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Il were the tidings that arrived from sea, That Isaac seem'd concern'd by his distress The worthy George must now a cripple be; Gave to his injured feelings some redress ; His leg was lopp'd; and though his heart was sound, But none he found disposed to lend an ear Though his brave captain was with glory crown'd, To stories, all were once intent to hear : Yet much it vex'd him to repose on shore,

Except his nephew, seated on his knee, An idle log, and be of use no more :

He found no creature cared about the sea ; True, he was sure that Isaac would receive But George indeed-for George they call'd tho All of his brother that the foe might leave;

boy, To whom the seaman his design had sent, When his good uncle was their boast and joyEre from the port the wounded hero went : Would listen long, and would contend with sleep, His wealth and expectations told, he“ knew To hear the woes and wonders of the deep; Wherein they fail'd, what Isaac's love would do ; Till the fond mother cried—“ That man will That he the grog and cabin would supply

teach Where George at anchor during life would lie." The foolish boy his loud and boisterous speech." The landsman read-and, reading, grew dis. So judged the father-and the boy was taught tress'd

To shun the uncle, whom his love had sought. •Could he resolve t'admit so poor a guest ?

The mask of kindness now but seldom worn, Better at Greenwich might the sailor stay, George felt each evil harder to be borne ; Unless his purse could for his comforts pay ;" And cried, (vexation growing day by day.) So Isaac judged, and to his wife appeal'd, “Ah! brother Isaac !-What! I'm in the way!" But yet acknowledged it was best to yield : “No! on my credit, look ye, No! but I “ Perhaps his pension, with what sums remain Am fond of peace, and my repose would buy Due or unsquander'd, may the man maintain ; On any terms-in short, we must comply : Refuse we must not."—With a heavy sigh My spouse had money-she must have her willThe lady heard, and made her kind reply : Ah! brother-marriage is a bitter pill." “Nor would I wish it, Isaac, were we sure

George tried the lady—“Sister, I offend." How long his crazy building will endure; “Me ?" she replied—“O no!-you may depend Like an old house, that every day appears On my regard — bụt watch your brother's way, About to fall-he may be propp'd for years ; Whom I, like you, must study and obey." For a few months, indeed, we might comply, “Ah!" thought the seaman, “what a head was But these old batter'd fellows never die."

mine, - The hand of Isaac, George on entering took, That easy birth at Greenwich to resign! With love and resignation in his look ;

I'll to the parish" but a little pride, Declared his comfort in the fortune past,

And some affection, put the thought aside. And joy to find his anchor safely cast;

Now gross neglect and open scorn he bore “ Call then my nephews, let the grog be brought, in silent sorrow-but he felt the more : And I will tell them how the ship was fought." The odious pipe he to the kitchen took,

Alas! our simple seaman should have known, Or strove to profit by some pious book. That all the care, the kindness, he had shown, | When the mind stoops to this degraded state, Were from his brother's heart, if not his memory, New griefs will darken the dependant's fate; flown:

"Brother!" said Isaac, “ you will sure excuse All swept away to be perceived no more,

The little freedom I'm compellid to use : Like idle structures on the sandy shore;

My wife's relations——(curse the haughty crew), The chance amusement of the playful boy, Affect such niceness, and such dread of you: That the rude billows in their rage destroy. You speak so loud-and they have natures softPoor George confess'd, though loath the truth to Brother--I wish- do go upon the loft !" find,

Poor George obey'd, and to the garret fled, Slight was his knowledge of a brother's mind : Where not a being saw the tears he shed : The vulgar pipe was to the wife offence,

But more was yet required, for guests were come, The frequent grog to Isaac an expense ;

Who could not dine if he disgraced the room. Would friends like hers, she question'd, “ choose to It shock'd his spirit to be esteem'd unfit come,

With an own brother and his wife to sit ; Where clouds of poison'd fume defiled a room? He grew rebellious—at the vestry spoke This could their lady friend, and Burgess Steel, For weekly aid--they heard it as a joke : (Teased with his worship's asthma,) bear to feel ? " So kind a brother, and so wealthy—-you Could they associate or converse with him

Apply to us? - No! this will never do : A loud rough sailor with a timber limb ?"

Good neighbour Fletcher," said the overseer, Cold as he grew, still Isaac strove to show, “We are engaged-you can have nothing here" By well-feign'd care, that cold he could not grow; George mutter'd something in despairing tone. And when he saw his brother look distress'd, Then sought his lost, to think and grieve alone ; He strove some petty comforts to suggest ; Neglected, slighted, restless on his bed, On his wife solely their neglect to lay,

With heart half broken, and with scraps ill fed ; And then t'excuse it, is a woman's way;

Yet was he pleased, that hours for play design'd He too was chidden when her rules he broke, Were given to ease his ever-troubled mind; And then she sicken'd at the scent of smoke. The child still listen'd with increasing joy, George, though in doubt, was still consoled And he was soothed by the attentive boy find

At length he sicken'd, and this duteous child His brother wishing to be reckon'd kind : | Watch'd o'er his sickness, and his pains beguiled ;

The mother bade him from the loft refrain, | George, are you dumb ? do learn to know your
But, though with caution, yet he went again : I friends,
And now his tales the sailor feebly told,

And think a while on whom your bread depends :
His heart was heavy, and his limbs were cold : What! not a word ? be thankful I am cool-
The tender boy came often to entreat

But, sir, beware, no longer play the fool; His good kind friend would of his presents eat; Come! brother, come! what is that you seek Purloin'd or purchased, for he saw, with shame, By this rebellion ?-Speak, you villain, speak! The food untouch'd that to his uncle came; Weeping! I warrant-sorrow makes you dumb: Who, sick in body and in mind, received

I'll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come : The boy's indulgence, gratified and grieved. Let me approach-I'll shake you from the bed, * Uncle will die!" said George--the piteous You stubborn dog — God! my brother's dead!" wife

Timid was Isaac, and in all the past Exclaim'd, "She saw no value in his life;

He felt a purpose to be kind at last; But sick or well, to my commands attend,

Nor did he mean his brother to depart, And go no more to your complaining friend." Till he had shown this kindness of his heart: The boy was ver’d; he felt his heart reprove But day by day he put the cause aside, The stern decree.-What! punish'd for his love! Induced by avarice, peevishness, or pride. No! he would go, but softly to the room,

But now awaken'd, from this fatal time Stealing in silence-for he knew his doom. His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime: Once in a week the father came to say,

He raised to George a monumental stone, *George, are you ill ?”—and hurried him away;

And there retired to sigh and think alone; Yet to his wife would on their duties dwell, An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shookAnd often cry, “Do use my brother well :" “So," said his son, “would my poor uncle look." And something kind, no question, Isaac meant, “And so, my child, shall I like him expire.”— Who took vast credit for the vague intent. “ No! you have physic and a cheerful fire.”But truly kind, the gentle boy essay'd

“Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied To cheer his uncle, firm, although afraid ;

With every comfort my cold heart denied.” But now the father caught him at the door,

He view'd his brother now, but not as one And, swearing-yes, the man in office swore,

Who vex'd his wife by fondness for her son ; And cried. - Away! How! brother. I'm surprised. Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale, That one so old can be so ill advised :

The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale : Let him not dare to visit you again,

He now the worth and grief alone can view Your cursed stories will disturb his brain;

Of one so mild, so generous, and so true; Is it not vile to court a foolish boy,

“ The frank, kind brother, with such open heart, Your own absurd narrations to enjoy ?

And I to break it-'twas a demon's part * What! sullen !ha! George Fletcher! you shall So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels, see,

Nor his unkindness palliates or conceals.
Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!" “ This is your folly,” said his heartless wife.

He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went, “ Alas! my folly cost my brother's life ;
Then coold and felt some qualms of discontent; It suffer'd him to languish and decay,
And thought on times when he compelld his son | My gentle brother, whom I could not pay,
To hear these stories, nay, 10 beg for one :

And therefore left to pine, and fret his life away."
But the wife's wrath o'ercame the brother's pain, He takes his son, and bids the boy unfold
And shame was felt, and conscience rose in vain. All the good uncle of his feelings told,

George yet stole up, he saw his uncle lie All he lamented-and the ready tear
Sick on the bed, and heard his heavy sigh:

neavy sigh:

Falls as he listens, soothed, and grieved to hear. So he resolved, before he went to rest,

“ Did he not curse me, child ?"_" He never To comfort one so dear and so distress'd;

cursed, Then watch'd his time, but with a childlike art, But could not breathe, and said his heart would Betray'd a something treasured at his heart:

burst."Th' observant wife remark'd, “ The boy is “ And so will mine."-" Then, father, you must grown

pray; So like your brother, that he seems his own ; My uncle said it took his pains away." So close and sullen! and I still suspect

Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows They often meet-do watch them and detect." That he, repenting, feels the debt he owes, George now remark'd that all was still at And from this source alone his every comfort flows. night,

He takes no joy in office, honours, gain ; And hasten'd up with terror and delight;

They make him humble, nay, they give him pain; "Uncle" he cried, and softly tapp'd the door ; “These from my heart," he cries, “all feeling "Do let me in"-but he could add no more ;

drove;
The careful father caught him in the fact, They made me cold 10 nature, dead to love :"
And cried," You serpent! is it thus you act ? He takes no joy in home, but sighing, sees
Back to your mother!"_and with hasty blow, A son in sorrow, and a wife at ease:
He sent th' indignant boy 10 grieve below; He takes no joy in office-see him now,
Then at the door an angry speech began-

And Burgess Steel has but a passing bow;
"Is this your conduct ?-is it thus you plan? Of one sad train of gloomy thoughts possess'd,
Seduce my child, and make my house a scene He takes no joy in friends, in food, in rest-
Of vile dispute What is it that you mean ? Dark are the evil days, and void of peace the best,

As thus he lives, if living be to sigh,

“ Yes," he replied, “ it calls for pains and care ; And from all comforts of the world to fly,

But I must bear it.”—“Sir, you cannot bear; Without a hope in life-without a wish to die. Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye."

“ That, my kind friend, a father's may supply." -
“ Such growing griefs your very soul will tease."-

To grieve another would not give me ease-
TALE XXI.

I have a mother"-" She, poor ancient soul !

Can she the spirits of the young control ?
THE LEARNED BOY.

Can she thy peace promote, partake thy care,

Procure thy comforts, and thy sorrows share! Like one well studied in a sad ostent,

Age is itself impatient, uncontrollid."To please his grandam.

“But wives like mothers must at length be old." Merchant of Venice, act ii. Bc. 2.

“ Thou hast shrewd servants—they are evils And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

sore." And shining morning face, creeping like snail, Unwillingly to school.

“ Yet a shrewd mistress might afflict me more."As You Like It, act ii. sc. 7. “ Wilt thou not be a weary wailing man !"He is a better scholar than I thought he was

| “ Alas! and I must bear it as I can." He has a good sprag memory,

Resisted thus, the widow soon withdrew,
Merry Wites of Windsor, act iv. sc. 1. That in his pride the hero might pursue ;
One that feeds

And off his wonted guard, in some retreat,
On objects, arts, and imitations,

Find from a foe prepared entire deseat :
Which out of use, and staled by other men,

But he was prudent, for he knew in flight
Begin his fashion.
Julius Casar, act iv. sc. 1. These Par

| These Parthian warriors turn again and fight; 0! torture me no more I will confess.

He but at freedom, not at glory aim'd,
Henry VI. Part 2. act ii. sc. 3. And only safety by his caution claim'd.

Thus, when a great and powerful state decrees,
An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true, Upon a small one, in its love, to seize-
He did by all as all by him should do ;

It vows in kindness to protect, defend,
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he, And be the fond ally, the faithful friend ;
Yet famed for rustic hospitality :

It therefore wills that humbler state to place
Left with his children in a widow'd state, Its hopes of safety in a fond embrace ;
The quiet man submitted to his fate;

Then must that humbler state its wisdom prove,
Though prudent matrons waited for his call, By kind rejection of such pressing love ;
With cool forbearance he avoided all,

Must dread such dangerous friendship to come Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,

mence, By kind attention to his feeble boy:

And stand collected in its own defence :And though a friendly widow knew no rest, Our farmer thus the proffer'd kindness fled, Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd: And shunn'd the love that into bondage led. Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone The widow failing, fresh besiegers came, Their hearts' concern to see him left alone

To share the fate of this retiring dame : Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,

And each foresaw a thousand ills attend As if 'twere sin to take a second wise.

The man that fled from so discreet a friend ; 0! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead, And pray'd, kind soul ! that no event might make To find such numbers who will serve instead : The harden'd heart of Farmer Jones to ache. And in whatever state a man be thrown,

But he still govern'd with resistless hand, "Tis that precisely they would wish their own ; And where he could not guide, he would command: Left the departed infants-then their joy

With steady view in course direct he steer'd, Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy :

And his fair daughters loved him, though they Whatever calling his, whatever trade,

fear'd; To that their chief attention has been paid ; Each had her school, and, as his wealth was known, His happy taste in all things they approve, Each had in time a household of her own. His friends they honour, and his food they love; The boy indeed was, at the grandam's side, His wish for order, prudence in affairs,

Humour'd and train'd, her trouble and her pride: And equal temper, (thank their stars!) are theirs ; Companions dear, with speech and spirits mild, In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,

The childish widow and the vapourish child; And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed; This nature prompts; minds uninform'd and weak, Yet some like Jones, with stubborn hearts and hard, In such alliance ease and comfort seek ; Can hear such claims, and show them no regard. Push'd by the levity of youth aside,

Soon as our farmer, like a general, found The cares of man, his humour, or his pride, By what strong foes he was encompassid round They feel, in their defenceless state, allied : Engage he dared not, and he could not fly, The child is pleased to meet regard from age But saw his hope in gentle parley lie ;

The old are pleased e'en children to engage; With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart, And all their wisdom, scorn'd by proud mankind, He met the foe, and art opposed to art.

They love to pour into the ductile mind;
Now spoke that foe insidious-gentle tones, By its own weakness into error led,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones : And by fond age with prejudices fed.
“ Three girls,” the widow cried, " a lively three | The father, thankful for the good he had,
To govern well-indeed it cannot be."--

| Yet saw with pain a whining, timid lad:

Whom he, instructing, led through cultured fields, while others daring, yet imbecile, Ay
To show what man performs, what nature yields : | The power of man, and that of God defy :
Bot Stephen, listless, wander'd from the view, Be manly then, though mild, for sure as fate,
From beasts he fled, for butterflies he flew, | Thou art, my Stephen, too effeminate ;
And idly gazed about, in search of something new. Here, take my purse, and make a worthy use
The lambs indeed he loved, and wish'd to play ('Tis fairly stock'd) of whai it will produce :
With things so mild, so harmless, and so gay; And now my blessing, not as any charm
Best pleased the weakest of the flock to see, Or conjuration, but 'twill do no harm."
With whom he felt a sickly sympathy.

Stephen, whose thoughts were wandering up
Meantime, the dame was anxious, day and night, and down,
To guide the notions of her babe aright,

Now charm'd with promised sights in London town, And on the favourite mind to throw her glimmering Now loath to leave his grandam-lost the force, light;

The drift, and tenor of this grave discourse ; Her Bible stories she impress'd betimes,

But, in a general way, he understood And fill'd his head with hymns and holy rhymes ; 'Twas good advice, and meant, “My son, be good;" On powers unseen, the good and ill, she dwelt, And Stephen knew that all such precepts mean, And the poor boy mysterious terrors felt;

That lads should read their Bible, and be clean. From frightful dreams, he waking sobb'd in dread, The good old lady, though in some distress, Till the good lady came to guard his bed. Begg'd her dear Stephen would his grief suppress;

The father wish'd such errors to correct, “Nay, dry those eyes, my child—and, first of all, But let them pass in duty and respect :

Hold fast thy faith, whatever may befall: But more it grieved his worthy mind to see Hear the best preacher, and preserve the text That Stephen never would a farmer be;

For meditation, till you hear the next; In vain he tried the shiftless lad to guide, Within your Bible night and morning look ; And yet 'twas time that something should be tried : There is your duty, read no other book ; He at the village school perchance might gain Be not in crowds, in broils, in riots seen, All that such mind could gather and retain ; And keep your conscience and your linen clean: Yet the good dame affirm'd her favourite child Be you a Joseph, and the time may be, Was apt and studious, though sedate and mild; When kings and rulers will be ruled by thee.' * That he on many a learned point could speak, “ Nay," said the father—" Hush, my son," replied And that his body, not his mind, was weak.” The dame ; “ The Scriptures must not be denied."

The father doubted--but to school was sent The lad, still weeping, heard the wheels apThe timid Stephen, weeping as he went :

proach, There the rude lads compell’d the child to fight, And took his place within the evening coach, And sent him bleeding to his home at night; With heart quite rent asunder. On one side At this the grandam more indulgent grew,

Was love, and grief, and fear, for scenes untried; And hade her darling “ Shun the beastly crew; Wild beasts and wax-work fill'd the happier part Whom Satan ruled, and who were sure to lie, Of Stephen's varying and divided heart : Howling in torments, when they came to die." This he betray'd by sighs and questions strange, This was such comfort, that in high disdain of famous shows, the Tower, and the Exchange. He told their fate, and felt their blows again : Soon at his desk was placed the curious boy, Yet if the boy had not a hero's heart,

Demure and silent at his new employ : Within the school he play'd a better part;

Yet as he could, he much attention paid
He wrote a clean, fine hand, and at his slate, To all around him, cautious and afraid ;
With more success than many a hero, sate; On older clerks his eager eyes were fix'd,
He thought not much indeed—but what depends But Stephen never in their council mix'd :
On pains and care, was at his fingers' ends. Much their contempt he fear'd, for if like them,

This had his father's praise, who now espied He felt assured he should himself contemn;
A spark of merit, with a blaze of pride :

O! they were all so eloquent, so free,
And though a farmer he would never make, No! he was nothing-nothing could he be :
He might a pen with some advantage take; They dress so smartly, and so boldly look.
And as a clerk that instrument employ,

And talk as if they read it from a book ;
So well adapted to a timid boy.

“ But I,” said Stephen,“ will forbear to speak, A London cousin soon a place obtain'd, And they will think me prudent and not weak. Easy, but humble-liule could be gain'd :

They talk, the instant they have dropp'd the pen, The time arrived when youth and age must part, or singing women, and of acting men; Tears in each eye, and sorrow in each heart; Of plays and places where at night they walk The careful father bade his son attend

| Beneath the lamps, and with the ladies talk ; To all his duties, and obey his friend;

While other ladies for their pleasure sing,
To keep his church and there behave aright, 0! 'tis a glorious and a happy thing :
As one existing in his Maker's sight,

They would despise me, did they understand
Till acts to habits led, and duty to delight: I dare not look upon a scene so grand ;
" Then try, my boy, as quickly as you can, Or see the plays when critics rise and roar,
Tassume the looks and spirit of a man;

And hiss and groan, and cry-Encore ! encore ! I say, be honest, faithful, civil, true,

There's one among them looks a little kind; And this you may, and yet have courage too: If more encouraged, I would ope my mind." Heroic men, their country's boast and pride, Alas! poor Stephen, happier had he kept Have fear'd their God, and nothing fear'd beside : His purpose secret, while his envy slept ;

Virtue, perhaps, had conquer'd, or his shame But not till first he paper'd all the row,
At least preserved him simple as he came. And placed in order, to enjoy the show;
A year elapsed before this clerk began

Next letter'd all the backs with care and speed. To treat the rustic something like a man;

Set them in ranks, and then began to read. He then in trifling points the youth advised,

The love of order,--I the thing receive Talk'd of his coat, and had it modernized ; From reverend men, and I in part believe, Or with the lad a Sunday walk would take, Shows a clear mind and clean, and whoso needs And kindly strivo his passions to awake ;

This love, but seldom in the world succeeds; Meanwhile explaining all they heard and saw, And yet with this some other love must be, Till Stephen stood in wonderment and awe : Ere I can fully to the fact agree: To a neat garden near the town they stray'd, Valour and study may by order gain, Where the lad felt delighted and afraid ;

By order sovereigns hold more steady reign : There all he saw was smart, and fine, and fair,-- Through all the tribes of nature order runs, He could but marvel how he ventured there : And rules around in systems and in suns : Soon he observed, with terror and alarm,

Still has the love of order found a place, His friend enlock'd within a lady's arm,

With all that's low, degrading, mean, and base, And freely talking—" But it is,” said he,

With all that merits scorn, and all that meets dis “ A near relation, and that makes him free ;"

grace: And much amazed was Stephen, when he knew In the cold miser, of all change afraid, This was the first and only interview :

In pompous men in public seats obey'd ; Nay, had that lovely arm by him been seized, In humble placemen, heralds, solemn drones, The lovely owner had been highly pleased : Fanciers of flowers, and lads like Stephen Jones; “ Alas !" he sigh'd, "I never can contrive, Order to these is armour and defence, At such bold, blessed freedoms to arrive ;

And love of method serves in lack of sense. Never shall I such happy courage boast,

For rustic youth could I a list produce I dare as soon encounter with a ghost."

Of Stephen's books, how great might be the use; Now to a play the friendly couple went, But evil fate was theirs—survey'd, enjoy'd But the boy murmur'd at the money spent ; Some happy months, and then by force destroy'd : “ He loved," he said, “ to buy, but not to spend - So will'd the fates--but these, with patience read, They only talk a while, and there's an end.” Had vast effect on Stephen's heart and head. “Come, you shall purchase books," the friend. This soon appear'd-within a single week replied;

He oped his lips, and made attempt to speak; " You are bewilder'd, and you want a guide; He fail'd indeed-but still his friend confess'd To me refer the choice, and you shall find

The best have fail'd, and he had done his best: The light break in upon your stagnant mind!" The first of swimmers, when at first he swims,

The cooler clerks exclaim'd, " In vain your art Has little use or freedom in his limbs ; T' improve a cub without a head or heart; Nay, when at length he strikes with manly force, Rustics though coarse, and savages though wild, The cramp may seize him, and impede his course. Our cares may render liberal and mild ;

Encouraged thus, our clerk again essay'd But what, my friend, can flow from all these The daring act, though daunted and afraid , pains!

Succeeding now, though partial his success, There is no dealing with a lack of brains.". And pertness mark'd his manner and address,

“True I am hopeless to behold him man, Yet such improvement issued from his books, But let me make the booby what I can :

That all discern'd it in his speech and looks ; Though the rude stone no polish will display, He ventured then on every theme to speak, Yet you may strip the rugged coat away." And felt no feverish tingling in his cheek;

Stephen beheld his books—"I love to know His friend approving, hail'd the happy change, How money goes--now here is that to show: The clerks exclaim'd—“'Tis famous, and 'tis And now," he cried, “ I shall be pleased to get

strange!" Beyond the Bible—there I puzzle yet."

Two years had pass'd ; the youth attended still He spoke abash'd—“ Nay, nay!" the friend (Though thus accomplish'd) with a ready quill; replied,

He sat th' allotted hours, though hard the case, “ You need not lay the good old book aside ; While timid prudence ruled in virtue's place : Antique and curious, I myself indeed

By promise bound, the son his letters penn'd
Read it at times, but as a man should read; To his good parent, at the quarter's end.
A fine old work it is, and I protest

At first he sent those lines, the state to tell
I hate to hear it treated as a jest ;

of his own health, and hoped his friends were The book has wisdom in it, if you look

well; Wisely upon it, as another book :

He kept their virtuous precepts in his mind, For superstition (as our priests of sin

And needed nothing—then his name was sign'd: Are pleased to tell us) makes us blind within: But now he wrote of Sunday walks and views, Of this hereafter--we will now select

Of actors' names, choice novels, and strange news Some works to please you, others to direct: How coats were cut, and of his urgent need Tales and romances shall your fancy feed,

For fresh supply, which he desired with speed. And reasoners form your morals and your creed." The father doubted, when these letters came, The books were view'd, the price was fairly To what they tended, yet was loath to blame : paid,

“ Stephen was once my duteous son, and now And Stephen read undaunted, undismay'd : | My most obedient-this can I allow?

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