MY NEIGHBOR ANDI,
Ch, I pitty my neighbor over the way,
WwW Le has nothing to do but to yawn all day;
Neo Uttle hands to tumble her hair,
Nw little “uuisance’’ to vex her care,
No little ‘torment’ to worry and tease,
Nathing to do but consult her own ease.
Poor, rich neighbor, 1 am sorry for you-
Sorry, because you have “nothing to do.”
Sorry, because as the days go by
You are restless and weary, you know
why,
Ad once in
CH many a tea
not
a while I can see the trace
on your proud, fair face,
Yau sce | jan only a laborer's wife,
Froing wy part in the treadmill of life;
Joe, my husband, is off all day,
Fighting the giants of want away;
Baby and I are busy, too,
Bout we've plenty of time to be
you
sorry for
Baby's a nuisance, a plague, and a joy,
Bat then, you see, he's my own swoet boy;
E have no time for a groan or a sigh,
No time to be idie as the days go by;
My arms ave full as the day is long,
Full as my heart with its happy song,
Foor, rich neighbor, over the way,
Watching my baby and me at play;
What of vour wealth if your heart is bare ?
"Tis 10 love and be loved that makes life so
fal.
Na, velghbor
badeed,
mine, I can tell you true,
I'd rather be I than you,
A STIR RR
A GIRLS FOLLY,
A small, superior cottage bright
rad-brick, sweet-scented woodbine trail- |
ing its rustic porch, a green lawn
before it surrounded by flowers, and a
charming country landscape spreading
out in the distance. Inside, its
small but pretty parlor, the red
table-cover waited the tea-tray, with its
cups and saucers, The window stood
open to the still, warm autumn air, and
the French porcelain clock
mantel-piece was striking five,
ol
over
in
on
on
in. She very lovely. Bat
bright blue eyes bore of weary
or discont look, and her bright
brown hair was somewhat ruffled. She
wore a print washing-dress of black
an< white, neither very smoothi nor
very {resh, and a ck collar fast-
ened with a bow of black ribbon.
had made an appointment to
meet Reginald Vavasour, a rich young
gentleman who Lad made ber acquaint-
ance down by the willow walk, and her
lover, Thomas Viatkyn, had told her
he would callithat evening. Just before
he lef said
“May 1
favor, Thomas?"
“What is it?
“If vou would
was
sort
snted
fare 1
oe nt
She
+ SHE
+1 * £9 is %
ask vou to do me a little
he repeated.
not very rmuch mind
going home the hill and would
leave this note at Miss Ford's, [I par-
ticularly her to have it this even-
ing."
ile J aniseed
ing. She
“st
i see
by
wish
for an instant,
went on hurriedly:
that 1t is d
offended
“Not that.”
out his hand for the
hardly the time for the
this evening, I have
ick’s for father.
said no more, but took the
**Gxood-by. Thomas."
*Gxood-by.”’
*1I'm glad he
be safe now.”’
Miss Al
not reply-
isagreeable to you,
vou too much.’
have
he answered, holding
‘““‘Bat I can
long way
to call at Kill-
However —*'
note.
note,
spare
as
1
he
my
took the i shall
wie. J
ison Reece was a clever
voung lady, The direct and near way
to Mr. Watkyn’s home would lead nim
past the willow walk. She had devised
this impromptu note to her dreasmaker
in the afternoon to prevent his taking
that usual route, Had he seen young
Vavasour cooling his heels within the
precincts of the willow walk he would
inevitably suspect he was waiting to
keep a lover’s tryst,
Alison was busy in the kitchen next
morning when she heard her mother
open the front door and some one come
in. *‘It is that chattering Mrs. Ben-
nett.” thought she, as she dried the
teaspoons,
“Alison, come here,
mother, in a quick voice,
She went to the parlor just as she
was—her sleeve turned back at the
wrist, a large, brown Holland apron
on. Very pretty she looked with it all,
But it was not Mrs. Bennett who sat
with her mother; it was a venerable,
white -haired old gentleman — Mr,
Watkyn, the elder,
“i am come to ask about Thomas,"
said he, *‘'I believe he came here last
night, Miss Alison; at what time did he
leave you?"
A prevision struck her with a sort of
terror that something was wrong. ‘“‘He
left quite early,’ she faltered.
“Well, he has never come home."’
“Not come home!” she said, with a
whitening face.
“1 sat up till 1 o'clock, and then I
thought the mist must have kept him;
that he had stayed at some friends
house, I knew not what to think, and
that he would be home the first thing
this morning. But we have not seen
him, and 1 cannot hear of him.”’
Mrs. Reece was impressed with the
frightened, guilty took that Alison
could not keep out of her countenance,
and began to feel uneasy. *‘Cannot
you tell what time it was when he left
you?’ he demanded, sternly,
“It was after dusk, It was just
after sunset—before the mist came on.
It must have been near 7 o'clock.”
“Which road did he take?" pursued
Mrs. Reece. And very reluctantly
Alison answered, for she foresaw it
would bring on further questioning:
“The long road~-round by the hill?”
“Round by the hill?” echoed Mr,
called her
Watkyn in alarmed surprise. *‘Why
did he take that way?"
Alison flushed and paled alternately;
her lips were trembling. The fear
creeping upon her was that he and
young Vavasour had met and quar-
reled. Perhaps fought and injured one
another fatally. In these dread mo-
ments of suspense the mind is apt to
conjure up far-fetched and unlikely
thoughts.
“I asked him to go around that
way,” she replied, in a timid tone. *‘I
wanted him to leave a note for me at
the dressmaker’s.
Old Mr, Watkyn sank into a chair,
putting his hands before his troubled
face. “I see it all.’ he breathed
faintly, “He must have fallen down
the Scar.’
Alison uttered a scream of horror.
**Deceived by the mist, he must have
walked too near the edge,” continued
the old man. ‘‘Heaven grant that it
may not be so. but I fear it. Was he
mad, to attempt to cross the plateau on
such a night?”
Catching up his hat,
wont out swiftly. Mrs,
her daughter's hands.
cold.
‘Alison, what passed be
and Thomas last night?"
“Don’t ask me, mother,
follow Mr. Watkyn., I
Oh, it cannot,
Mr. Watkyn
Reece grabbed
They were icy
tween you
Let
rest
be
me
cannot -
doors. cannot as he
fears??”
“Not one step until you tell me what
passed,” mother firmly,
said the
“There’s more in all this than meets
the eye.”
“He asked me to—give up talking to
“And you refused. Well?"
He told me I must choose
them,” continued
between
Alison, bursting into
tears. ‘Oh, mother, it was all my
folly, all my temper; he could not
that, and when he went
See
away he said
went for good.”
Mrs. drew
sternly.
* And what
giving him a note for the
I do not understand.
to write about.”
The girl had got her hands free and
flung them before her face to deaden
the sobs, But Mrs. Reece was a reso-
lute mother at times, and she extorted
the confession. Alison had improvised
note and sent Thomas around the
long way to deliver it, and so keep him
from passing by the willow walk.
“Oh, child, child!” mcaned the dis-
mayed woman. “If he indeed
fallen over the Scar it is you who have
given him his death,
And In taking
the two miles round between the cot
tage and the farm a high and perpen-
the Sear, h
he
Reece in her thin
HPs
She was thinking.
does it mean
dressmaker?
You had nothing
about your
the
has
rs
it proved to be go.
dicular precipice, called
passed. The tabl
leland, or
on the top was wide and a per-
safe road by
ad
to be
#
eau
daylight, since a
as fi
he pleased, but on
fectly
ot
Rill
traveler could ke ar from the
unproted
a dark
ep
ted edge as
ht
#3 1 3
nigat
or Ina thick fog it was
Thomas Watkvn
the edgy
most
must have
wittingly and fallen over it. There he
lay, on sharp rock, when the poor
father and others went to look for him,
his death-like face upturned toward the
blue sky.
“Speak to me, Thomas, speak to
mel” wailed Alison quite beside herself
with remorse and grief, as she knelt by
him, wringing her hands, *‘Oh,
Thomas, speak to me! I loved you all
the while.”
But Thomas neither spoke nor moved.
The voice that had nothing but tender
words was silent now; the heart she
had so grieved might never beat in sor.
row or joy again.
dangerous.
drawn near
ee Un
the
No person had seen or spoken with
him after quitting her the previous
night save the dressmaker, little in-
dustrious Miss Ford, She had an-
swered the knock herself, she related,
and he put the note into her hands,
saying, ‘*Miss Reece had asked him to
leave it in passing. What thick
mist it is that has come on,” he re-
marked to her in his pleasant, chatty
way. ‘Ave, it is indeed, sir,” she
answered, and shut her door as he
walked away.
For many weeks Alison Reece lay ill
with brain fever, hovering between life
and death. Some people said it was
the shock that made her ill and took
her senses away; others thought that
she must have loved the poor young
man to distraction; no one, save her
mother, knew it was the memory of her
last interview with him, and the schem-
ing to send him on the route that led to
his accident, that had well nigh killed
her. But the young arestrong in their
tenacity of life. And she grew better
by slow degrees.
One warm April afternoon, when the
winter months had given place to
spring, Alison, leaning on the arm of
her mother, went to sit on the porch,
She was very feeble yet. It was the
first she had sat there since that mem-
orable evening with her ill-fated lover,
There she remained thinking and
dreaming. They could not persuade
her to come in, and so wrapped her mn
a warm shawl,
Sunset came on, and was almost as
beautiful, curious, perhaps, that it
should be so, as the one he and she had
watched together more than six months
before. The brilliant beams shone like
molten gold in the glowing west, the
a
blue sky ar>und was flecked with pink
and amethyst, Alison's eyes were
fixed on the lovely scene with an en
raptured gaze, her lips slightly parting
with emotions,
“Alison, what are you thinking of?”
“Of him, mother, Of his happiness. |
He is living in all that glorious beauty. |
I think there must have been an un-
conscious prevision in his mind by
what he said that evening as we
watched 1, that he should soon be
there. Oh, mother, I wish I was going
to him! I wish I ‘could be with him
to-morrow,
The mother paused; she felt inclined
to say something, but she feared the
agitation it might cause,
“Well, well, child, you are getting
better,” she presently answered.
Yes, I do get better,” sighed the
girl.
I should.”
“Time smoorhes all things, Alsou.
In time you will be strong again and
able to fulfil life's various duties with
a Trials oli 80 very
good! for the
with them we
way to heaven,”
Alison did no! Hes
hands were clasped in silent
her face was lifted to the glorie
HOO, i-
But for
never
Zest, are
soul, meeting
might learn the
answer, fechle
prayer,
s of the
eveuing sky
It was at the
evening or two ater
same sunset hon an
that Alison,
4 §
it,
was picking up strength daily, str
the She wanted
away to churchyard,
gave in thal
the Watkvns |
a newly-made
corner whe ris
to look {01
$0 many of
lay buried.
She could not see it; the
that were there 1
: there was no fi
ps they opened the
Alison,
down on a bench just inside
for
again
The
without
1, which seemed ive red ligh: to
FTAVE- |
i Slave
wall
stones wore
there now sh
“Perha
for
Ole.
yw 14 |
old Salil §
she
the
him,"' thought as sat |
Sie,
weak to walk back |
she was too
without a rest.
MI Was down to-nght |
any lovelis ust as a crimson
light up redly |
ing man vho
up to the gate by the
'k. He halted when he
turned
manner of emotions as
was coming telp |
reached |
nt with |
at
Kk and fai
Sid
all she gazed
him, fright being uppermost
“Alison!” |
“Thomas!"’ |
He beld out hi hie in- |
side; his pale, sad face wore for herits
% hand; came
old sweet expression. i
“Oh, Thomas, I thought you were |
dead, "she ds,
k for your grave.
q
I bad Killed vou
11
i.
burst out in a storm of
100
“1 came here
thought
to
{
i
| the more
future lives,
wether, my dear.”
“Do you mean it still?" she
“oh,
are,
must pass t
gasped |
Thomas, how Boos
MF 1 r be
worthy of you."
They walked home
arm. Neither could
Mrs. Reece came
them. God is
thought.
“1 did not tell her, Thomas,"
said; ‘‘she was so dreadfully low
she came out of tha fever.
tell her to-night.”
“I have told her myself; it was best
' answered Thomas Watkvn,
and true you |
can onl a little bil}
slowly,
walk
arm un
full of mercy, she
she
when
I meant to
80,
IES
Camphor,
Camphor is made in Japan in this
way: After a tree is felled to the
earth it is cut up into chips, which are
laid in a tub on a large iron pot partial-
ly filled with water and placed over a
slow fire. Through holes in the bot-
tom of the tub steam slowly rises and, |
heating the chips, generates oil and
camphor. Of course the tub with the
chips has a closely fitting cover. From
this cover a bamboo pipe leads to a!
succession of other tubes with bamboo
connections, and the last of these tubes
is divided into two compartments, one
above the other, the dividing floor
being perforated with small holes to
allow the water and oil to pass to the
Jower compartment. The npper com-
partment is supplied with a straw layer
which catches and holds the camphor
in crystal in deposit as it passes to the
cooling process. The camphor is then
separated from the straw, packed in
wooden tubs, and is ready for the mar
ket. The oil is used by the natives for
illuminating and other purposes
‘How did you like my discourse this
morning?” asked Parson Gcodenough
of Deteon the” walked the village
grooer, home from
chureh last Sanday moraing “Too
long, brothas, too 0 Jouge | Topiied
frank ave
the
deacon;
everything pr Yes iy on
that in your weights, deacon,” said the
sarcastic parson.
The best method of disposing of half
One of Paul Jones Exploits,
One of the most stirring chapters in
the history of the navy of the Ameri-
can Revolution is that which tells the
story of the four-weeks’ cruise of John
| Paul Jones with the frigate Ranger, in
| the Irish channel, in the spring of 1778.
The Ranger was an 18-gun sloop, crank,
islow, and of such poor repute that she
was not thought good enough for so able
4 commander, while her subordinate
[ offic ers seem to have been an indifferent
lot. She had a gallant Yankee crew,
however, and was so brilliantly handled
iby her dashing captain that for nearly
a month she alone spread consternation
along the English, Scottish and Irish
coasts, Jones's success was owing in
a great degree to his audacity, He
| ventures into the land-locked waters
jof his enemy, fought, as Cooper savs,
with a halter around his neck, hesitated
at no enterprise however rash, and
never shirked an engagement. He
captured the Drake sloop of war, after
a short fight on equal terms, and hav-
ing made other prizes, and done
variety of mischief at Whitehaven and
elsewhere sailed safely away by the
{ North chaanel, It said that the
| Rang was the first man-of-war to
| show ie stars , the present
national en
“4
| he
is
£1
tl and strip .
on "the very day that Jones
is no of this
which has been more
Perhaps there exploit
fAImous cruise
han the descent
'
tiie
~ell
kirk, i St Mary's Isle,
de of Solway
on ti
This
father, Jol
HE Ld
firth
Oe his
ng been fardenes oa the
ghboring estate of Mr, Ci of Arbi-
The ition
alk,
dow © x ped
sirk,
elk
or of
¥
i
his
affecti !
ne the
pr
h. Jones
Lord
that a
useful in
American
being
prison rank
Loe
nent of
treat-
the
went
but
absent he
iSOLers in
the DBritis
with a sing!
that the
about to retire
After
he allowed them to go to the house and
Two jun
Lady Se
In d
of
¢ boal's crew,
3
FT Was
was when his men
remonstra’ ed, some discussion
ior officers were
ith ikirk received the
with ein
, and
£100 worth of plate
ch the party withdr Ww with mt
ther harm, A fey
Jones wrote the following letter
upon whi
| doing an y fur w days
later
JOIN PAUL JONES HE Cot
SELRKIEK.
“Raxcenr,” Brest, 8th May,
Madam: It cannot be much
lamented that, in the profession of
arms, the officer of ng and of
sensibili &} wer the
setion of
mmand which his
it the reflection
nds himself
untenance
TO Tq
£1)
17578,
LOO
» feel
be
person
i% Go
bliged, in
private charact
iin the happy inst
the horrors
when the brave
wd made prisoners of war.
It was perhaps forvuvale for you,
madam, that he was from home, for it
was my intention to have taken h im on
iboard of the Ranger, and to have
detained him until, through his means,
a ge neral and fair exchange of prison-
ers, as well in Europe as in America,
had been effected.
When I was informed by some men
whom I met at landing that his lord.
ship was absent, I walked back to my
boat, determined to leave thie island,
| By the way, however, some officers
who were with me could not forbear
expressing their discontent; observing
that in America no delicacy was shown
by the English, who took away all
sorts of movable property, setting fire
not only to towns and to the houses of
the nch without distinction, but not
even sparing the wretched hamlets and
milch cows of the poor and helpless, at
the approach of an inclement winter,
That party had been with me the same
morning at Whitehaven; some com-
plaisance therefore was their due. 1
had but a moment to think how I might
gratify them and &t the same time do
vour ladyship the least injury, 1
charged the two officers to permit none
of the seamen to enter the house, or to
hurt anything about it; to treal you,
madam, with the utmost respect; to
accept of the plate which was offered
and to come away without making a
search or demanding anything else. 1
am induced to believe that I was punct-
ually obeyed, since I am informed that
the plate which they brought away is
far at of the quantity expressed in
the inventory wihich accompanied it. I
have gratified my men; and when the
plate is sold I shall become the
purchaser, and will gratify my own
feelings by restoring it to you by such
conveyance as you please to direct.
Had the earl mn on board the
Ranger the following evening he would
have seen the awful pomp and dreadful
carnage a sea engagement; both
affording ample subject for the pencil,
as well as melancholy reflection to the
contewplative mind, Humanity starts
back from such scenes of horror, and
cannot (sufficiently) execrate the vile
promoters of this detestable war
“For they, "twas they unsheathed the ruthiess
bi
And heaven shall agk the havoo it has made.”
The British ship-of-war Drake, mount
ed 20 guns, with more than her full
completement of officers and men. . . .
The P hips met, and the advantage was
disputed with great fortitude on each
side for an hour and four minutes,
when the gallant co
0 make
leviating
vity, are
the slanders of the age is to pay them
no attention. The other may be
lived down,
Drake
of the
av x. To aminbi Hou nan
killed and wounded. A melancholy
demonstration of this uncertainty of
human prospect and of the sad reverse
of fortune which an hour ean produce,
I buried them in a spacious grave with
the honors due to the memory of the
brave. Though I have drawn my
sword in the present generous struggle
for the right of men, yet I am: not in
arms as an American, nor am I in
pursuit of riches, My fortune is liberal
enough, having no wife or family, and
having lived long enough to know that
riches cannot ensure happiness. 1 pro-
fess myself a citizen ot the world,
totally unfettered by the little mean
distinctions of climate or of country
which diminish the b:mevolence of the
heart and set bounds to philan-
thropy. Before this war began I had
at an early time of life withdrawn from
the sea service, in favor of *‘calm con-
teraplation and poetic ease.’ I have
sacrificed not only my favorite scheme
of life, but the softer affections of the
heart and my prospects of domestic
happiness, and I am ready to sacrifice
my life also with cheerfulness, if that
forfeiture could restore peace and good-
will among mankind, As the feelings
of your gentle bosom cannot be con-
genial with mine, let me entreat
madam, to use your persuasive art with
your husbond’s to endeavor to stop this
cruel and destructive war, mm which
Britain never can succeed. lHeaven
Call ywuntenance the barbarous
and unmanly practice of the Dritons in
America, which savages would blush
{ at, and which, if notdiscontinued, w
be aliated on Bi
enraged people, Should you fall
| this {for [ am persuaded that you will
| attempt t, and who ©
| power 01 uch an advocate?
sleavors La 1 €x
priso: I
never co
SOO red
all resi
genera
ers wii i
will
ot
ff Selkirk regard m
enemy her Ie ris
am ambitious of
wd friendship, and wou
consist
Hi tt Hy duty 1
The hon
WiiLil
in answer to th
10 me rit
a line from your h
will lay me un
and if I can
in France or
my
iW Of
i.
sipgul lar o RON,
i you acceptable
| elsewhere,
characier s
without tl
wish to
my people;
them i
liberty, 1
much esteer
Madam,
To
of Selkirk,
any BEIVice
You See into
hope
far to command
je least grain of reserve |
bab or ul
t
know exact!
LL og
I deter
exceeded
honor
pnand with profound 1
yi .
urs, ele,
<3 1
Right
as me
y the
nine
they have
+
have the
. # ’
Honorable the Countess
Nt Nuys Isle, Scotland.
thie
wilt
The hase and res
the
a dus
Lord Seiki
promise
» plate was 1ait
acknowl
rk
0 pu
i ful lly performed, and
lgment was made by
_—
Po kens and
Wellington St.
Proceeding
Mors
and oll
a prety
iegant.,
PW Wii
was erst the first abode of
id Words, and here of
“harles Dickens, buss
ome to his con-
As the editor
the station
invariably turned sharp out
Strand, making for the retired
roads, through Maiden lane,
which so many men of letters fancy,
under the idea that back and tortuous
ways seem shorter than the long straight
He passed by punctually and
briskly along this favorite route, his
little black bag in his hand, New, All
the Year Round has itshome higher up,
at the corner of York street. The
mention of Maiden lane suggests the
name of and his oysters—a
famous place in that department. Rule
and his oysters have been known
many celebrated persons— Thackeray,
Dickens, ete, —his two monstrous shelis
in the window, Old *‘*Rule’s’’ was
putled down not long ago and rebuilt.
It used to be recorded to the credit of
“Rule’s’’ that when there was a famine
in oysters—or, rather when prices were
run up so extravagantly, which is a
different thing—Rule never varied.
Not many streets away I once saw a
crowd about an oyster shop, while a
“gentleman” within—so he was styled
—was eating oysters for a wager; it 1s
to be presumed ‘‘against time,” as
several were busy attending to his
wants, opening as fast as they could.
The performer merely gulved or
swallowed each native. There was a
pride about him as he went through his
work before the public, his friends and
backers encouraging him, but to un-
interested persons he presented the beau
ideal of the beast, and the bivalves he
was consuming seemed to deserve more
respect. This recalls “‘Dando’ and
his oyster exploits.
heery welc
{ £3 roasinl
gifted, genial
Charing Cross
tributors.
came from
he almost
of the
back
road,
it ul ot
to
A raw weeks ago aud the pitcher of
a base ball elub couldn't walk down the
the street without having « brass band
find 8 Sew od Guatiing <5 his anto-
ter or an
And now he gets jostled on
trample on his
A National Forest Reserve.
( President Arthur recently ealled the
attention of Congress to the necessity
of saving our forests from destruction,
In his late message hie is more specific
than in his first, and recommends that
a certain portion of the national domain
which he names, be reserved from
and held forever in permanent forest
for the definite purpose of preserving
the equable flow of the streams which
there take their rise, Thisregion dig
north of Flathead Laks contains no set
tiers, and is practically unknown It
has never been surveyed and rarely trav.
ersed by white men. It is
broken beyond any poss
subdued to agricaitural
or silver is there to tempt th
It is on no natural line of com
No rig of farmer
will be interfered with if it
storage
sale
and
Tugee a}
ibility of boing
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The Catawbas,
mts
had « ibid
an
lent
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does it ih the Eng
178 ed wi
hat they were
called
was the
man in finding fault with
hospitality. Were
on the Englishman in London, as
the latter to offer him a pint of cham-
pagoe, would he like it if the American
were to go heme and complain of the
small size of the champagne? Ob-
viously he would not. Evidently the
Englishman wishes to convey the im-
pression that “‘in former times’ —mean-
ing. of course, the Presidency of Mr.
Hayes—the Catawbas at the White
House were larger than they are at pres-
ent. They were then *‘ noted for thei
ferocity,” remarks the writer. Are we
then to believe that Mr. Haves ever
offered any man Catawba in any form?
The idea is simply preposterous, hat
good man never, while in his senses,
offered Catawba or anvthing else to
anybody, and his friends ought instantly
to deny the Englishman’s insinuation
that Mr. Hayes was so far forgetful of
his duty to himself as to pander to an
Englishman’s depraved appetite for any-
thing stronger than water.
Dancers, Deoware.
The whirling waltz is seductive and
the lanciers alluring. The exhilarating
break-down has its attractions and the
lively jig its volaries at this festive
season. Yet dancers must learn to
practice moderation. Otherwise the
ate of the Niantic man who danced so
fong and so hard that he broke his right
leg may overtake our society beaux and
belles before the ball season is over, In
cold weather the bones are more briftle,
and as the prospects of a hard winter
are excellent, the greatest care should
be exercised. To see one of our male
society beanpoles suddenly crack a leg
ja the midst of a german, or, more ter-
rite still, to see one of our young la-
dies suddenly need the skill of a bane
setter, would cast a gloom over the fos
tivities now fairly started that we do
not care to contemplate If the broken
nose of the base ball field and the dis.
located ankle of the skating season are
to be supplemented by the broken leg
of the hop season we may cease to won-
der why so many young doctors are
fact,
the President’s
an American to call
yd were
yearly set loose on the community.