£j». : \f i i j■! ■/.,
<fec.
leoe&mrge of tb»B«rait*r«
» street, opposite KeuUr't
tortpstj lotkelrptockara now
ip toe Hardware and Cutler*
Csai Asian, Adw*, ChtaU
tiU»tanDn. -
lo the Hardware 11ns.« r .
their stocit. ’;■
lints, Carbon QH, etc., to their
these articles at a small ad-
JSINESS,
issortment from which m*
.article, to pslasa their tkpej.
IRONWARE,
XOW-WABE
lljvsndl will maka to otd
\y attended to.'
SPOUTING
style.
oops.
rould respectfully in
ub& and surrounding touo*
from the Kaet, where be&av
NTER GOODS,
rice. iCAanotJ*; «nqpMM4 in
rock ie much. larger than
an object, tn lhwe exdtfng
rcheeo wbenitbar iNtt get
t the Lowest Prices,
1 Trill sell as low, lf not a
•e In.-thia plade. J9e withes
t'ftre purchasing tleewhere.
inducement* which, jriU
unisiiU of
)$ of every description,
EE WEAR, i
£S' jwjsss shoes, |
’ BOOTS AND 3UOSS,
MEN’S IUALE HOBB
WOOL. HOSE. *
LEACHED MtISLIN,
IVD HEAVY; DRILLINGS.
Ireted Boorava at slAog)l.l6
Li... IA7©IAO
■tt. - .\
RIES.
t- CoR.-'f, Syfnps, Trea, Ac.‘
kept in a Drr Goods Store,
J. A. BPKANKLE.
BWB I .
EDUCED I
IAINB TO BE HAD, AT
ns STORE,
Virginia St.
the Ka*t with a Sue aaaort
It. BBOWN AND BLUE.
IIXAIIi, BARATHEA,
DELAINES,
Plaids, &e., &c.
iloakinf: Cloth, Canteen,
Kudina Bleached and Un
tinetta. Dennnia. Ginghania,
kfeat Capes: Blanket# and
rtniturt of Ladles' Winter
iat reduced price*. Alao,
rp« n, 34c; and Bine White,
oiir stock, if you wish to
Befe. - ' :
lace, J. B Hiteatao’s Old
JSFULLY!
ftG TO THE euBUC.
TO BUV XOOR
VIMER GOODS.
of Ladies’ Dress
i has 'Jnat bees opened at
ooa, and will be cold for
in ion. W> are determined
tc the lcad,mnd the* the
it in the Tint. Oomock
Urinoe#, Palmetto Clothe,
i, All'Wool pSaide,
Delaines, |
y of other goods, of differ*
; there Upoihthgtheladiet.
mot furnish there with,—
I of
evlsw Balmorals,
Gaiters so*
ngetting to mention our
etnswa&z. rtc.
; money can ba saved by K
tnuce, we are felling good
L Muslin* aalow, ee IBete., ♦
and rood Tee* for 90 eta,
iliN J. MPKPUT ICO.»
eet Iron TjTare.
G. &C. \
lESPECT-aJ
m» of
ntly ob
rlor- Office iuitfJHH
iz««, to tnlt th» wyn*?T"
at k> w prices, mi rssson-
etoct of 3>‘»
;c-i for culinary pui poses:
Lt of tale in BUlr cowity
UE BTOFFF.B,
> Jmj. ve«n tobeftppngU.
luntr, batcher
It. patting op ffIOUTISO
ting pointed ond pirtap
• r»pril M, W«fiy
kiEK’S ;
s Agency,
MAINBT&BPT
LANK BOOKS*
fKCTIONABJfiS
great ysßtßrr
s hash;
ATfON, «»*■•
far awtt in wtfedJßgg
irtM. -pr. 3. BgagDU»
i,, Bi»3.Bw«bi»W^»
noa* eojftjfiX;
McCRUM & DERN,
VOL. 9
the aetoona tribune.
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§Um f
THE BAYONET CHARGE
a sound, not a breath.
All as still as death. , ,
As we stand on the steep in our bayonet’s shrine ;
All is tumult below —
Surging friend, surging foe ;
But not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line—
Waiting so grimly.
The battle-smoke lifts
From the valley, and drifts
Bound the {till where we stand, like a pall for the
world ;
And a glimpse now and then
Shows' the biiiows of men.
In whose black boiling surge we are soon to be
hurled,
Redly and dimly
There’s the word 1 Heady all 1
See the serried points fall—
The grim horizontal so bright and so bare !
Then the other word—Ha !
We are moving! Huzza!
We snuff the burnt powder, we plunge in the glare,
Rushing to glory!
Down the bill, up the glen,
O'er the bodies of men,
Then on, with a cheer, to the roaring redonbt !
Why stumble so, Nc<l ?
No answer —He’s dead
And there's Dutch Peter down, with his life leap
ing out,
Crimson and gory !
On! On! Do not think
Of the falling, but drink
Of the mad, living cataract-torrent of war !
On ! On ! let them feel
The cold vengeance of steel!
Catch the Captain —-he's hit! ’Tu a scratch
nothing more! , ■
£ ’ Forward forever 1
Huzza ! Hero’s the trench !
In and out of it! Wrench
From the jaws of the cannon thft gucrdon of Fame!
Charge! charge ! with a yell,
hike the shriek of a shell —
O'er the abattis, on through the curtain of flame I
back again ? Never!
The rampart! Tis crossed—
It is ours 1 It is lost 1
No—another dash now and the glacis is won !
Huzza! What a dust!
Hew them down ! Cat and thrust 1
A T-i-g-a-r! brave lads, for the red work is done—
Victory! victory!
There’s a lull in the fight.
In the glad morning light,
I stand on the works, looking back there with pain,
- . Where the death-dew of war
Stains the daisy’s white star,
And God’s broken images scatter the plain,
Hush! Do not speak tome!
Mart |||isi»Ua»|j.
the SILENT WITNESS.
FROM A LAWYER'S DIABT n
I had spent some years in the west
111 the practice of my profession,
aed was on a visit to ray friends in
New England. Among those who
came first on ray list of friendship,
was Fred. Elliott, and I arranged to
visit him as soon as I could. Fred,
and I had grown up together as
boys; we had entered college to
gether, and graduated together; and
the practice of
law, he entered his uncle’s store in
the capacity of book-keeping, with
a good promise ahead. And there
"as another between us—a near
and dear one to us, who were both
orphans, and who had few relatives,
living. Fred, had married my owu
cousin, sweet Hattie Keene. He
married her since I went away,
though the jvent had been upon the
doeket'a long time before. And
thus I was to meet two of my dearest
friends beneath the same roof. '
before dusk when the
carnage aft me at the house which
had been pointed‘dut as the one
occupied by| my friend, and which
I at once recognized us the former
home of *old Timothy Ellrott, the
uncle .of whom I have spoken. My
summons wa|s answered by a light,
quick step on the hall floor; and
when the door was opened I recog
nized the fair, fond features of my
dearly remembered cousin. She
was. five years older than when I
saw her last, I and grown to be a Ilf
tie more womanty, and a little more
sedate. In fact, she had put on the
holiest of characters—that of a
mother. The beauty, the,life, the
animation, the smiles of other years
had'not gone ; but they were eleva
ted with, softened by, and blended
into, that noble character. At first
she did not; know me, but when I
called her .Hattie, as I used to in the
olden times, she caught me by the
hand, , and in-a moment more her
soft, white arms were around my
neck. She Was a sister to me in
heart and sohl, and with a sister’s
love she greeted me.
We went into the parlor, where
an astrhl lamp was already burning
upon the centre table, and, where a
fire was reflecting a genial warmth
from a polished grate—for it was
autumn and the evenings were quite
cool. Upon a chahv near by the
table, sat a little boy of some three
years, playing with the richly orna
mented bridle of a rocking horse;
while upon the carpet was a glee
some child, not yet able to walk
with safety, engaged in tumbling a
arge marten jmuff. : And these were
Hattie’s children—two as bright and
beautiful beings as ever made music
in am earthly home. She told them
that I was Uncle Enoch. She had
neither sister nor brother, so I was
forced to be an uncle to her children.
Where had I been ? What had I
been doing? How had I been?
Was I'married ? Did I ever mean
to be ? and a more ques
tions of like character were shower
ed upon me before I bad time to ask
any in return. By-and-by Fred,
came in. There was a cloud upon
his face when he entered the room.
I saw it very plainly; but bis wife
burned to his side, kissed him, and
whispered ip his ertr, and in a mo
ment he brightened up: and when
he greeted me, and held my hand
and patted me upon the shoulder,
he appeared the same warm and
genial spirit ajs of the olden turm
At the tea fable he asked ;’ after
mv fortunes ;in the distant hbme I
had sought;;and when I told'ihim I
had succeeded 5 beyond my most san
guine expectations, and thatmateriai
wealth was fast accumulating - for
me, he wasjnot only pleasant, but
intimated that such business .and
such prospects would suit him.
I laughed outright at what I con
sidered the absurdity of .this last
idea. It would do very well, I told
him, for a poor fellow, with only
his two hands to help him, to get
off into the western wilds; hut for
one like him, with an independent
fortune at his command, to think of
such a thing was -ridiculous. He
smiled as I spoke, .and turned the
suhjecl of conversation.
6 oo 8 oft 12 00
0 00 10 00 14 00
20 00
to oo 14 oo
14 00 25 00 \ 40 00
1 76
"Within an hour after we adjourn
ed to the parlor, I was sure some
thing had gone wrong with my
friend. He tried to be cheerful, to
talk of our old pranks, and to laugh
and joke as' in the days of our youth;
and as a last resort, endeavored to
arouse himself by caressing his sweet
children. But it would not do—l
had seen top much. Hattie succeed-,
ed much better than he did; yet as'
the ’ evening wore on, I could see
there was a heavy load upon her'
heart as well. • ;i
At length the children were abed,
and the mother soon followed them.
I plainly heard her sob as she left
the rPom, and a smothered groan,
which could not escape me, b*rst
from her husband’s bosom., Fred
poked up the coals, and took two or
three across the floor, after
which he 1 ! returned and sat down
near me. |
’“Enoch,!’ he said, his face all
wrapped in gloom, “perhaps you
think I act Strangely.” j
“I think something is the matter
with you,” I returned. “Something
must have gone wrong.” ‘ ,
“you ape: , Something has
gone wf£WgC< Stf tact,” /he added,,
as a over his, frame;
ALTOONA, PA., SATUEDAY, MARCH 11, 1865.
“a storm has burst upon me which
is to ruin me.”
He spoke this so solemnly and so
steadily that I knew there must be
some deep meaning in it; and I
asked him if he could tell me his
trouble. Of course he would tell
me. He was anxious to tell me, for
I was not only one of his dearest
friends, but I was a lawyer and
might possibly assist him.
“You know,” said he, “that I
went into business with my uncle
Timothy. When I was married he
made me come and live in this house;
he put the whole establishment into
our hands, and he then hoarded with
us. I had no money—not a dollar,
but when 1 served hup one year as
book-keeper, he gave me a good
share in the business. Throe years
ago he died, leaving me an estate of
about sixty thousifnd dollars.
“There was no will left, or, at
least such was supposed to be the
case: and it all came to me, as I
the only blood relative living.—
.Uncle Timothy had one brother and
one sister. He marked when quite
young, but his wife died without is
sue. His sister married a man
named Isaac Staffer, who had one
child by a former wife, but he never
bad any children by my aunt. He
died at the’end of two years, leaving
her no means, and,she found a hdme
with a brother, taking her step-son
with her. In time she died, and
the boy was left; in my ; uncle’s
charge until he was twenty-one.—
So much for the sister. The brother
iparriedV find had one child, and that
child was myself. My father died
when I was a, mere child, and my
mother’died before I was graduated.
So you see, I v as the only represen
tative of Uncle Timothy’s blood.”
“Certainly,” J said, “and of course
the whole property fell to you.”
“Yes,” he replied, “and it was
given to me, and I took possession,
and opened a. flourishing business.
Upon the strength thereof, I have
Entered society, and responsible
offices Jiave been put upon me.”
“Well,” said I, as my, friend
paused again, “what has happened
to disturb all this ?”
“I’ll tell you,” lie returned, start
ing frpm amoody reverie into which
he had fallen. “You know thatmy
father?and Uncle Timothy once had
a serious falling out.”
“Yes,” I told him, “Ihavo some
recollection of it; but that was a
great many years ago. We were
hoys then.”
“Ay—it was near twenty 'years
ago,” said Fred; hut I remember it
very well, for I recollect how badly
it made moth er feel. The. estrange
ment lasted tor some years; and
during that time, the bitterness was
very strong. My uncle declared
that he would have nothing more to
do with his brother; and. under the
influence of this feeling he made a
wall conveying the great bulk ot his
property to Staffer, the sou of his
sister’s husband. You remember
that, don’t you ?”
“Yes,” I said. And ]|4idremem
ber it very well, for it mad® consid
erable talk at the time ; and more
so, because Staffer, who had... mar
ried Timothy Elliott’s sister, had
not been considered much of a man,
and it was not generally supposed
that the boy, whom he had left upon
the care of his wife’s relatives, gave
any promise of a valuable life.
“And,” continued Fred, “you
probably recollect when my father
was very sick, Uncle Timothy came
to him and the quarrel was thrown
away, and from that time, while my
father lived, their brotherly love
was warm and generous.
“Yes, I know all that.”
“Well, at that time my uncle
spoke ofthe will be had made, and
said he | would de 9t roy. it, aud I
believe lie did. I know it as well
as I know anything which I did not
see with my own eyes. Before toy
uncle died he bold me that he should
make no will, for there was no need
of it. He said I was the only lawful
heir, and that was enough. My
uncle died and I came posses
sion of the property; and I have En
joyed it, and have tried to do good
with, it; and I have added some
thing to the original fortune, for I
careful and prudent. In
a dark hour/however, a storm has
burst upon' me. It seemed only a
cloud at first; but it proved a fearful
one. Jdhfl Staffer hik
•ENT ra
He went away about ten years ago
—went away because my uncle
would, not give him a , home any
longer—and has now come and has
laid claim on my property. He
claims the whole of it!”
“But how?” I asked, as my friend
stopped to take breath.
“You remember Stephen Akers,
the old lawyer?” said Fred.
“Ay,” I replied, “I know him'
very well. He has. been out west
and done Some business there ; but
he can’t do more where he is known,
for he proved himself a villiaii.”
“Ha! do yon know if.?”
" “Yes; but what bus v that to do
with you now?”
•Til tell yon. In the first place,
he used to do business here, and my
uncle employed him some.”
“I remember that.”
“Audit was he who made that
will tor my uncle.” '
“Yes, I recollect It now.”
“Well,” continued Fred, “this
old villain of a lawyer came hack
here about six months, ago, and ere
long he and John Staffer had their
heads together. In a little while
Staffer/ame and laid claim to. my
uncle’s property; and when asked
what he meant, he produced a paper
which appeared to be the last will
and testament of Mr. Timothy Elli
ott; And, Stephen Akers swears
that this is the same will which pay
uncle made many years ago, and
that it has been in his charge ever
since. He says that when he went
away to the western country he over
looked it among his papem, and took
it along nidi him. He furthermore
declares that he received many let
ters from Mr. Elliott, in which he
requested him to be careful of .the
will, and keep it so that it could be
brought to light in case of need.”
“Of course,” said I, “thisrnust be
a fraudulent one.”
“Most certainly it is,” returned
Fred. “And yet it has been admit
ted to probate,’and the judge has
accepted it. I have appealed, and
it goes to the Superior Court, and',
moreover, the trial /comes off to
morrow. : For myself, Enoch, —if I
were alone in the world) —I would
care little, for I could put forth my
cnergies'anew; but for my wife and
children, oh I it is hard!”
He burled his face in his hands,
add wept aloud; but in a little while
Ire became calm again, and I ques
tioned him as I saw fit. Another
witness to the will, besides Stephen
Akers was living, and he had testi
fied that he believed the instrument
now produced was the one to which
he put his name. In short, the case
looked dark enough, and I dared
not give my friend much hope. Yet
I promised to think of the matter,
and be present with him at the trial.
i On the, following morning I got
away as soon as possible, for I could
not bear to hear Hattie’s grief; but
I promised to come back again, and
as I held her hand at the door, ,told
her to keep up a good heart.
An uncle of mine, named Ansel
Forbes, a brother of my mother, was
in town on business, and I went to
see him. He was a paper manufac
turer, and worth a handsome prop
erty. I found him at the hotel, and
passed a happy hour with him; for
I was his pet in boyhood, and it was
by his generous bounty that I went
through college. I told him about
the trial which was to come off, and
he said he meant to be present if he
could. He had been well acquaint
ed with Timothy Elliott, and he was
firmly convinced that the only will
which Elliott had ever made had
been destroyed.
When the hour of trial arrived it
was announced that I should assist
in the case. I took my seat with the
counsel already engaged. As the
trial went on it certainly did look
dark enough for my friend; Steph
en Akers, a dark browed, tbxy look
ing man, with hair ot grizzled red,
which stoodkmt like a hedgehog’s
quills upon his head—swore maf this
will was the will ’which he, as Tim-,
pthy Elliott’s attorney, had made
eighteen years before, and tbatit had
been in his possession ever since,,
until he had lodged it in the probate
office. And he-also siyore to the
receipt of letters from., Elliott, bid
ding him keep it safe. .1 There was
no getting around his testimony—it
was plain and direct, and we could
not break through it. _
An old man namedjackson, who
md been one of the witnesses of the
old will, testified that he believed
the instrument now before him was
the one tp whicß he had put his
mud. He could say that this was
iis own signature. He was aff hon
est old fellow, andTadmitted that; lie
lad always-'Stipposed the will had
)een destroyed.
JPot our client we had nothing of
clear, plain facts to help us. We
any amount of impressions and opin
ions in our favor. It had been thjJ
impression of all Timothy Elliott’s
intimate friends that the will which
ie had made had been destroyed,— :
He had talked to theinrin-tlqat way.
And yet no one of them could swear
that they 1 had ever heard him say,
directly, that such was the fact. In
short, though - the belief in the des
truction of thht will was so general
and so firm, “yet wefcould not , pre :
sent to the jury rf single feet to sus
tain us in ”
Had the counsel for the appellant
any more testimony to produce ?
Fred placed his hand, trembling
like an aspen, upon my arm, and
whispered:—
“ Oh, my soul! lam lost!”
He was pale as death, and his suf
ferings intense. As the case now!
stood, I could have no hope* What
ever may have been the opinion of
the court and gun 7 upon the right
and justice of the thing, there could
have been but one opinion upon the
law and fact.
Were the counsel for the appel
ant ready to rest the citse?
I held the will iu my hand. Ibe
eved it to be a forgery, : I believed 1
re only will which Timothy Elliott;
ever made had been destroyed, and 1
that Akers, in consideration of a
share in the spoils, had, from the old
draft in his hands, forged this in
strument, counterfeiting even Jack
son’s signature so nicely that the
simple old man could not disown it.
;; was about to give the instrument
up, and my last faint hope with fit,
when a dim mark in one comer of
the sheet caught ray eye. It was • a
stamp —an impression on the paper
—.not so large as the point of; a fin
ger’s end, but I bent my head for a
aoment to call to mind something
of the past.
“What is it?” asked Fred, who
lad noticed my emotion.
I told him to wait; and then arose
and looked around the ccflirt room.
Was my uncle there? Yes, I saw
him close by me. I a&ked that Ste
phen Akres might be called to the
stand again. The wretch saw that
I was excited, and he trembled a lilr
tie when he started to answer to the
call, though he was firm enough
when he had gained the stand. .
“Mr. Akers,” said I, controlling
myself as I possibly could:, “you
made this will.” ,
“Timothy Elliott made it,” he re
plied; “I merely wrote it down for
him as he dictated.”
“This will is dated,” said I, look
ing at its sign and seal, “October
third, eighteen years ( ago this very
month.’’
“Certainly,” replied Akers, “that
is just when it was made.” s
“And you swear that this is the
identical instrument?”
“Ido.”
“And you swear that Timothy El
liott set his b'rnd and seal this
paper at the ti mentioned?”
“I do.”
I looked th
He must have read in that look
something of my thoughts, for his
countenance changed and his knees
actually shook beneath him.
I told him I had done with him.
Then I asked that Ansel Forbes'
might be called to the stand.
What did I want with him ? And
my unde was also anxious to know
why he was called agon, for he was
well known, and stood as high as
the judge himself. :
“Mr. Forbes,” saW I, “you are a
manufacturer of paper ?”
JEe said he - *
- “How long have you-been enga- j
ged in the business ?; ;
He thought a moment, and then
replied, “I entered the business in
eighteen hundred and thirfy-q|m j.
so"! have been in it just ten years.
“Kow sir,” said I, handing him
the instrument which I held, “will
you tell me, will you tell the jury,
when that paper Wija made ?” t ;
Ho took’it, and the moment m.
eye rested u|ton it he started. He
EDITOKS' AND-PBOPSIETOBA
gazed upon the comer, and then, in
a bursting, amazed tone, be cried—
“l made it myself!” «
“When?” I,Amended. ! f
“It could not haye been oVer nine
years ago, for hepe is my'mark—
my name—upon it, as 1 alone have
stamped paper ip ibis country I”
He then showed to the court and
to the jury the mirk which be bad
detected. It was plain enougb now
:—a little oval impression, with 'tbe
name “A Eorbes v embossed in ti
lt was defaced and soiled, but not
pbliterated, ...
his way -frbpi the But
the deputy brought hpu back.
Two whbleaale dealers were sum
moned? and when they eXaibtned
: the paper they at once recognized it
as Ansel Forbes’s manufacture.—
They knew it— there could Ibe. no
question... , Vi -i •• •- ;.i - ,
And thus* qlftost. piraculousjy,
was the whoje current of
changed. We gaye thepase in, and
in a Very fcW minhtes we bad the
verdict. ■ ’ ';v v ’ '
That evening Hattie abbdt
my neck, andbiessed {Old ' thanked
me until !feirly’criect And Fred,
.whan he tried to apeak of whas had
.qpce, broke down under
the weight of joy and gratitude that
was,upon, hiim lie was s£fe,_ hi B
fortune was safe bis wile 'end
little ones were ! Still blessed. 1 ’!;'
Some asked me' hdw 1 happened
to' detest that ■ silent witness 1 Uway
up in the comer of that paper. I
answered that my uncle gave me half
adozeu reams of that, paperi wben
he commenced making it, and Iha,d
been usiugit ever since, so that
the stamp was Very &mmaf to me.
The forger'hid selected for his
wicked purpose a sheet of ‘ Respecta
ble age; but it bid notprovecDquite
old enough to' answer 1 the date he
had just put upon it.. ; ■ >
Master John Staffer got off to sea
again;. but Stephen Akersfoutidhis
way to the State Prison, where for
a terin of years, he was forcibly re
strained from cheating his fefiow
men. "■
Practical Jokes Plated by 4
Horse.— Tho’ many curious tricks
and mischievous butharmless capers
have been played by horses within
our kriqwledge,.yet it is hardtofnta
credence to the following anecdote
from an English paper
“3?here was, some years ago, a
very fine horse in the possession of
Henry Mens & Co., the eminent
brewers. ’ Itwas uaedas a dray horse,
but was so tractable that it was left
sometimes without restraint, to walk
about the yatd and return to the sta
ble, according to its fancy. In the
yard there were also a few pigs of a
peculiar breed, fedpn gxain,,and
these pigs the horse had evidently,
an insuperable : objection., There
was a deep trough in the yarddiold
ing water for the ; horses, where this
horse went often, taking his month
full near it on the ground, and when
the young swine approached: it ££br
the old ones kept aloofjl he would
seize one of them by the tail, pop
him into the trough, and then
about the yard, seemingly delightecgp
with the frolic. The noise or the * ,
pig soon brought the men to his asr
sistance, who knew from experience
what was the matter, Whiletnd Korte
indulged in all sorts of antics toshow’
his glee, and then returned quietly
to his stable. ;
in the eye.'
■ ~: i; --
A Eemabkabiiß Case.—A yetyjp
markable case is that of a solder,pp.
ra hospital in Phnladelpiiia, wi[o,, it
Wid, has net slept Wmqmeet |or ever;
fourteen He says that sleep
forsook him in the summer of 1360,
and he has never felt even drowsy
sinW that tinre r j Ete has been
years in bar atnty, holding the posi
tion.of (Orderly Sergeant and h£«
seen hard service, and taken part in.
several raids, without affecting hi*
remarkable waketulness., Qnoae
occasion, a number of scieptifio gcm-n
tiexneh investigated hiscaae,\an<i
watched him conBtantlyforfer^4wioi
day a; and nightewithout detecting*’
single doze,ftr discoveringtiie ,cao»e
V>f. the phenomenon. The man<goe»j
to bed when fatigued, simply for*
physical rest. He has been flJfVtitiiE 5
ji s
lin Altoona and elsewhere.
NO. 49.