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The Anderson intelligencer. (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, September 18, 1860, Image 1

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84026965/1860-09-18/ed-1/seq-1/

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grilling jSIifttj} of jforhr fife.
fm i?iii ntnr.
The fol]k>wing incident of wild life in
America will bo read with interest. It
lias all the excitemont of romance about
ic. A party of adventurers having fallen
on the stores of a body of Indians, deter?
mined to partake of the provisions they
had found. In the field on the bank of
'ii.t river they kindled a fire for the pur?
pose of cooking those, and were about,
in lue*lan?rua?;c of Dale, the leader of the
parly, u to make use of the 'brilcd' bones
and hot ashcake," when they were star?
tled by the discharge of several rifles,
and the sudden war-whoops of some twen?
ty-five or thirty Indians, who came rush?
ing towards them from three sides of the
field. Dale's party immediately seized
their rifles, and being too few to oppose
the force of the enemy, clashed down the
second or upper bank of the river, and
took post among the trees, whence they
kept in check the approach of the savages.
By this time the canoes had conveyed
.all but twelve of the entire force to the
opposite side of the river, and one canoe
alone had returned for the residue. This
was the first thought of the little party,
who wore now hemmed in by tho Indians.
But simultaneously with the attack by
land, a large canoe, containing eleven
v.riors, had issued from a bend in the
river above, and descended rapidly, with
iL. evident design of intercepting com?
munication with the opposite shore. They
d >w attempted to approach the shore and
join in the attack, but were kept at a dis?
tance by a well directed fire of a few of
Dale's men. Two of their number, how?
ever, leaped into the river, and swam,
with their rifles above their heads, for the
bank, just abovo the mouth of a little
creek, near the northern corner of the
field. One of these as he approached the
shore, was shot by Smith ; but Austill, in
attempting to intercept the other, was
' thrown by the underwood and rolled into
the water within a few feet of his antag?
onist. The Indian reached the shore and
ran up the bank. Anstill, in pursuing
him through the cane wns fired *vt, m mis?
take for an Indian, by Creagh, and nar?
rowly escaped.
During this by-scene. Dale and the
other eight of his valiant companions
Were interchanging hot fires with the en?
emy. Those in the canoe sheltered them?
selves by lying in its bottom and firing
over the sides. The party on shore were
deterred from pressing closely by an ig?
norance of the number of Dale's forces.
' This cause alone saved them from certain
destruction. But the circumstances were
rfow growing more critical. Soon the In?
dians .must discover the weakness of their
opponents, and rush forward with irresis?
tible superiority. A more perilous posi?
tion can scarcely be imagined, and yet
,. ihere was ono in this contest.
Dale, seeing tho superiority of the ene?
my, called out to his comrades on tho op
? poslte shore for assistance. They had
?thus rar romaincd inefficient, but excited
spejtr.^ors of the scene. But now (light
of their number leaped into their canoe,
and bore out towards the enemy. Upon,
approaching near enough, however, to
discover the number of the Indians, the
man in the bow, becoming alarmed at the
superiority of the foe, ordered tho paddies
to " back water," and they returned to
land! Dale, indignant at this cowardice,
demanded of his men, who would join
him in an attack upon the Indian canoe ?
Austill and Smith immediately volun?
teered) and with a negro a stecrman,
named Ca?sar, the little party embarked
for the dreadful encounter.
As they approached, one of the Indians
fired without effect. "When within thirty
feet, Smith fired, and probably wounded
one of the Indians, whose shoulder was
visible above the canoe. Dale and Aus?
till attempted to fire, but their priming
having been dampened, their guns could
:: bo discharged. Fortunately the In?
dians had exhausted their powder. The
:ie party now bore down in silence
? on the foe. As the boats came in con?
tact at the bows, the Indians all leaped to
theirfeet. Austill was in front, and bore
for a moment the brunt of the battle.
But by tho order of Dale, the negro
swayed round the canoe, and " Big Sam "
leaped into the enemy's boat, giving more
room to Smith and Austill, and pressing
together the Indians, who werO already
too crowded. The negro occupied his
time in holding the canoes together. The
rifles of both parties used as clubs; and
dreadful were the blows both given and
taken; for three more gallant men than
these assailants never took part in a
crowded molee.
The details of the struggle can searccly
be given. Dale's second blow broke the
barrel of his gun, which he then ex?
changed for Smith's, and so fought till
the end of the scene. Austill was, at one
time, prostrated by a blow from a wa r
club, and tell into the Indian canoe, be?
tween two of the enemy, arid whs ab?nt i
being slain by his assailant, when the lal-'
tor was fortunately put to deathly Smith, j
Austill rose, grappling with an [ndin: .
wrested his war club from him, struck [
him over the skull, and he tell dead in iii<
The last surviving Indian had^bcon, be?
fore the war, a particular friend of Dale's.
They had hunted together long and fa?
miliarly, and were alike distinguished for
their excellence in those vigorous sports
so much prized by those men of the
woods. The young Muscpgc? was re?
garded as one of the most cluvalajkis ro
riors of his tribe. Dale would always
say. when, long subsequently, ho narrated
these circumstances, and he never did so
without weeping, that he "loveft&hat Tn
dian like a brother, and wantctl2to save
him from the fate of the others.'' But
the eye of the young warrior was filled
with fire; ho leaped before his opponent
with a proud fury; cried out in Musco
gec, "Sam Thiucco, you're ? a man. and
I'm another! Now for it!" and grappled
in deadly conflict. The white mj^h proved
the victor. With one blow of his rifle, he
crushed the skull of the young hero. The
j young hero still holding his gun firmly
grasped in his hands, fell backwards into
I the water, and the canoe fight was over.
I Domestic Affections.?In the dull,
prosy, interminable, matter-of-fact speech?
es of members of Congress, we occasional?
ly find a glimpso of sunshine?an oasis in
the desert, a passage replete with beauty
of language and refinement of feeling,
which deserves to be treasured in the
memory. Such is the character of the
following extract from a speech of Sena?
tor Yulee, of Floridn:
"Mr. President, the deepest interest of
the human heart?that which in civilized
life, next to the concerns of his spiritual
being and his responsibility as a creature
of Cod, moves most strongly the affec?
tion of man's nature, and stirs the ] ro
foundest depths of his feelings?is the de
ncss and welfare of those who associate
with him at the family altar. At that al?
tar kneels with liim the gentle Eve of his
bosom, whose devotion and love and vir?
tues make the daily charm of hjs life,
whose heart is intertwined with his own
tendrils that a mutual sympathy and in?
terchange of sweet affections, hourly ex?
tend and strengthen; there, cop, clinging
close around him, gather the offspring of
their pure and heaven-blessed love?dear,
not only as the pledges of their own hap?
py union, but the more dear for their
helplessness and dependence : there, too.
Imply tend the tottering stops of i'
parents of his days, whose kimhu'ss and
culture of his early years. their re-i
ward in the grateful care ivkh which i
cherishes their declining days; and ::J, that
altar tho inspiration is daily freshened,
which impels him. under the influence of
a beneficent Providence, to place his high?
est earthly happiness in the chcrishmcnt
and protection of that magic circle. i? ..>
in the security and confidence which the
Government casts around these cherished
affections, in the protection which il aids
! us to bestow upon these first placets of
I our care, in tho ability it confers upon us
to preserve the fruits of our industry for
their use in our-own day. and after, by
our departure from life, they are I aft to
struggle alone, that* the seeds of patriot?
ism find their favored soil."
How a Royal" Debtor was ?jade t,,
Pay.?Sehlen mentions us a curious illus?
tration of English law, how a fiondon
merchant gotpnyment of a debt from the
King of Spain. The merchant proceeded
against him in the English courts'-IPn the
ordinary form, and as the debtor did not
chooso to make appearance or plead, the
conclusive ceremony of outlawry was per?
formed. It apears that the preliminary
step to this denunciation was an inquiry
after the debtor in all the ncigboring ale?
houses, these being presumed to be the
placo where those who owe most resort.
Seiden gives a ludicrous account of the in?
quiry at each alehouse, if the King of
Spain was there, and the formal return of
a universal negative by the officer; where
upon, in usual form, outlawry was pro?
nounced against him. In the end it was
found to be no joke. Whilst the sentence
of outlawry stood against him, none of
his subjects could recover debts in the En?
glish courts, which were closed to the
whole Spanish nation, and in the ond, the
London merchant was paid his debt.
Eat, digest; read, remember; earn, save;
love, and be loved. Ifthe.se four rules be
strictly followed, health, wealth, intelli
J gence, and true happiness will be the re
I 6Ult. I
I The Dying Wife to her Husband.
The following most touching fragment
[of a "Letter from a Dying Wife to her!
Husband.*' n:ls ''-"rid by him. some
J months after her death', between Hie
J leaves of a religious1 volume, which she
j was very fond of perusing. The letter,
\vlueb was literally dim lysjth tear marks,
was written long before the husband was
aware that tho grasp of a fatal disease
had fastened upon the lovely form of his
wife, who died at the early age of nine?
teen :
u When this shall reach 3'our eye, dear
G-, some day when you are turning
over the relics of the past. J shall have"
passed away forever, and the old white
stone wiil be keeping its lonely watch
over the lips you have so often pressed,
and the sod will be grow ing green that
shall hide forever from your sight the
dust of one who has so often nestled close
to your warm heart. For many long and
sleepless nights, when all my thoughts
were at rest. I have wrestled with the
consciousness of approaching death, and
at last it has forced itself upon my mind;
and although to you and to others it
might now seem but the nervous imagi?
nations of a girl, yet. dear G-. it is so !
Many weary hours have I passed in the
endeavor to reconcilo myself to leaving
you, whom I love so well, and this bright
world of sunshine and beauty; and hard
indeed it is to struggle on silently and
alone, with the sure conviction that I am
about to leave till forever and <ro down
alone into tho dark Valley ! " But I
know in whom I have trusted, and lean?
ing upon His arm, I fear no evil." Don't
blame me for keeping oven all this from
you. How could I subject you, of all oth?
ers, to such sorrow as I feel at parting
when time will so soon mako it apparent
to you ? I could have wished to live, if
only to be at your side when your time
shall come, and pillowing your head upon
my breast, wipe the death damps from
your brow, and usher your departing spir?
it into its Maker's presence, embalmed in
woman's holiest prayer. But it is not to
be so?and I submit. Yours is the privi?
lege of watching, through long and drea?
ry niirhts. for the snivir's final flhrfiJ a?d
of transferring my sinking head from
your breast to my Saviour's bosom! And
you shall share my last thought; the last
faint pressure of the hand, and the last
feeble kiss shall be yours, and even when
flesh and heart shall have failed me. my
eye shall rest on yours until glazed by
death; and our spirits shall hold one last
fond communion, until gently failing from
my view?the last 0:1 earth?you shall
mingle with the first bright glimpse of
the unfading glories of that better world,
where parting is unknown. Well do I
know the spot, dear G-. where you
will leave rne: uff; n have wo^.stoodbj the
place; and. a? we watched '.he mellow.
stinsei-.-as,,it,g)anceii in quivering flashes i
through ii,<' leaves and burnished thel
grassy mouncfa around us wi?t stripes of
burnished gold, cwh perhaps lias though I
that onci of us would come alone; and
whichever.it might be,.your name would
be on the stone. But wc loved tho spot;
and I kunw yon'il love it none the less
when vou see the s:une quiet sun-ligm
linger and play among the ginss that
I grows over.3*0:11* Mary's grave. 1 know
yv.-'ll go often alone liiere, when I am
I laid there, and my spirit will be witli you
j then, and whisper among Lin: waving
j branches. ? I am not lost but gone before.' "
\ ?Kmcki rb'ockerl
TlXOUtfliTS AND I'KKDS.? il is mnch
easier to think rigid without doing right,
than to do right without thinking right.
Just thoughts may. and wofulby often do
fail of producing just deeds; butjust deeds
are sure to beget just thoughts. For
when the heart is pure and straight, there
is hardly anything which can mislead the
understanding in matters of immediate
personal concernment. But the clearest
understanding can do little in purifying
an impure heart, the strongest, little in
straightening a crooked one. You cannot
reason or talk an Augean stable into
cleanliness. A single day's work would
make more progress in such a task than a
century's words.
TniNGS You Must Not Do.?Never
abuse one who was once your bosom
friend, however bitter now. Never in?
sult poverty. Never speak contemptu?
ously of woman. Never eat a hearty
supper. Never stop to talk in a church
aisle after the service is over. Never
smile at the expense of your religion or
your Bible.
J -+
The Heart.?It is said -of Hannibal,
the great Carthagenian commander, that
he was the first that went into the field
of battle and the last that came out of
it. Thus should it be in all the operations
of a Christian: tho heart should be the
first that comes into the house of God,
i and the last that goes out of it, ,
i'?j |lcabimj.
Essays Written in the Intervals
of Business.
Bcvevolcncc is tho largest part of bur
business, beginning with our home duties,
and extending itself to the utmost verge
of humanity. A vague feeling of kindness
towards our fdioic creatures is no state of
mind to rest in. It is not enough for us
to be able to say that nothing of human
interest is alien to ub, and that we give
our acquiescence, or indeed our transient
assistance, to any scheme of benevolence
that may come in our way. No! in pro
moling the welfare of others we must
tpiij we must devote to it earnest
thought, constant care, and zealous en?
deavor. What is more, wc must do all
this with patience ; and be ready, in the
same cause, to make an habitual sacrifice
of our owi. tastes and wishes. Nothing
short of tin's is the visiting the sick, feed?
ing the hungry, and clothing the naked,
which our creed requires of us.
Few people have imagination enough
to enter into the delusions of others, or
indeed to look at the actions of any other
person with an}' prejudices but their own.
Perhaps, however, it would be nearer tho
truth to ijay that few people are in the
habit of employing their imagination in
the scrvics of charity. Most persons re?
quire its magic aiil to gild their castles in
the air: to conduct them along those fan?
ciful triumphal processions in which them?
selves play so conspicuous a part: to con?
quer enemies for them without battles;
and make them virtuous without effort.
This is what thoy want their imagination
for: they can not spare it for any little
errand of charity. And sometimes when
men do think charitably, thoy arc afraid
to speak out, for fear of being considered
stupid, or credulous.
practical wisdom.
Practical wisdom acts in the mind, as
gravitation does in the material world;
combining, keeping things in their places,
and maintaining a mutual dcpcndehC'J
amongst the various parts of our system.
-.? C.-- >? ? :.- '? ? -i!?_ju:,l . JJ.1?V
and what wc can do. not in fancy, but in
real life. It does not permit us to wait
for dainty duties, pleasant to the imagi?
nation; but insists upon our doing those
which are before us. It is always incli?
ned to make much of what it possesses:
and is not given to ponder over those
schemes which might have been carried
on. if what is irrevocable had been other
than it is. It does not suffer us to waste
Otir energies in regret. In journeying
with it ive go towards the sun, and the
shadow of our burden falls behind us.
Himi resolves.
They fancy that high moral resolves
and great principles are not for daily use!
ail;' that there is no room for thorn in the
affairs of this life. This is an extreme
delusion. For how is the world ever
made better'i No.l by mean little schemes
which some men fondly call practical, no!
by Hotting one evil thing to counteract
another, but by the ihti*odnctibn of those
principles of action which are at first
i'M.-kvi ?ijj^u o<< tUci2rj.es, inn which are at
last acknowledged aud acted uj oil as
common truths. The men who first in?
troduce these principles arc practical
men, though the practices which jucli
principles create may not come into be?
ing in the lifetime of their founders.
?1udga1ent OF MF.V.
in forming these lightly, wc wrong
ourselves, and those whom wc judge. In
scattering such things abroad, wc endow
our unjust thoughts with life which we
cannot take away, and become false wit?
nesses to pervert the world in general.
Who does-not feel that to describe with
fidelity the least portion of the entangled
nature that is within him would be no
easy matter? And yet the same man
who reels this, and who, perhaps, would
be ashamed of talking at hazard about
the properties of a flower, of a weed, of
some figure in geometry, will put forth
his guesses about the character of his
brother man, as if he had the fullest au?
thority for till that lie was saying.
k.ixd natured.
We should never iu any way consent
to the ill-treatment of animals, because
the fear of ridicule, or some other fear,
prevents our interfering. As to there be?
ing anything really trifling in any act of
humanity, however slight, it is moral
bbyidness to suppose so. The few mo?
ments in the course of each day which a
man absorbed in some worldly pursuit
may carelessly exjjend in kind words or
trifling charities to those around him, and
kindness to an animal is one of these, are
perhaps, in the sight of Heaven, the only
time that he has lived to any purpose
worthy of recording.
We are all disposed to dislike in a man
nor disproportionate to their demerits,
those who offend us by pretensions of
any kind. We arc apt to fancy that they
despise us ; whereas, all the while, per?
haps, they are only courting our admira?
tion. There are people who wear the
worst part of their characters outwards;
they offend our vanity; they rouse our
fears; and under these influences we omit
to consider how often a scornful man is
tender-hearted, and an assuming man,
one who longs to be popular and to please.
Many unhappy persons seem to imag?
ine that they are always in amphitheatre,
with t'ne assembled world as spectators;
whereas all the while, they are playing
to empty benches. They fancy, too, that
they form the particular theme of every
passer-by. If, however, they must listen
to imaginary conversations about them?
selves, they might, at any rate, defy the
proverb, and insist upon hearing them?
selves well spoken of. That man has fal?
len into a pitiable state of moral sickness,
in whose eyes the good opinion of his fel?
low men is the test of merit, and their
applause the principal reward for exer?
tion. A habit of mistrust is the torment
of some people. It taints their love and
their friendship. They take up small
causes of offence. They require their
friends to show the same aspect to them
n'1 all times; which is more than human
nature can do. They try experiments to
ascertain whether they are sufficiently
loved; they watch narrowly the effects of
absence, and require their friends to
prove to them that the intimacy is exact?
ly upon the same footing as it was before.
Some persons acquire these suspicious
ways from a natural diffidence in them?
selves; for which they arc often loved the
more; and they might find ample com?
fort in that, if they could but believe it.
With others, these habits arise from a sel?
fishness which cannot be satisfied. And
their endeavor should be to uproot such a
disposition, not to sootho it. Content?
ment abides with truth. And you will
generally suffer for wishing to appearoth
cr than what you arc; whether it be
richer, or greater, or more learned. The
pi'tiglf : on lincc .ics ;i? anstruinont of tor?
ture. Fit objects to employ the intervals
of life are among the greatest aids to
contentment that a man can possess. The
lives of many persons are an alternation
of the one engrossing pursuit, and a sort
of listless apathy. They arc cither grind?
ing, or doing nothing. Now to those who
are half their lives fiercely busy, the re?
maining half is often torpid with quies?
cence. A man should have some pursuits
which may be always in his power, and
i to which he may turn gladly in his hours
of recreation.
And if the intellect requires thus to be
provided with perpetual objects, what
I must it be with the affections? Depend
ipon ii. the most fatal idleness is that of
j the heart. And the man who feelswcary
I of life may be sure that he does not love
his fellow creatures as he ought. I have
no intention of putting forward specifics
lor real . Iii rtions, or pretending to teach
refined hi Lhods for avoiding grief. As
long, however, as there is anything to bo
done in .! mat tot*, the time for jmevinff
aitou! i. has not come. But when the
subject for grief is fixed and inevitable,
sorrow is to be borne like pain. It is on
Iv a paroxysm of cither that can justify
us in neglecting the duties which no be?
reavement can lessen, and which no sor?
row can leave us without. And wc may
remember that sorrow is at once the lot,
the trial, and the privilege, of man.
In your converse with the world avoid
anything like a juggling dexterity. The
proper use of dexterity is to prevent
your being circumvented by the cunning
of others. It should not be aggressive.
Concessions and compromises form a
large and a very important part of our
'?dealings with others. Concessions must
generally be looked upon as distinct de?
feats; and you must expect no gratitude
for them, i am far from saying that it
may not he wise to make concessions, but
this will be done more wisely when you
understand the nature of them. In
making compromises, do not think to
gain much by concealing your views and
wishes. You are as likely to suffer from
its not being known how to please or sat?
isfy you, as from any attempt to over?
reach you, grounded on a knowledge of
your wishes. It is often worth while to
bestow much pains in gaining over fool?
ish people to your way of thinking: and
you should do it soon. Your reasons will al?
ways have someweightwiththewi.se. But
if at .first you omit to put your arguments
before the foolish, they will form their
prejudices; and a fool is often very con
sisteiu. and very fond of repetition^ He
will be repeating his foil}* in season, and
out of season, until at last it has' a hear?
ing : and it is hard if it docs not chime in
with external circumstances.
party spirit.
We often forget that we arc partisans
ourselves, and that wc are contending
with partisans. We first give ourselves
credit for a judicial impartiality in all that
concerns public affairs; and then call up?
on our opponents actually to be as impar?
tial as we assert ourselves to be. But
few of us, I suspect, have any right to
take this high ground. Our passions
master us; and wo know them to bo our
onemies. Our prejudices imprison us:
and like madmen, we take our jailors for
a guard of honor.
I do not mean to suggest'that truth
and right are always to be found in mid?
dle courses ; or that there is anything par?
ticularly philosophic in concluding that
'?both parties are in the wrong,4' and
"that there is a great deal to be said on
both sides of the question,"?phrases
which may belong to indolence as well as
to charity and candor. Let a man have
a hearty strong opinion, and strive by all
fair means to bring it into action?if it is
in truth an opinion, and not a thing in?
haled like some infectious disorder.
Many persons persuade themselves that
the life and well being of a State are
something like their own ficoting health
and brief prosperity. And hence they
sec portentous things in every subject of
political dispute. Such fancies add much
to the intolerance of party spirit. But
the State will boar much killing. It has
outlived many g< Leiatiohs of political
prophets?and I vo the present
What is Genius . ? We have read, wo
know not how many descriptions of Ge?
nius, of all of wliich may have been correct;
but still something more may be said of it.
Genius is so many-colored. So mercurial, so
bundoing and flashing, so soaringand roar?
ing (lion-like.) so cloud-shifting (we dont
like compound words, but wo use them oc?
casionally.) so light-like and shade-like, so
Ifrejoicing like a strong man to run a
race," so subtile and profound?so frco,
exultant, and spontaneous ia it, that we
ma}- work away at ouradumbratiort-of it
till wc are gray, and then we shall fail to
"body it forth" with any cntireness.
When wo comprehend and analyze the
mysterious, central principlo of life, then
can wc fully define genius. Wc love ge?
nius, because it touches the hidden springs
of our own life, and thus "opens up"
I within us a strange, exultant joy. It is
the " touch of nature that makes all the
world akin." A man of genius is one
whose inner life is brought into objective
play, by reason of a better corporeal or?
ganization than the "rest of mankind."
He does not possess one iota more of tho
great common human nature than others.
On. the score of innate fundamentals, he
is on a dead level with the meanest made
up brother of the great family! His spirit
has finer integuments?tho keys and
strings, which arc mediums of life's ex?
pression, in his case are of finer make,
and have a moro facile instrumentality.
Genius, therefore, is but an earnest voico
of our great humanity. It only marshals
the way in which the universal voice is to
follow. In other words, genius is the re?
sult of au exalted organization, and this
exaltation arises either from an extra-fa?
vorable organic formation, or from hered?
itary inspiration, which elevates tho qual- 9
ity of the manifestation.
WhisKEY Drinking.?There are several
temperate people very much after tho
pattern of the man who figured in the
sketch we present below. It was on ono
of the river steamers at dinner that an
amiable, matronly lady remarked, in the
midst of a conversation with a very grave
looking gentleman, on the subject of tem?
"Oh! I despise, of ail things in this
world, a whiskey drinker t"
The gentleman dropped his knife and
fork, in the ardor of his feeli ngs extended
his bands and took hers within his own,
and with a vivid emotion that threatened
a gush of tears over the loss of ruined
ones, heTeplicd with faltering words:
"Madam. I respect your sentiments,,
and the heart that dictated them. I per?
mit no person to go beyond me in despi?
sing the "whiskey drinker. I have been
disgusted on this very boat, and I say it
now beforo our worthy captain's face.
What, I ask you, can be more disgusting
than to see well-dressed, respectable,
and virtuous-looking young men, men
whose mothers are even now praying that
the tender instruction by wliich their
youth was illuminated may bring forth
precious fruit in their maturity?I say, to
sec young men step up to the bar of this
boat, and without fear of observing eyes,
boldly ask for whiskey, when they;know
very well there is in that very bpf the very
best of old Cognac brandy."

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