
was leading a little boy by the hand, who seemed
to be one of the relatives of the deceased in the
slender group. I gathered with them round the
grave, and when the plain coffin was lowerec
down, the child burst forth in uncontrolled
The little fellow had no one left to whom h
could look for affection, or who could address him
in tones of parental kindness. The last of his
kinsfolks was in the grave and he was alone.
When the clamorous grief of the child had
little subsided, the clergyman addressed us wit
the customary exhortation to accept the monition
and be prepared ; and turning to the child, he ad
dad ; " She is not to remain in the grave forever
as true as the grass which is now chilled with th
Irost ol the season, shall spring to greenness and
lile in a few months, so true shall your mother come
up from that grave to another life, to a life of happi
ness, I hope." The attendants shovelled in the earth
upon the coffin, and some one took little William
the child, by the hand, and led hun forth irom th
lowly tenement of his mother.
Late in the ensuing spring, I was in the neigh
borhood of the same burying ground, and seeing
the eate open, I walked amoner the craves for
some time reading the names of the dead, and
wondenner what strange disease could snatch oil
so many younger than myself when recollecting
that I was near the grave of the poor widow, bury
ed the previous autumn, I turned to see what had
been done to preserve the memory or one so utter
ly destitute of earthly friends. To my suiprise
I found the most desirable of all mementos lor
mother's grave little William was sitting near
the head of the now sunken grave looking intent
ly upon some green shoots that had come forth
with the warmth ol spring, Irom tlie soil that cov
ered his mothers coffin.
William started at my approach and would have
left the place; it was lone before I could induce
him to tarry; and indeed I did not win his confi
. t t i i
dence, until 1 told him that 1 was present when
they buried his mother, and had marked his tears
at the time.
' Ihcn you heard the minister say, that my
mother would come up out of this grave," said lit
" I did."
" Jt is true, is it not? asked ho, in a tone o
" I most firmly believe it," said I.
" Believe it," said the child " believe
thought you knew it I know it."
" How do you know it, my dear r
" The minister said, that it was as true as the
grass would grow up, and the flowers bloom in
the spring so true would my mother rise
came a few days afterward, and planted a flower
seed on the grave. 1 he grass came green in this
burying ground long ago ; and I watched every
day for the flowers, and to day they came up too
see them breaking through the ground by and
by mammy will come again."
A smile ot exulting hope played on the features
ol the boy; and 1 lelt pained at disturbing the
la 1th and commence at which he was animated.
" But my little child," said I, " it is not here
that vour noor mother will rise."
" Yes here, said he, with emphasis " here
they put her, and here I have come ever since the
first blade of grass was green this year.
I looked around, and saw that the tiny feet of
the child had trod out the herbage at the grave
side, so constant had been his attendance. What
a faithful watch keeper what mother would de
sire a richer monument than the form of her only
on bending fearful, but hopintr, over net grave ?
" But William, said 1, " it is in another world
that she will arise," arid I attempted to explain
to him the nature of the promise which he had
mistaken. The child was confused, and he ap
peared neither pleased nor satisfied.
It mammy is not coming back to me it she is
not coming up here, what shall 1 do i cannot
stay without her."
ou shall go to her, said J, adopting the lan
guage of the scripture "you shall go to her, but
she shall not come to you.
"bet me go then, said William, "let me go
now, that I may rise with my mammy."
" William," said I, pointing down to the plants
just breaking through the ground, " the seed
which is sown there would not come up, if it had
not Deen ripe ; so you must wait till your ap
pointed time, until your end comcth.
" Then I shall see her."
" I surely hope so,"
" I will wait then," said the child, " but I thought
I should see her soon I thought I should meel
And he did. In a month William ceased to
wait ; and they opened his mothers grave, and
placed his little coffin on hers it was the only
wish the child expressed in dying. Better teach
ers than I, had instructed him in the way to meet
his mother, and young as the little sufferer was,
he had learned that all the labors and hopes of
happiness short of heaven, are profitless and vain.
U. S. Gazette.
From the New York Observer.
Where is Calvary ?
As I was leaning over the railing nt Cather
wood's Panorama of Jerusalem a few days since,
quite absorbed in contemplating the scenes of sur
passing interest there pictured to the eye, a stran
ger broke my revery by a sudden but a serious
question. "Will you tell me, sir," said he,
" where Calvary is?" I was startled at first by
the enquiry, but recollecting myself immediately
I pointed out the spot I was then gazing on it
and mused again. The view before us was full
of objects to fix the attention and awaken deep
emotions in the heart. The mosque of Omar
rose in eastern magnificence ol the noon day sun.
Palaces and towers, minarets and arches, " stood
before the eye, and claimed and received the ad
miration of every beholder. A mixed multitude
. i -, r .1 1
were with the spectators oi tno scene out
one spot was the center oi universal attrac
tion. Why did they not look at that troop of
wandering Arabs that formed a prominent lea
ture of the view ? Why did they pass by the gov
ernor of the citv as he sat luxuriantly in his tent,
dispensing justice to the gathered people ? Why
is that shocking sight overlooked where a criminal
is stretched, on the ground with his feet upturned,
-Hsh ,,,,,, - h bastinado, which theex-
VOICE OF FREEDOM.
Mount Olivet, with its green foliage, and th
more distant hills that surround the city and re
minds us of that striking illustration, " as th
mountains are round about Jerusalem so the Lord
is round about his people forever," why 'are these
unnoticed lor the lime, that all eyes may be turned
upon one marked spot (
uecause that spot is Calvary, x lie time was
when the eyes of the universe were fixed upo
that spot. Uod irom his throne looked down up
on it. Angels ceased their songs awhile and ga
zed upon it. The Son of God was dying there,
The last act in the tragedy of man's redemption
closed on Calvary, and the spot has been mad
memorable in the annals of the world. There
are other scenes on earth that are beheld with
lively interest and intense delight. But the
mind that was ever touched with the dying love
of the Lord of glory, will turn away from all other
spots, and dwell on Calvary. It loves to dwe
there. And should the humble follower of th
meek and lowly Jesus be taken up into an exceed
ing high mountain, whence he could see till the
kingdoms of the world and the glory of them, he
would cast his eyes abroad over the expanded view.
and before he rested on a single point, would en
quire " Where is Calvary ?
There is no place out of heaven dearer to th
pious heart. And am I wrong in saying there is
no place in heaven more precious to the believer
soul than this? I would rather lie at the foot of
the cross than the foot of the throne. And though
the heart is filled with sadness when the suffering
of the Saviour are in view, yet the same heart is
tilled with love that no other scene excites and
with joy that no other scene affords.
" See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down,
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a erown ?"
But the question which the stranger asked, sug
jested other rellections than these. It he knew
not where Calvary was, it was the very qnestion
of all others that he ought to have asked. If
knew not the way to the cross he was wise i
asking some one to take him by the hand and lea
him to it. And as I pointed him to the spot where
the Redeemer hung in agony, and died m shame
1 thought of the joy which the Iriend Jesus leel
in pointing sinners to the Lamb ot uod that taket
away the sins of the world. Next to this bliss of
knowing that Christ is mine, is the bliss of show
ing him toothers as their Saviour. No higher joy
could be mine on earth, than to stand at the base
of Calvary, and as the thoughtless were journey
ing to hell, to cry in their hearing, " 1 his is the
way, walk ye in it turn ye, turn ye, for why wi
ve die behold the Lamb of God;" And Oh
what rapture fills the watchman's heart, when one
Irom that multitude who are thronging the broad
road to death, turns aside and asks, " Can you tell
me, sir, where Calvary is ? '
Yes, poor sinner, I can tell you where Calvary
is. uo with me, and I will lead you to the very
spot. JJut you cannot go as you are. i ou are
aden with guilt. You must cast away from yo
all your transgressions and look forward with a
eye of faith. But there, in the distance, stand
the cross. Upon it hangs the saviour who bleed
for you and me. Look and live. Weary and
heavy laden you may there find rest to your
soul. Ihere is no way to heaven but the one
that leads over Calvary. By the cross you must
win the crown. Iren-Eus
From the Mercantile Journal.
A British officer, Major Calder Campbell, de
scribing " an adventure in Ava" in the year 1S26,
gives a beautiful and affecting description of Mrs,
judson, the wife of the celebrated missionary in
the Jiiast Indies. Major Campbell, then a Lieu
tenant, when descending the Irawaddi river in a
canoe, manned by Burman?, was attacked in the
night while asleep, by his faithless boatmen, and
severely wounded and robbed. When waiting
on the beach with much anxiety and distress for
the passage of some friendly bark, a row boat was
seen approaching, bignals of distress were made
and a skiff sent to his assistance. The following
is the language of the writer :
W e were taken on board. Mv eves first rest
ed on the thin attenuated form of a lady a white
ady : the hrst white woman 1 had seen for more
than a year! fche was standing on the little deck
of the row boat, leaning on the arm of a sickly
ii.. .1 .. I . 1 1 i f
oouing gentleman, witn an intellectual castoi
countenance in whom I at once recognized the
husband or the brother.
His dress and bearing pointed him out as a mis
sionary, i have said mat i had not beheld t
white female for many days ; and now the sooth
ng accents ol lemale words fell upon my ears like
a household hymn of my youth. My wound was
tenderly dressed, my head bound up, and I was
aid upon a sofa bed. With what a thankful
heart did I breathe forth a blessing on these kind
Samaritans ! with what delight did I drink in the
mild, gentle sounds of that sweet woman's voice
as she pressed me to recruit my strength with
some of that " beverage which cheers but not ine
briates!" ' She was seated .in a large sort of
swinging chair, of American construction, in which
her slight, emaciated, but graceful form, appeared
Imost ethereal. Yet with much of heaven, there
were still the breathings of earthly feeling about
er, lor at her leet rested a babe, a little wan ba
by, on which her eyes often turned with all t
mother's love; and gazing frequently upon her
delicate features, with a fond yet fearful glance,
was that meek missionary, her husband ! Her
face-was pale, very pale ; with that expression of
deep and serious thought which speaks ot the
strong and vigorous mind within the frail and per
iling body; her brown hair was braided over a
placid and hoiv brow, but her hands those
small, lillv hands were quite beautiful ; beautiful
they were, and very wan ; for ah ! they told of
disease of death death in all its transparent
grace when the sickly blood shines through the
clear skin, even as the bright poison lights up the
Venetian glass which it is about to shatter ! That
lady was Mrs. Judson, whose long captivity and
severe hardships amongst the Bnrmcse, have since
been detailed in her published journals.
I remained two days with them ; two delight
ful days they were to me. Mrs. Judson's powers
of conversation were of the first order, and the
many afi'ecting anecdotes that she gave us of their
long and cruel bondage their struggles in the
cause of religion and their adventures during a
long residence at the Court of Ava, gained a
heightened interest from the beautiful energetic
simplicity of her language ; as well as from the
certainty 1 lelt that so fragile a flower, as she m
verv truth was. had but a brief season to lm"-er
on enrth! Why is it that we grieve to think oWyc
the approaching death of the young, the virtuous,
the ready? Alas! it is the selfishness of human
nature that would keep to itself the purest and
sweetest gifts of Heaven, to encounter the blasts
and the blights of a world where we see them,
rather than that they should be transplanted to a
happier region, where we see them not !
When I left the kind Judsons, I did so with re
gret. When I looked my last on her mild, worn
countenance, as she issued some instructions to
my new set of boatmen, I felt my eyes fill with
prophetic tears. They were not perceived. We
parted, and we never met again ; nor is it likely
that the wounded subaltern was ever again thought
of by those who had succored him. Mrs. Jud
son, and her child, died soon after the cessation
The Infidel Mother.
How is it possible to conceive that a woman can
be an atheist ? What shall prop up this reed, l
religion doth not sustain her? The feeblest be
ing in nature, even on the eve of death, or the
loss of her charms : who shall support her if her
hopes be not extended beyond an ephemeral exis
tence ? For the sake of her beauty alone, woman
should be pious. Gentleness, submission, suavity.
tenderness, constitute part of the charms which
the Creator bestowed on our first mother, and to
charms of this kind philosophy is a mortal foe.
Shall woman, who takes delight in concealment
who never discloses more than half of her gra
ces and of her thoughts whom heaven formed
for virtue and the most mysterious ol sentiments
modesty and love shall woman, renouncing the
engaging instinct of her sex, presume with ra6h
and feeble hands, to attempt to withdraw the thick
veil which conceals the Divinity? Whom doth
she think to please by this effort, alike absurd and
sacrilegious ? Does she hope, by adding her pet
ty and her frivolous metaphysics to the impreca1
Hons of Spianosa, and the sophistry of a Bayle,
to give us a higher opinion of her genius ? With
out doubt she has no thoughts of marriage, for
what sensible man would unite himself for life to
to an impious partner ?
The infidel wife has seldom any ideas of her
duties; she spends her days either in reasoning
on virtue without practising its precepts, or in the
enjoyment of the tumultuous pleasures of the
But the day of vengeance approaches. Time
arrives, leading Age by the hand. The spectre
with silver hair and icy hands, plants himself on
the threshold of the female Atheist ; she perceives
him and shrieks aloud. Who shall now hear her
voice ? Her husband? She has none ; long, ve
ry long, has he withdrawn from the theatre of his
dishonor. Her children ? Ruined by an impious
education, and by maternal example, they concern
themselves not about their mother. If she sur
veys the past, she beholds a pathless waste ; her
virtues have felt no traces behind them, ror the
first time she begins to be sensible how much
more consolatory it would have been to have a
religion. Unavailing regret ! When the A the-
ist, at the term of his career, discovers the illu
sions of a false philosophy; when annihilation
like an appalling meteor, begins to appear above
the horizon of death, he would fain return to uod ;
but it is too late ! The mind, hardened by incre
dulity, rejects all conviction.
How different the lot of the religious woman
Her days are replete with joy ; she is respected,
beloved by her husband, her children, and her
household : all place unbounded confidonce in
her, because they are firmly convinced of the fi
delity of one who is faithful to her God. The
late ol this christian is strengthened by her hap
piness, and her happiness by her laith ; she be
lieves in God because she is happy, and she is
happy because she believes in uod.
The Good Farmer.
To constitute an accomplished farmer, one who
can pursue the honorable occupation to which he
belongs, with honor, with profit, and with pleasure
to himself, and with advantage to his country, the
tollowing traits ol character are almost indispensa'
1. He must be a man of integrity one who
would scorn to defraud his land, his beasts, his
servants, or his neighbors because, by doing ei
ther, he always injures himself, and often injures
2. He must be a man of thought and reflection
for without these he can never know how to di
rect his industry, or understand in what economy
consists, and without well directed industry, and
a wise and prudent economy, no farmer can pros
3. He must undertand how to create and how
to preserve the fertility of his land because with
out increasing and preserving the fertility of his
soil, his labor will generally prove to be both un
profitable to himself and injurious to his country,
4. He must know how to cultivate his land in
that manner which will enable him to obtain the
argest product it is capable of yielding with least
o. tie must understand the best mode of rearing
stock, and improving their breed.
b. He must have industry enough to reduce his
knowledge to practice otherwise it can be of no
value either to himself or his country.
7. He must well understand the distinction be
tween true and false economy, and rigidly practice
the former and avoid the latter otherwise his la
or will only be thrown away.
a. lie must be too wise to be vain and self-con
ceited: otherwise he will be above improving in
is prolession : and besides, vanity and self-concei
are disgusting and odious to others, and the most
certain and infallible proofs of a weakened intellect
nd a corrupt heart.
9. He must possess a benevolent temper and
isposition because, without this, he can never
o use the product of his past labors, as either to
promote his own or the happiness of others.
iu. jie must tie patriotic, i nis wm mvy.- "
seek to promote the public good, in which his
own interest is involved. . ,
11. He must have too much honorable inde
pendence of soul to be capable of degrading him-
II into a slavish parlizan ou n.a
nfallibly become the dupe ol artlul ana intriguing
enmgogues, of corrupt ponuciu nsimo m.-., w..u.
11 ho iro m nse him lor the accompnsnmeni oi
, r. t n irin?it mm fr n f
himself and of his country.
io a.,,1 m crown all, he should be a man
IICII UVU I'll-l' I''J-- '
genuine piety a P'cty that will prompt him in
whatever he may be engaged, whether in the la
bors of the fieldin the duties pertaining to social
iivfcourse, or in those ot devotion, to Keep nis
Vi . - - i " . . . - 1 1
steadily fixed on the promotion of the glory
of God, by the improvement of his whole nature,
intellectual, moral and physical, and the welfare
of all around him, whose happiness can be affected
by his conduct.
Compared with such a farmer, to the eye of
reason and common sense, how contemptibly des
picable do the herd of vulgar great appear ? To a
mass of dishonesty, fraud, and deceit, which would
well nigh disgrace a penitentiary; a disgusting,
bloating vanity ; a mean, base contracting selfish
ness, at war with every noble and generous emo
tion of the human soul the latter characters not
unfrequently add the unsurpassable stupidity of
believing that their wealth or their station entitles
them to a superiority over the honest, the intelli
gent, the virtuous and the patriotic farmer, con
trasted with whom, in the estimation of every
viituous and intelligent being, they occupy a rank
no less inferior in dignity and worth than that of
the most worthless profligate, swindling culprit,
when compared with the most honorable and ex
alted of those distinguished benefactors of mankind,
whose virtues and whose talents have shed a lustre
on the dignity of human nature. Ten. Farmer.
Employment of Women. In every country,
from Turkey upwards, woman has her certain
place. In Italy, in Switzerland, in Germany, in
England, in Scotland, and, more than all, in
woman adoring France, I have seen her. in instan
ces without number, performing offices of hardship
and notoriety, with which her heaven-given, wo
manly nature seems to be totally incompatible.
That the age of chivalry has passed from Europe,
needs not the meagre evidence that no thousand
swords leaped from their scabbards to save the beau
tiful Maria Antoinette. Trnvel over Europe, the
proofs shall stare you in the face wherever you go.
In Munech a woman does the work of printer's
devil. In Vienna I have seen her making morter,
carrying hods, digging cellars, and wheeling forth
the clay ; and there I have also seen females har
nessed with a man, nay, with a dog, and once even
with a jackass, to a cart, dragging the same through
the most public streets of the metropolis. In Dres
den she saws and splits the wood, drags coal about
the city in a little wagon, and wheels eatables for
miles through the highways to market in a huge
barrow. In all these places, in France and in Italy, may
you note her with a basket and scraper, hastening
with all speed to monopolize the filth just fallen
upon the public routes. In France females do vast
ly more degrading and out-of-door work than in
England, and in Paris, they are in as great request
as the mirrors themselves. A woman harnesses
diligence horses. A woman cleans your boots as
you rest them on her little stand at the Pont Neuf.
At the theatre it is a woman who sells you your
ticket, and other women who take charge of the
boxes. At many mere business offices it is a wo
man who does the business. Would you bargain
at Chanties for a load of wood, you bargain with a
woman. Would you be conveyed publicly to the
south of France, you receive your right to a place in
Coupee from a woman, i here is no shop ol what
ever description, in which a woman is not concern
ed. There is indeed hardly a department in
which she does pot seem to be chief manager.
London and Fans Adv.
Query How is " woman " employed in a South
ern Rice swamp?
A Sister. He who has never known a sister's
kind ministrations, nor felt hi3 heart wajming be
neath her endearing smile and love-beaming eye,
has been unfortunate indeed. It is not to be
wondered if the fountains of pure feeling flow in
his bosom but sluggishly, or if the gentler emo
tions of his nature be lost in the sterner attributes
" That man has grown up among kind and af
fectionate sisters," I once heard a lady of much
observation and experience remark.
" And why do you think so ? said 1.
" Because of the rich development of all the
tenderer and more refined feelings of the heart,
which are so apparent in every word."
A sister s influence is felt, even in manhood s
ater years; and the heart of him who has grown
cold in its chilling contact with the world, will
warm and thrill with pure eniovment, as some in
cident awakes within him the soft tones and glad
melodies of his sister s voice. And he will turn
from purposes which a warped and false philoso
phy has reasoned into expediency, and even weep
for the gentler influences which moved him in his
How little do we appreciate a mother's tender
ness while living f now heedless are we, in
childhood, of all her anxieties and kindness ? But
when she is dead, and gone ; when the cares and
coldness of the world come withering to our hearts; .
when we learn how hard it is to find true sympa
thy, how few love us for ourselves, how few will
befriend us in our misfortunes ; then it is we
think of the mother we have lost.
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