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The Anderson intelligencer. (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, December 20, 1860, Image 1

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BY JAMES A. HOYT.
ANDERSON COURT HOUSE, S. C, THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 20, 1860.
VOLUME 1.?NUMBER 19.
%u |ntmstiitg. j?ttt$:
?HS ?1?
A Tale of the Carolinas.
hi a small farm-house, towards the
fclose of the year 17S0, sat an old man,
his wife and only son. The face of the
father appeared troubled; at times he
looked thoughtfully on the floor, and then
he- Would gaze long and wistfully at his
son, a fine, manly youth of twenty. At j
length he said:
''David, this.is disastrous news from
Oamden. God knows -what will become
of the country now! Congress needs ev?
ery arm that is capable Ah, me ! I wish
this old wound I got in the French war
bad not lamed me; but for it, I sliould be
how shouldering my musket and march?
ing to defend my country."
? iJoth the son and wife looked up at
these words. The old lady ceased knit?
ting and gazed inquiringly at her boy,
and it was evident, from the expression
of her face, that patriotism and motherly
affection were at variance in her bosom.
The son, however, after encounter?
ing his father's eye for a moment, turned
confusedly away. Tho old man's brow
darkened, and he said warmly:
"David, David, why do you linger
about the village when your country
needs your services so much? Why, son,
I am ashamed of you! Twice before this
have I spoken to you upon this subject,
but you appear to have no spirit. What!
"will you see us trampled upon by the
^brutal mercenaries of Britain, and still
lie here supinely! For shame, David?
for shaino ! I will not cdl you my son !
Long since you ought to. have been in
the army.'"
"Joshua," interposed tke old mother,
'?David is but a youth; then do not speak
to him so harshly. He cannot yet fool
wh?.c you feel, v.-ho have fought so often
against oar country's enemies; Joshua,
he is. but a boy." .
"A boy, indeed, Deborah! Such boys
as'David have already gained iinperisha
bta laurels since the war commenced. I!
could nanic a-host of them. "Why, wore
it not for the boys of the land, where
would be our army J?which, I dare say,
K^r^fSK^r TfcTfrposed of toys ?f-Da
vid's.age." The old man was excited,
and it was the first unkind word that he
had ever used to his bo}'.
David arose and left the house. LTo
walked some distance apparently in deep
thought.
- , "What will not woman do ?" he at last
muttered. "Here I have been lingering
aboct the village when I should have
been off long ago. And what for ? Why,
to meet a pretty girl, and to listen to her
musical voice. BUt liow, I will be nvy
self again ! What did he call me?was it
not coward? jNow, by heaven! Lwill
learn Him that ho has a son who posses?
ses the spirit of his father. > Awa}', then,
With love; for I feel that I am called up?
on to act, and no longer dream! Ere a
fortnight my father shall hear of m^ or
else-1 lose my life in striving for it."
And with this resolution he turned about,
and retraced his ?teps.
When ho reached home he sought the
stables, saddled his horse, and mounting
him struck into a gallop, which continued
for several miles. At length he stopped
and looked up at the windows of a farm?
house, half hid between clustering trees.
This was the residence of Mary Bunker,
the mistress of his heart; the lights show?
ed that the family had not retired, and he
resolved to pay her a visit before his de?
parture. She was alone when he entered,
and a fe>7 words acquainted her with his
determination. She burst into tears.
"2iay, Mary," he said, "you must not
unman me. At first I resolved to leave
you without a farewell, for I knew how
much you dreaded ray taking an active
part in this struggle. But I could not bp
bo cruel as to desert you without a word."
"I will compose myself/' said tho fair
with an effort to smile. "I know I
bavo been wrong to persuade you to stay;
but you cannot imagine the anxiety I suf?
fer on account of my brothers, and I could
not bear to have y ou too encounter their
danger. But since this dreadful defeat
. at Camden, I feel that every man is want?
ed, by our country. Go, then, dearest,
and God be with you. My pnryors shall
attend you night and day."
David pressed the now weeping girl to
kis bosom, snatched a hasty kiss at tho
sound of approaching footsteps, wrung
her hand, and was gone.
The next day he left tho neighborhood
of his father's house, armed with a mus?
ket and mounted on a sturdy horse. Iiis
destination was the American camp, then
far to the northward; but as the interven?
ing country was filled with the enemy, he
knew there would be considerable ad?
dress required to effect his purpose. Be-'
fore his departure lie saw a few of his
old playmates, who promised to follow
him as soon as possible.
Night found him near a lonelj- farm?
house, to which he proceeded boldly in
pursuit of a lodging. At first the occu?
pant received him coldly; but a chance
expression convincing David that his host
was a tory, he affected the same political
creed and was immediately warmly wel?
comed. The royalist produced his cider
after supper, and insisted that David
should join him in his potations; this the
young man did, taking care, however, not
to indulge too freely; while the farnier,
overjoyed to find what he suppostd a new
recruit for his party, drank without stint,
and became more and more communica?
tive. To his horror David soon learned
that a party of loyalists, led by a Major
Wilson, celebrated for his toryism and
ruthlessness. were to start early the en?
suing day, on an expedition to seize and
hang the two Bunkers, who had made
themselves particularly obnoxious to tbe
royalist lenders. David knew enough of
this partisan warfare to be assured that
no mercy woidd be shown his friends; he
also knew enough of the Major to suspect
that some strong porsonal motive had led
to the planning of so distant an expedi?
tion, when there were others as inviting
nearer home. lie accordingly set him?
self to discover from his half-inebriated
companion the truth. Nor was it long
before success crowned his adroit cross
examination.
'?Why," said his host, "I believe there's
a little revenge for a slight received from
these fellows' sister, mixed up with the
Major's desire to catch the Bunkers. The
girl is very pretty, they say. and th Ma?
jor, when she was down here o:. a visit
last year?before the Avar got to be so
bloody?wanted to many her. but she
would have nothing to say to him. Ever
since, he has vowed to make her ruo Ihe
day. You may depend on it he will have
her on his own terms now?thank heav?
en ! there's no law any longer to prevent
an honest ro}'alist from doing as he pleas?
es to those rascally rebels. But yonder
is the Major now," suddenly said his host,
starting up, "I'll introduce you to him at
once?a merry fellow you'll find him?
Lord love_you, he's-as brave as a Ivan/.1
' "David, though horrified at the diaboli?
cal plot he had heard, saw the necessity
of dissembling in order to learn further
of the tones' plans, and find means, if
possible, to circumvent them, lie arose,
therefore, and shook the Major's hand
warmly?pledged him immediately in a
brimmer; and soon contrived to make
the royalist believe that he was anxious
to join a troop and fight against the reb?
els. This induced the Major to bo unusu?
ally civil, for he wished to secure so
athletic a recruit himself. It was not
long before a bargain had been concluded
between the two. David refused, howev?
er, to sign the agreement that night; he
protended that several others of his
friends were disaffected and desirous of
joining tho loyalists; and his object, he
said, was to secure a commission for him?
self by inducing them to join. This
tempting bait took?the Major promised
him a command in his troop in case of
success, and David signified his intention
of setting forth, alter he had taken r, few
hours rest, in order to lose no time in
gathering together his recruits.
The dread of discovery had been con?
stantly before our hero during the man?
agement of this negotiation, for his per?
son was well known to many of the Ma?
jor's troop, and if any of them had come
up, his feigned name would not have pro?
tected him from detection. He wished to
get off that night, as he had proposed;
but to this nei^cr his host nor the Major
would hear, and he was forced to remain
till morning. What was his anguish to
hear, on rising, that the Major had been
gone some hours- and was already on his
way to the Bunkers, with his troop. Dis?
sembling his anxiety. David partook of
a hasty breakfast, and mounting his
horse, rode slowly away. But when out
of sight of the house he struck into a
fierce gallop, which he continued till he
came in sight of a crossroad, where was
a tavern. Here he stopped and learning
that the royalists had taken the high road,
ho tared aside into a narrow and more
circuitous one.
"It is my only chance to avoid them,"
ho said, again dashing into a gallop.
'?Pray God, I may reach the settlement in
time to collect a few of our lads and march
to Bunkers. There is no other hope now
left."
Night had fallen, as they expected, be?
fore the tones weroable to reach the vi?
cinity of the house they were in search of.
At length, however, after a silent march
through the woods it broke upon
their view. A light was burning in
one of the windows, and when they ar?
rived close to the premises the lively notes
of a violin reached their cars, proving
that'the brothers were not aware of their
presence, but enjoying themselves in im?
agined security.
"Nowmcn," whispered tho leadci of the
torics, "when I give the word,fire a volley
at the house by way of introducing our?
selves; we will then surround the place
and enter it." At that instant the deep
bay of a dog rang in their cars, and a
large maetiff sprang from under the house
and rushed at the major.
"FireI" he cried.
Twenty guns broke upon the stillness
of the night?the dog fell dead?every
pane of glass in the front of the house
was shivered, and the torlos yelled like
savages. In an instant the light in the
bouse was extinguished?tho violin as
quickly ceased, and a noise was heard at
the door. The torics immediately made a
rush at it. But it was ah'eady barred,
and being made of stout oak plank, resist?
ed all their efforts. A rifle cracked from
one of the upper windows, and one of the
tories fell desperately wounded. Another
report succeeded, and another tory fell,
and Major Wilson was now fully aware
that both Bunkers were at home and
wide awake. A shed turned the rain from
the front of the house, and underneath
this, the tories shielding themselves from
the fire of the Bunkers, went to work at
the door. Suspecting such resistance?
perhaps from the knowledge of their char?
acter?one of the men had brought an
axe, with which he commenced hewing
at tho door, and soon cut it to pieces.
Here a desperate battle ensued. The two
brothers were powerful men, and as cour?
ageous as they were strong; and now
with clubbed rifles they disputed the en?
trance of the whole tory force. The door
being small, the}* stood their ground for
half an hour, felling during that time some
of those who had the temerity to enter
first; hut finally numbers overcame them,
and they were flung upon the floor and
bound. The tories, inflamed to madness
at the great resistance which had been
made, and at their own losses, now seized
the mother and sister, and made prepara?
tions to hang tho two brothers before
their eyes. The ropes were already tied
around the necks of the victims, when
the major addressed Vis men.
"Xow, friends, as soon as these villains
are dead, we will set fire to the house;
the old woman there," he said with a bru?
tal laugh, "may be left inside, but the
young one I reserve for myself."
"Hist!" cried one of the men in a loud
voice. The major ceased, and they heard
a voice outside the house; Although the
words were spoken low, the listeners dis?
tinctly heard?"When I say tire, give it
to thorn !" A man with blanched cheek
now rushed among them, exclaiming,
"The yard is full of men!"
"Fire !" cried a deep voice from the
yard. A general volley succeeded, and so
well had the aim been directed in the
door, that several of the tories fell either
dead or desperately wounded. In turn
the tories retreated up the stairs, when
David, our hero, rushed into tho room
which they had just left, and cut the ropes
which bound the Bunkers and their moth?
er and sister.
"May God Almighty bless you for this!"
cried one of the Bunkers. The two men
sprang up, seized their rifles, which had
been left in the room, and prepnreel to re?
taliate the treatment which they had just
received.
Long and desperate was the battle.?
The tories fought for life?and the whigs
for revenge. But, at length, the latter
triumphed, though not until their enemies
had been almost wholl}* exterminated.?
The major fell by the arm of our hero,
who sought him out in the hottest of
the fight, and engaged him single-hand?
ed.
No language of ours can express the
emotions of David as he pressed his be?
trothed bride to his bosom; and his heart
went up in thankfulness to Heaven for his
timely arrival, when he thought that a
delay of half an hour longer would have
consigned her to a fate worse than death.
The gratitude of her brothers were ex?
pressed in many words, but her's was si
i lent and tearful, yet 0, how much more
gratifying!
"I almost called you a coward, son Da?
vid," said his father to him when they
met, "but you are a chip of the old-bJock,
and I did you wrong. Deborah, he is a
boy to be proud of?is he not ? You may
founder one of my horses every day that
you do such a deed ; it beats anything I
saw in the old French Avar!"
David's gallantry in this act drew
around him in a few weeks more than a
score of hardy young followers, who
fought with him to the close of the war.
when he returned, and was happily mar?
ried to the heroine of our story.
-o
Honesty is the best policy.
Walking a Raft.
There was a fellow once stepped out of
a door of a tavern on the Mississippi,
meaning to walk a mile up the shore to
the next tavern. Just at the landing
there lay a big raft, one of tho regular
old-fashioned whalers?a raft a mile long.
Well, the fellow heard the landlord say
the raft was a mile long, rtnd he said to
himself, "I will go forth and sec this great
wonder, and let my eyes behold the tim- j
bers that the hand of man hath hewn."
So he got on at the lower end and began
to ambulate over the wood in pretty fair
time. But just as he got started, the raft
started too, and as he walked up the river
it waiked down, both traveling at the
same rate. When he got to the end of
the sticks he found they were pretty near
ashOre, and in sight of a tavern ? so he
landed and walked right straight into the
bar room he came out of. The general
sameness of things took him little aback,
but he looked at the landlord steady in
the face, and settled it in his own way:
"Pnblienn," said ho "arc- you gifted
with a twin brother, who kept a similar
sized tavern, with a duplicate wife, a com?
porting wood pile, and a corresponding
circus bill a mile from here ?'.'
The tavern keeker was fond of fun,
and accordingly sjtid it was just so.
"And, publican, have you among your
drv goods for the entertainment of a man
and horse, any whisky of the same si/.o
as that of your brother's V
And the tavern man said, that from the
rising of the sun even unto tho going
down of the same, he bad.
They took the drinks, and the stranger
said, "Publican,thattwin brother of yours
is a fine young man?a very fine man. in?
deed. But do you know, I'm afraid that
he suffers a good deal with the Chicago I
diptheria V
-Arid what's that?" asked the toddy
sticker.
"It is when the truth settles so firm in
a man,that none of it over comes out.
Common doctors, of the catnip sort, call
it lyin'. When I left your brother's con?
fectionary, there was a raft at his door,
which he swore his life was a mile long.
Well, publican, I walked that rait from
bill to UaLfrf>m-hi* door to yours_JS-Ojjl,.
I know my time, and just as good for my?
self as for a hess, and better for that than
any man you ever did see. I always
walk amile in exactly twenty minutes, on
a good road, and I'll be busted with an
overloaded Injun gun if I've been moro'n
ten minutes coming here, stepjung over
them blamed logs at that."
-1
What wk auf. Made ok.?Oliver Wen?
dell Holmes tells what we arc made of, in
the following complimentary style to hu?
man pride :
" If the reader of this paper lives anoth?
er year hU self-pride principle will have
migrated from his present tenement to
another; the raw materials even of which
are not yet put together. A portion of
that body is to be well ripened in the
corn of next harvest. Another portion of
his future person he will purchase, or oth?
ers will purchase for him. headed up in
the form of certain barrels of potatoes.
A third fraction is yet to be gathered in
the southern rice field. The limits with
which he is then to walk will then be
clad with flesh borrowed from the tenants
of many stalls and pastures, and now un?
conscious of their doora. The Very or?
gans of speech with which he is to talk
so wisely, plead so eloquently, or speak
effectively, must first serve his humble
brethren to bleat, to bellow, and for all
the varied utterances of bristled or feath?
ered barn-yard life. His bones themselves
are to a great extent in posse and not esse.
A bag of phosphate of lime, which he has
ordered from Prof. Mapes for his grounds,
contains a larger part of what is to be his
'skeleton. And more than all this, by far
the greater part of his bod}- is nothing at
all but water, the main substance of his
scattered members is to be looked for in
the reservoir, in the running streams, at
the bottom of the well, in the clouds that
float over his head, or diffused among
them all.
-
A young backwoods lawyer lately con?
cluded his argument in a case of trespass,
with the following sublime burst: "If,
gentlemen of the jury, the defendant's
! bogs nre permitted to roam at large over
the fair fields of my client with impunity
and without yokes?then?yes, then, in
deed, have our forefathers fought, and
bled, and died, in vain!"
-4?
Virginia Offers.?The Norfolk (Va.)
Argus is "credibly informed" that the va?
rious offers to Governor Gist, of South
Carolina, of the personal services of Vir?
ginians, in case she should need them, al?
ready embrace bands comprising in the
aggvegato about 16,000 men.
-<?
Be just and fear not.
Equal to the Emergency.
Not many years ago two Frenchmen
one wealthy and in possession of ready
.cash, and the other poor and penniless
occupied, by chance, the same room in a
Suburban hotel. In the morning the
"seedy" one arose first, took from his
pocket a pistol, and holding it at his fore?
head and backing against tho door ex?
claimed to his horrified companion:
"It is my last desperate res?rt; I am
penniless and tired of life; give me 500
francs, or I will instantly blow out ray
brains, and yo\i will be arrested as a mur?
derer."
The other lodger found himself the hero
of an unpleasant drama, but the cogency
of his companion's argument struck him
"cold." Ho quietly crept to his panta?
loons, handed over tho amount, and the
other vamosed, after locking the door on
the outside.
Hearing of this, another Frenchman, of
very savage aspect, one night tried to
room with a tall, raw boned gentleman
from Arkansas, who had been rather free
with his money during the day, and evi
dentlj* had plenty more behind. Next
morning "Pike." awaking, discovered his
room mate standing over him, with a pis?
tol leveled at his own head, and evidently
quaking with agitation.
"What the deuce are you standing thar
for in the cold?" said Pike,propping him?
self on his olbow, and coolly surveying
the Gaul.
"I am desperate!" was the reply.?
"You give me 3100, or I will blowout my
brains!"
"Well, then, blow and be d-d V re?
plied Pike, turning over.
"Bote you vill bo arrested for ze mur
daire!" persisted the Gaul, earnestly.
"Eh, what's that?" said Pike; "oh. I
sco ;" and suddenly drawing a revolver
and a five pound bowio from under his
pillow, he sat upright.
"A man may as well be hung fora sheep
as a lamb," he coolly renrarked; and, at
the word, he started for the Gaul; but the
latter was too nimble; the "boss pistol,"
innocent of load, exploded in the air, and
with one frantic leap our little Frojj&te^tT.J
was starring mlu^i^ foot
i^flrtWffrTrTa^c?a proof that what may
suit one person will not answer at all for
another.
The Prince at Mount Yernon.?A
few weeks since a little group gaff/ered
reverentially around a plain and humble
tomb on the banks of the Potomac.?
There is nothing in such a scene which, of
itself, need excite our special wonder. It
is the familiar' lesson of mortality, that
friends and kindred often frequent the
resting place of the loved and beautiful
who have gone before them into the dark
and silent land. And were this an ordi?
nary visit of surviving affection to the
grave of tho departed, we would not tear
away the vail of privacy which should
guard the sacred scene. The rude world
should not know with wlicft griefs the
heart is breaking, and how the eyes over?
flow with manly tears. It is rather a
representative scene, a historic pageant,
which we are beholding. It is even
something more than the reconciliation of
personal enmities at the tomb of a gener?
ous foe which wc are witnessing. The
spectacle is One of World-wide significance";
leaving its lesson of wisdom to this and to
all coming generations of men. The
tomb is Washington's, and he who bares
and bows his head before it is tho imme?
diate aosCendant of one who, three gener?
ations ago, branded the man, when living,
as a rebel, set a prize upon his head,
would have handed him over to the exe?
cutioner, and hung and quartered his
body as that of a traitor.
But what a sirbfime vengeance has his?
tory, or rather Providence, taken1 upon
the past! That grave is now a hallowed
spot, planted around with laurel and palm,
aud adorned with trophies; and this
youthful visitant comes to it, not to in?
dulge in recriminations, but fihat he may
muse upon the changes of time', and in?
flame his breast with the memorials of pa?
triotism and virtue. An heir-apparent of j
the Euglish throne doing homage to the
remains of Washington !
There is something of the morally' sub?
lime in such a sight, which should coni
mend itself to the lovers of the truo and
the good. It symbolizes a triumph over
enmity and detraction, never to be for?
gotten by the brave aud pure. Let patri?
ots hereafter revert to it as an illustra?
tion of the ultimate vindication of their
fame among men, and let all who strug?
gle for the right hencoforth do so with a
more abiding faith that time will bo the
avenger of their dishonor, and bring even
their enemies to do reverence to their
memory.?Philadelphia Inquirer.
-?
When we are alone, wo have our
thoughts to watch; in the family, our
temper; in company, our tongues.
Winter is Here.:
Tho year has fulfilled its duties and is
now prepared for hibernal repose, that it
may be reinvigorated when Spring calls
upon it for action. Autumn gives place
to winter, but it does riot leave1 u& with?
out some remembrances of its beauty and
its prodigality. Now and then a beam of
sunshine glows among the barelimbed
trees, which stand like giants around the
throne of the Frost-king, and the moun?
tain streams still murmur overthe pebbles
tho same delicious music which fell upon
the autumn-laden air of October. Some?
times a breath from the sweet South
steals like a placid slimmer dream over
us and the emerald-tinted grass seems to
have caught a deeper hue from the ceru?
lean concave; these linger as if loth to
part from tis, while all tho delicate flow?
ers have hidden themselves away and the
song birds hf.vc winged their night to
balmier ?mc?. But the bright a?tumn
nal smile of the sunset yet remains/ and
tho'ugh it may be compared to the linger?
ing, beauty of death, before " decay's .effa?
cing finger's" destroy it, still it is ineffa?
bly grand1 in its wealth of purple. and
gold. But soon all will be hushed in Na?
ture's night; the streams? frill seek' their
winter sleep, curtained by ice and canopi?
ed with snoWj and the winds will form
hillocks of the earthstrewn leaves, to
stand like grave marks in tho woods;
but the germs.of the water lillies will, re?
pose beneath the coverlids of every rivu?
let and at the foot of every leafless tree,
the spring flowers will nestle with closed
eyes awaiting the breath of May to awa?
ken therm. And thus We' may read the
moral of the season. Man sinks into the
slumbers of the tomb fco rest and dream,
but the immortal spirit is not confined by
the icy fetters of the grave nor kept
down, like the ehaiaed Titan's, by the
superimposed structures of monuments or
urns storied with deeds of human worth
and dignity. Under the genial influences
of Divine love it prepares itself to " burst
its cerements" and rise to an eternal
bloom and fruitage in the heavenly* iSden
of ctern^.--^uisuiHp. Journal. , _
The Dead Wife.?In comparison with
the loss of a wife, all other bereavements
arc" trifles. 'Tho wife; she who fills so
l large a space in tho domestic heaven j
! she who \? busied, so unwearied; bitter,
bitter is the tear that falls on her clay.
You stand beside her grave, and think of
the past; it seems an amber colored path?
way where the sun shone upon beautiful
flowers,- or the stars hung glittering over?
head. Fain would tho soul linger there.
No thorns are remembered above the
sweet clay, save those that your own
hands have unwittingly planted. Her
noble, tender heart lies open to your-in?
most sight. You think of her as all gen
: tlen-essy all beuty and purity. But she is
dead. The dear head that has so often
lain upon your bosom, now rests upon a
pillow of clay. The hands that adminis?
tered so untiringly are ?tded, white and
cold berre'Seh the' gloomy portals." Tho
heart whose every beat measured an eter?
nity of love, lies under your. feet. And
there is no white arm over your shoulder
now?no spoak-?ng /ace to look up in the
eye Of fove?no trembfffrg lips to mur?
mur,'-Oh, it is too sad!" There is a
!strange hush in evcr^' room! No smile
i to meet you at nightfall?and the clock
ticks, and ticks, and ticks ! It was sweet
music when she COuld hear it. Now it
seems to knell only the hours through
which you watch the shadows of death
gathering upon the sweet face. But
many a talc it telleth of joys past, sor?
rows shared and beautiful words register?
ed above. You feel that the grave can?
not keep her. You know that she is of?
ten by your* sfcfcy ah angel presence.?
Cherish these emotions, they -will make
you happier. Let her holy presence be
as a charm to keep you- from evil. In all
new and pleasant connections give her a
place in your heart. Never forget what
she has been to you?that she has leved
you. Be tender to her memory.
flSf" To spend tho spring time of our
existence in dissipation; to consume the
brightness and the vigor of our days in
selfishncSjWorldliness and vanity: to live till
i we are old in idleness and self-indugence;
and then, when the senses'grow doll, and
pleasure palls upon the appetite, and we
have become incapable of much benefit
cither to ourselves or others, to turn to
the calls of our duty and the pursuit of
our salvation, is to extract fhs sweet'
ness from the rose of life, and present iUt
withered leaves to God.
-0
jjgy- Pure love is the sunshir-.e -whicii
steals slowly and silently up to t!?e barreo
hills of life, and stays to bless us with its
presence through all lifo's weary way.
jSQf A good way to light some cities
with gas would be to set fire to their
editors.

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