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WASHINGTON, P.C., SATURDAY EVENING, JUNE 19, 1847
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NATIONAL WHIG.
From the Columbian Magazine.
A New Year's Gift
FROM A WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.
BY MRS. SUSAN E. b. THOMPSON.
Dear husband of my heart! On this glad morn,
This birth-day of the year, fain would I bring
An offering worthy of thy love; but words
Can never tell whaR thou hast been and art
To me, my best beloved, my friend and guide,
Sham at all my joys and sympathies-,
Kind solace of my griefs; through every sccnc
That crowds the varied page of life, thy love
Hath been the same; it never yet hath waned,
But sfill the trase of early fondness wears.
Thou art the cherished prop, which, next to Christ,
My tnuting heart most leans upon for strength
In all the dark and trying scenes of life.
Whene'er maternal care hath filled my heart, i
Kind helper, thou, with sympathy sincere,
And warm, heart-cheering smile, hast shared
with me
A parent's anxious thoughts, and ever strove
To lighten all my weary toils and cares.
When days of agony and sleepless nights
Have pressed on me so heavily that life
, Itself became a wretchedness, thy love
Hath been my stay; lor lond aftcction's glance,
Like tome bright spirit from above, can nerve
The fainting heart to meet life's wildest storm;
And grief divided with a kindred soul
Is sweeter tar than all earth's joys apart.
Whan sickness long hath chained me to my couch,
The magic ol thy rare hath given to lite
A charm unknown before; to ease my pain,
Thy own dear hand the healing art employs,
And to no hireling leaves its task of love. -
Oh, bow unlike the purchased care of those
Whose practiced sympathy is measured out
With sparing hand, and cold and heartless tone*!
Dear husband?kind physician?nurse arid friend,
Faithful in all, as most my need requires;
Naught can thy tenderness estrange from me,
for thou dost prize a faithful heart lav more
Than beauty's witching face or sunny smile.
Oft have I felt that all this world could give,
Of glory wealth or power, were nothing worth,
if thou wert not the shrine whereon my heart
Its choicest earthly offering might place.
I freely laid my hand in thine?and gave
With my heart?and vowed to bear a lond
And faithful part, thrnu gh all thy atter fate,
For well I knew thou wert affectionate,
Kind, generons and true, and cheerfully
I took that vow of love which binds my soul
To thine?that vow which Death atone shall
break,
And ever shall be thine the confidcnce,
The love and prayers of thy devoted wife.
Ths North American has a thrilling accnu nt of.the
capture of Charlas Gallagher, a merchant in Mex ico,
and his final escape from the Mexicans.
(?}" The volunteers returning fiom the ware ware
to be feasted at New Orleans on the 10ih instant in
the Place D'Armas.
$f?The ship fever is the old fashioned
typhoid. So the Baltimore doctors have
decided -
Maria Grafton,
OR
LET EVERY GIRL CHOOSE HER OWN HUS
BAND.
Seated in a pleasant * chamber was a
young lady, the daughter of one of the
most aristocratic merchants in New Eng
land. He had risen from abscurity and
by a course, though not strictly hone*t,
yet in accordance with the practice of some
of the wealthiest merchants in the country
had amassed a large amount of property.?
With him wealth was every thing,he knew
uothing of happiness, save when it was con
sidered in the scale of dollars and cents;
and it only needed that a man wealthy, no
matter by what means he become so,to en
sure his respect.
His residence was but a few miles from
the city of Boston, and it was one of the
most beautiful in that city- No pains had
been spared to make it worthy of notice,
for Mr. Crafton was a man fond of praise.?
His youngest daughter, Maria, was now
the only child remaining at home. Two
sons on whom he had placed his hopes for
the perpetuatioe of his family name and on
whom he had designed to bestow a greater
portion of his wealth, died ere they attain
ed to manhood. Of" thre? daughters two
were married, leaving Maria with her fa
ther, who loved her next perhaps to his
money.
Sad were the thought of the fair girl, a*
she sat alone in her chamber, but they
were soon interrupted. The voice of her
father summoned her to the parlor. When
she descended, she found he was accompa
nied by a man named Stephens, who had
some previous ottered his haud to Matia,
but not contented with her refusal, and
knowing the attachment of her father to
wealth, had called him to his aid. Maria
raised her eyes as she entered the room, but
as she saw Stevens, turned her head and
seated herself by the window. H er father
addressed her, presented Stevens, and in
formed her that it was his wish that she
should accept of him as her future hus
band.
Maria informed her father that she had re
jected Mr. Stephens once, and that even did
she love him, which was very certain she
did not, her own judgment taught her bet*
ter than to risk her happiness in his hands.
" What do you know of love?" said Mr.
Grafton, " and why are you unwilling to
risk your happiness with him? His wealth
is sufficient to procure you every comfort,
and his character is?"
"Infamous!" interrupted Mafia, looking
him fully in the face.
Stephens turned pale, and his lips quiv
ered w.ith race, and the annrer of
scarcely knew bounds. For a moment he
did not answer her. At length pointing
hi* finger at Stephens, he inquired.
?" And what know you of his charac
ter?"
, "Enough to convince me that my words
were true," answered Maria.
" My daughter," said Mr. Grafton, assu
ming a milder tone, "though you may have
heard reports unfavorable to Mr. Stephens,
believe me, they are without foundation -
He is one of the wealthiest men in the ci
ty."
" He may be all think he is," said Ma
ria, " but I cannot marry him."
"You may go in your chamber," said
her father,." I am determined Henry Ste
phens shall be my son-in-law, and you
must marry him or quit my house. 1 will
neither own or support an ungrateful daugh
ter. To morrow I shall expect your ans
wer.
Maria knew too well the character of
her father to make any reply. A crises had
arrived which she had for some days fear
ed. She knew that her refusal of Stephens
would bring down the Wrath of her father
on her head, and had written to both sisters
stating the circumstance and requesting in
case her father should drive her from the
house, the privilege of remaining foi a short
time with them. Conttary to her expec
tation they refused her. Thei rhusbands
had married them more on account of the
wealth of her father than any affection
they had felt for them, and they feared if
they gave Maria a home, their father would
disinherit them. Such is the effect wealth
hae on the affections.
Maria retreated to her chamber and after
giving vent to a flood of tears, deliberated
on w hat course to pursue. One thing waf
certain, she determined not to marry Ster
phens. The next thing was, how should
she obtain a living! After thinking of the
matter some time she said to herself?
"Well, I hive a good constitution, andean
labor; but how would it appear for the
daughter of the rich Mr. Grafton to go
about the city soliciting employment. At
this moment she recollected having heard
once of the house maids speak of being em
ployed in a factory, and she descended to
the kitchen
"Hannah," said she, addressing the girl,
"J heard you, a few days since speak of wor
king in a factory, how did you like it
there?"
c O, I liked it very mach, Miss Maria,
and should have remained there had my
health been good."
"Was the work harder than your work
here?" inquired Maria.
"No, ma'am, I don1! think it was but it
was more confining "
"Will you tell me where it was?" again
inquired Maria.
The girl gave her the required information
and also the name of the overseer of the
room where she worked, and the name of
the lady with whom she had boarded, ad
dingl "She is the kindest woman I ever
saw."
Her mind was now made up. She decided
upon entering a factory. Another difficul
ty now presented itself. Would her father
allow her to take her clothing and what
money she had ?? She determined if l)e
should still adhere to his resolution to ask
him the question.
In the morning she met her father at tt)c*
breakfast table. Neither spoke till the
meal was finished. At length her lather in
quired.
" VVellx Maria have you concluded to
marry Henry Stevens?"
Maria hesitated a moment, but said/irm
ly, u I have not."
" You heard my determination, last
night," said, w 1 now repeat it. You
must marry Harry Stephens or quit my
home."
''I cannot marry him father," said she?
" sooner would I quit not only this house,
but the world."
"Then go," said he anrgily rising from
the chair.
u Shall I take my clothes? Asked
Maria.
".Yes, go," aud never let me see or
hear from you again, said he, slamming
the door violently, and leaving her alone.
k Maria sank back into her chair and wept
bitterly. For a moment she seemed al
most inclined to comply with his wish?
but the idea that she must forever linked
to a villain, and suffer reproach should his
villanies be discovered, was more than she
could bear, and she preferred the anguish
of separating from her friends, free with
honor, to that of marrying Stevens. She
hastily packed up her things, and in a few
hours left her father's house.
As she passed through the city of Boston
were her sisters resided, a desire sprung to
see them?but from her recent treatment
she cared not visit them, and she also fear
ed again meeting with her father. Maria was
well furnished with clothing, and had about
twenty-five dollars in money. Although she
had been surroundnd with wealth, she never
till now knew the value of money. A thou
sand reflections, doubts and fears crossed
her mind as she was pursuing her journey
to the place described by the girl of whom
she had inquired in her fathei's kitchen; and
though she felt sadat the thoughts of being
diiven from-home she could scarce suppress
a smile at the awkwardness with which
she could engage in any kind of labor.
She at last arrived at the house of Mrs.
r> , .1-- ?*?'b""'"'* "J iiamian,"am,
easily obtained the board in her family.?
She learned also that Mr- Potter, the over
seer whose name she bad taken, waa in want
of help.
It is unnecessary for us to follow the for
tunes of Maria through their various chan
nels. She entered the factory; learned to
work, and found many friends among whom
and the only one it would be of interest to
the reader to name, was Caroline Perkins,
a girl about her own age. These two soon
became intimate fri^nda. 1.1 the factory their
looms were next to each other, and they
occupied the same room at their boarding
house. They were attached to Mrs. Dana
with whom they boarded, and she evinced
a deep interest in their welfare.
About six months after Maria entered the
factory, an incident occurred which bound,
if possible the two friends closer to each
! other. One evening, as they were in the
, chamber, and Caroline was engaged in pack
ing a large trunk, Maria, who was looking
on, rather surprised at the amount of jewel
ry possessed by Caroline, jokingly inquired
if her beau was a "jeweler."
Caroline blushed, and after some hesita
tion informed Maria that her father had once
been wealthy, but at his death it was as
certained that his property, though amply
sufficient to pay his own debts would be
swept awavt by the failure of some
friends for whom he had endorsed notes.?
The creditors had allowed her to keep eve
ry -thing given her by her father except her
piano. She also told her that although she
might have supported herself by music
teaching, she preferred working in a factory
to remaining among those who though they
were once intimate friends, would consider
her, after the loss of wealth, as far below
them.
Maria repaid Caroline by telling her own
history, and her own reasons for leaving
home and corroborated her story by the dis
play of trinkets her father had allowed her
to take.
Probably there never were two persons
who enjoyed themselves better than these
two girls. None, save themselves, knew
their history, and as their natural disposi
tions were not arrogant, they nerer appear
ed to be above their fellow laborers. For
two years they remained together, at the
end of weich Caroline was married, and
at the urgent request of herself and husband
Maria was induced to leave the factory for
a while at least, and take up her abode with
them.
Oue day while Maria was engaged per
using a paper which hah been left at tneir
house her eyes fell upon a paragraph sta
ting that Mr. Stephens who had always
been considered a very wealthy merchant
was arrested and committed to prison for
committing heavy forgeries. She handed
It to Caroline with a shudder, exclaiming
a* I expected. The next paper brought
intelligence that no douht wan entertained
of hia guilt, and that Mr- Grafton if not en
tirely ruined would be a heavy loser on ac
count of bin 'villaines, as he hired him a
large sum of money. For a moment Mar>a
indulged in the idea of immediately visiting
her father?but after consulting with Caro
line, concluded to write to him, which she
begging hi9 pardon for not obeying him, and
requesting him to receive her back again to
to his arms, adding as apostcript, that she
had one hundred dollars which she would
send him, if he was in want of money to
pay losses by Stephens. Her father read
her with feelings more of sorrow than an
ger, but at the end of it broke into a laugh
exclaiming, " Well women are the best jud
ges of rascals." In a few days he visited
Maria expressed hia regret for the sorrow
he caused her, and requested her to leturn
with him. Maria complied with his request
and became once more the inmate of her
early home. Her father eudeavered by ev
ery means to make her happy, as an atone
ment for the past wrongs, and when about
a year after she asked his consent to her
marriage with a mechanic without wealth,
he answeredkt Do as you please Maria,
have agreed to let every girl choose her
own husband."
From the Saturday Courier.
PULASKI.
BY UEORrtE LIPPARD.
It was at the battle of brandy wine that
Count Puluski appeared in all his glory.
As he iode charging there into the thick
est of the battle, he was a warrior to look
upon but once, and never forget.
Mounted on a large black horse, whose
strength and beauty of shape made you for
get the plainness of hia caparison, Pulaski
himself, with a form six feet in height, mas
sive chest and limbs iron, was attired in a
white uniform, that was seen from alar,
relieved by the black clouds of battle. His
lac egrim with the scars of Poland, was
the face of a man who had seen much
trouble, endured much wrong. It was
stamped with an expression of ailing
melancholy, bronzed in hue, lighted by
large dark eyes, with the lip darkened by a
thick moustache, his throat and chin were
covered with a heavy beard, while his hair
fell in raven masses, from beneath his troop
er's cap, shielded with a ridge of glittering
steel. His hair and beard were ol the same
^The sword that hung by hia side, fash
ioned of tempered steel, with a hilt of iron,
was one that a warrior alone could?
"it was in this array he rode to battle, fol
lowed by a band of three hundred men,
whose faces, burnt with the scorchings of a
tropical sun, hardened by northern anows,
bore the scans of many a battle. They were
mostly Europeans; some Germans, some
Polanders, aotne deeerters from the British
armv. Theee were the men to fight, lo
be taken by the British would be death, and
(death on the gibbet; therefore they fought
their best and fought to the last gasp, rather
than mutter a word about" quarter.
When they charged it was as one man,
thier three hundred swords flashe^ ?*er
their heads, against the clouds of battle.
Then came down upon the enemy in terri
ble silence without a word spoken, not even
a whisper. You could hear the wmu o
steeds, you could hear the rattling of their
scabbards, but that was all..
Yet when they closed with the British,
vou could hear a noise, like the echo ol a
hundred hammers, beating the hot iron on
the anvil. You could see Pulaski
riding yonder in his white unifornv his black
steed rearing aloft, as turning his head over
his shoulder he spoke to his men.
"Forward, Brudernjortvarts
It waa but broken German, yet they un.
derstood it, those three hundred meni of.sun
burnt face, wounds and gashes. W ith one
burst they craahed upon the enemy, tor
a few momenta they used their swords, and
then the ground waa covered with dead,
while the living enemy scattered in panic
before their path. .
It was on this battle-day ot Brandy wine
that the Count was in hia glory. He un
derstood but little English,so he spake what
he had to say with the edge of his 8*<>rd
It was a severe Lexicon, but the Britiah
soon learned to read it, and to know it, and
fear it. All over the field, from yonder
Quaker meeting-house away to the top ol
Osborne's Hill, the soldiers of the enemy
saw Pulaski come, and learned to know his
name by heart.
That white uniform, that l>ronzed visage,
that black horse wih burning eye and quiv
ering nostrils, they knew the warrior well;
they trembled when they heard him say,
<? For warts, Br uden, forwarts?"
It waa in the Retreat of Brandy wine, that
the men of Sullivan, badly armed, poorly te
and shabbily clad, gave away, step by step,
before the overwhelming discipline ?t tb
British host, that Pulaski looked like a bat
tle-fired, mounted on hia demon-ateea
His cap had fallen from his brow. His
bared head ahone in an occasional sunbeam,
or grew crimson with a flash from the can
non or rifle. Hia white uniform was rent
and stained; in fact from head to toot, he
waa covered with dust and blood.
Still hia right arm waa free?still it rose
there, executing a British hireling, when 1
fell?still his voice was heard, hoarse and
nuaky, but alroDg in its every tone??For
warts, Brudern!"
He beheld the division of Sullivan retreat
| mg from the field,he saw the British yondei
?tripping their coats from their backa in the
madness of pursuit. He looked to the aouih
lor Washington, who, with the reserve, un
der Greene, waa hurrying to the rescue, but
the American Chief waa not in view.
Then Pulaaki waa convulsed with rage,
He rode madly upon the bayonets of the
pursuing British, his sword gathering victim
after victim; even there, in front of their
whole army, he flung his steed across the
path of the retreating Americans,be besought
them, iu hia broken English, to turn, to
make ou? more effort; he shouted in hoarse
tones that the day was not yet lost!
They did not understand hia worda, but
the tones in which he spoke thrilled their
blood.
That picture, too, standing oat from the
clouds of battle?a warrior, convulsed wiih
passion, covered with blood, leaning over
the neck of his steed, while his eye seemed
turned to fire, and the muscles of hia bronred
face writhed like serpents?that picture, I
say, filled many a heart with new courage,
nerved many a wounded arm for the fiirht
again. 6
Those retreating men turned, they faced
the enemy again?like greyhounds at bay
before the wolf-they sprang upon the necks
or the foe, and bore them down by one des
perate charge.
It waa at this moment that Washington
came rushing on once more to the battle.
Those people knew but little of the Amer
icon General who called him the American
r abius, that is a General compounded of
prudence and caution, with but a apark of
enterprise. American Fabius? When you
Will show me that the Roman Fabius had
a heart of fire, nerves of steel, a soul that
hungereth lor the charge, an enterprise that
rushed from wilda like the Skippack upon
an army, like the British at Germantown,
or started from ice and snow, like that
which lay across the Delaware, upon hordes
like those of the Hessians at Trenton?then
I will lower Waahington down into Fabius.
| This comparison of our heroea with the bar
barian demi-gods of Rome only illustrates
the poverty of the miad that makes it.
Compare Brutus, the assassin of his friend
with Washington, the saviour of the people.
Cicero, the opponent of Cataline, with Hen
ry, the champion of a continent! What beg
gary of thought' Let us learn to be a little
independent, to know our greatmen, as they
were, not by comparison with the barbarian
heroes of old Rome.
Let us learn that Washington was no neya
It waa in the "bat'iie of Branny wine that
this truth was made plain. He came rush
ing on to battle. He beheld hia men hewn
down by the British, he heard them shriek
his name, and regardless of his personal
safety, he rushed to join them.
Yes, it was in the dread havoc of that re
treat that Washington, rushing forwardinto
the very centre of the melee, entangled into
the enemy's troops on the top of ahill, south
west of the meeting house, while Pulaski
was sweeping on with his grim smile, to
have one more bout with the eager red
coats.
Washington was in terrible danger?his
troops were rushing to the south?the Bri
tish troops came sweeping up the hill and
around him, while Pulaski, on a hill some
hundred yards distant, was scattering a par
ting blessing among the hordes of Hano
ver.
It was a glorious prize, this Mister
Washington, in the heart of the British Ar
my.
Suddenly the Polander turned?his eye
caught the sight of the iron grey and his ri
der. He turned to his troopers; his whis
kered lip wreathed with a grim smile?he
waved bis sword?he pointed to the Iron
grey and its rider.
There was but one moment;
With one impulse that iron band wheel
ed their war horses, and then a dark body
solid and compact, was speeding over the
valley like a thunderbolt, sped from the
heavens; three hundred swoid rose glitter
ing in the faint glimpse of sunlight?and in
front of the avalanche, with his form rai
sed to its full height, a dark frown on hie
brow, a fierce smile on his lip, rode Pulaski,
Like a spirit roused into life by the thun
derbolt he rode?his eyes were fixed upon
the Iron grey and its rider?his band had
but one look, one will, one shout, for Wash
ington!
The British troops had encircled the
American leader?already they felt secure
of their prey?already the head of thai tra
itor, Washington seemed to yawn above the
gates of London.
But that trembling of the earth in the
valley, yonder?what meaas it?
That terrible beating of hoofs? what does
it portend?
That omnious silence?and now tnat
shout?not of words or of names, but that
half yell, half hurrah, which shrieks from
the Iron Man aa they scent their prey??
W hat means it all?
Pulaski is on our track! The terror ol
the British army is in onr wake! '
And on he came?he and his gallant band
A moment, and he had swept over the Brit
ishers? crushed, mangled, dead and dying
they strewed the green sod?he had passed
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insertion.
over the bill?he had pasted the form of
Washington.
Another moment! And the iron band bad
wheeled?back in the same career of death
tbey came! Rooted, defeated, crushed the
the rad coata flee from the hill, while the
iron band aweep round the form of George
Washington?they encircled htm with their
forma of oak, their swords of steel?the
shout of his name shrieks through the air
and away to American host they bear bim
in a soldiers battle joy.
It was at Savannah that night came down
upon Pulaski.
Yes, I see him now, under the gloom of
night, riding forward towards yonder ram
parts, bis black steed rearing aloft, while
two hundred of his own men follow at his
back.
Right on, neither looking to right or left,
he rides, his eye fixed upon the cannon of the
British his sword, gleaming over his head.
For the last, time, they heard that war
cry?
"Forwarts, Brudern, forwarts!"
Then they that black horse; plunging for
ward his forefeet resting on the cannon of
the enemy, while his warrior rider, arose
in all the pride of his form, his face bathed
in a flush, of red light.
That flash once goae, they saw Pulaski
no more. But they fonnd him, yes beneath
enemy'a cannon, crushed by the same gun,
that killed his stead?yes, they found them
the horae aod rider, resting together in death
that noble face glaring in ftthe midnight sky
with glassey eye.
So in his glory he died, He died while
America and Poland were yet in chains.?
He died, in the stout hope that both, would
one day be free. With America, this hope
has been fulfilled, but Poland
Tell me, shall not the day come, when
yonder monument, erected by those warm
Southern heartb near Savannah, will yield
up its dead?
For Poland will be free at last as sure as
God is just, aa sure as he governs the Uni
verse. Then when, re-created Po
land rears her eagle aloft again, among the
banners of nations, will her children come
to Savannah, to gather up the ashes of their
hero, aud bear him home, with the chaunt of
priests, with the thunder of cannon, with
the teare of millions, even as repentant France
bore home h6r own Napolean.
Yes, the day is coming when Kosciusko
and Pulaski, will sleep side by side, beneath
the soil Re-created Poland.
"THE BEST OP HUSBANDS." ^
Thisja a very rare animal; but ha is to
has been successfully disputed; and that
very handsome and graceful animal, in
stead of being harnessed to Her Majesty's
state carriage?as assuredly the species
should be, could eight of them be pro
cured?is merely employed upon heraldic
duty, namely, to support Her Majesty's
Arms- But the good husband?let all our
virgin readers take heart?is not fabulous.
We cannot, certainly, precisely mark out
his habitual. We do not think the crea
ture is to be found at public masquerades,
or billiard rooms, or in soiled boots, danfc
iug the Polka at the Casino de Venus, de
Bacchus, or any other casino of any other
disreputable heathen deity. The habits,
too, of the Best of Husbands vary with
the best of wives. Some are best tor one
particular virtue?some, for another?and
some for virtues loo numerous to specify.
Some Best of Husbands are always buying
best of wives new gowns; some best, again,
are continually taking their better-best to
the opera or play; in fact in ten thousand
different modes do the Best of Husbands
show their superiority to the second beat,
and the middling, and the fine ordinary, and
those merely good for families. But Mr.
Brown, the best husband of the best Mrs.
Brown, did?according to that excellent?
in the most devoted manner display the
paramount excellence of his martial quali
ties. Mrs. Brown herself, only on Thurs
day last, informed her dear friend Mrs.
Smith of the peculiarity that blessed her
with the best of men. Mrs. Smith bad
dropt in to talk of nothing, and have a-dish
of tea. Mrs. Smith had left her bonnet,
inuff and cloak, in Mrs. Brown's bedroom,
and was seated at Mrs. Bown's fire. Mrs.
Smith put her hands to her head and softly
sighed. <
Mrs. Brown. What's the matter, my
dear? You don't look well. Nothing
particular, 1 hope?
Mrs. Smth. Oh no, nothing. Only
Smith again as usual.
Mrs. Broicn. Poor thing! Well, I do
pity you. What is it?
Mrs. Smith. Oh, my love, that Club.
He was'nt home till two this morning, and
1 setting up, and?yes, but you are a hap
py woman. I've no doubt, now, that Mr.
Brown?
Mrs. Brown. Bless you, my dear! He
was leading the paper to me all the even
ing
Mrs Smith. Ha! Mr. Brown is a good
man.
Mrs. Broum. A good man, my dear5
If 1 were to tell you all, you would
say so. In fact, he'a the bast of husbands,
and one little thing will prove iu
Mrs. Smith. What's that Mrs. Brown%
Mrs. Brown. Why- this, Mrs. Smith.
You would't once think it of the dear, kind

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