•A. J. GERRITSON, Publisher. I TON Dimiaa's BLUNDER. BY BELLE ST. AIIBTN. "Come Bettie, and let's have d' drive. Vat pining for a change; and as for you, I have serious fears that you will fade quite away. Get your hat and mantle, my Kit, and we will have jolly time ! Run off, now, right away !" And lazy Torn for ; once roused himself, ,and clapped his hands with that gesture which is sometimes used to hasten the movements of others when we are ourselves iu a bur- ry. , But Bertie only looked up with a tiolefultiCe, and dropped her sewing re luctantly upon ber lap, to make a regret ful reply. " Tom, dear, I really can't. This work oust be finished, and if I spared the time for a drive I could not. do it." " Come, somebody else will finish it." " Who is there, pray ? You don't ex sect Jenny, the housemaid, to take bold of a piece of work like this, and there is no others of womankind in the house ! To morrow, manitna will be here, and our new house must look just as perfect as possible. I will try to bud' time to drive after tea, perhaps; but I can't go now any way possible." Little Mrs. Dunleigh here settled her self back to her work, *firmly, utterly re signing the tempting thoughts of a drive while the cover that was to enrich her so fa pillow remained unfinished. Torn signed heavily, and passing out into the hall, put his hat on; but he paused at the door and looked back, wistfully. '• Oh, psha w Berrie. Do come. What does a new cover sig,nity ? It will do just as well without for another day. and I want you ever so much, because I .:1311 not have another holiday in a long time perhaps. I don't know what to do with myself." Beaie looked up, roguishly. " Suppose you - read aloud from Dante's uferno for me. ~That would be charm ing. I could listen delightfully while pe wing." •' I hate Dante, and you know it ! Come; won't you be obliging !" " Can't, really. You had better go and god Harry Leon to play billiards; you ;611 enjoy that." Tom waited no longer, but went out. deliberately, walking quite as deliberate- I ly down the street, puffing at a cigar with commendable z-al. To tell the truth, he was vexed, fur he had set his heart upon , a drive wi;h his charming little wife, and the disappointment was a sore one. He (lid so love to have the little creature perched bes:de him behind the lovely L•rays h w.,s wont to drive when he went I nit. Sle always looked so bright and i happy. and everybody else looked so ad- very strong wants of his na tare were supplied. Tom loved his fairy" and he loved to have her praised beyond anything else. In deed, if the truth was told, Tom Dunliegh souk especial delight in havinr , anything that belonged to him admired. It was one of the peculiarities of his disposition; and those who sought the way to his great, generous heart could find it in no ea,ier way than by praising his various possessions. By the time he arrived at Leon's place `of business, he had partly dissipated his vexation,. burning it away with the cigar he smoked, and watching hi m a s i t , spread in soft clouds above him. Unfor tunately, however,,Mr.,Leon was not in, and Tom 'betook himself to the street again, feeling in anything but a happy mood. " I've half a mind to go off ono spree," said Tom to himself, in a half audible and very petulantlone. And then he smiled when he thought of how - horrified Bertie would be to see . him coming home "tip sy," and how she would reproach herself as the cause. To do bim justice, Tom bad no serious thought of -doing.. himself so gross an injury; and for au hour did nothing more harmful than to wander aimlessly about, hoping .to find some one to help him get rid of a troublesome of ternoon. Fi n ally be stopped on a cor ner near a large hotel, gazing idly at the passers as they filed along each bent on their own business cir pleasure—none with more than a word, a nod, or asmilei for him. 1 " rtl3 just like tha idle_ boy who could I find no one to play with him," nautterek Tom once more to himself." "And I sup- i Pose it willsend in my getting hitosotne mischief or other.- I, hope there will be no more holidays-soon, if this is-the way 'W to spend 'em; better have atten ded the funeral respected senior employer than fto -have pretended a bead. ache, and have . this aimless, drtatry time sea reward. ..I.feel like gob= .to.a funer, si Wish it yam% too . But just at- this :moment Tom's eyes fell upon a littlefigure , gliding away rap. idly along oil the- .opposite , :side of the I Street, where it soon turned the cornend The ace was - concealed by -the wail; Sint there was no'such. thing:llB nirstaking -at figure like. Bertie's light, airy, and grace ful. Front her helot' to the; tip-+ rher dainty boot,. his ,- Wrife ;was.the' rperfection of delicate loveliness, and - all P—Could not boast another her. - : Bat he was astonished tO see - het' int %bill meet after her refusal to 'drivel - end a tti mood was not made any better by the sight. Crossing the street - quickly, he follo w ed after, intending to overtake her; but her little glancing feet were far too quick for his clumsier tread. Sbe led him a charming chase for three squares, then he just caught a sight of her, as a tall, slender gentleman, faultlessly attired, stepped to her side and took her hand in greeting. The next moment, both bad entered the ears; and before be had real ized it, had gone. For one moment after reaching the cor ner, Tom gazed after the distant car in bewilderment. The cool, sluggish blood, so hard to rouse usually, was mounting hotly now. Au incident of less import might have set it going in his present frame of mind; and this had maddened him. Once thoroughly angered, Tom Dunleigh was a terrible man to deal with, and it would have fared ill with the hand some stranger had he been at that mo ment within reach. As it was, he star ted MY in a steady, rapid walk, bent on tracing her to her destination. He would find out who it was that she preferred to her own husband, and take dire ven geance upon him. Surely he had reason for the maddening jealousy that had ta ken possession oPhim. The meeting he had witnessed bore mystery upon the thee of iy even bad be not known that such a man, his name or station, had nev er at any time been mentioned to him as having the honor of his wife's acquain tance. A less passionate man might have felt as Tom did at this moment. But as we have said, though Mr. Dunliegh was one of the best and generous of mortals, taking all things ordinarily with iiiimica tile sangfroid, when once roused, he was terrible, and one might be forgiven for trembling in the presence of his wrath. Tom had walked about six sq•iares ere he was near enough to see that he had in view the same c-ir he was following. One or two delays at the corners, waiting for passengers, favored him greatly, so that it was not a square distance when the pair descended and mounted the steps of an eleaant house on the left. He quick ened his pace almost to a run at the sight of them; hat ere he could gain the house, the door had clogod upon tuew, shutting him out. Poor Tom's fury was boundless. He was tempted to rush up the steps and de mand that she should go with him in stantly. But a moment's thought re strained him. I may get her, but he will escape me," he muttered through his set teeth. " I wi.l wait and make sure of him when he comes out." Saying which, with por tentous coolness, Tom crossed the street, and took up his position in a drug store, where he could see the houses. He only asked permission to sit down for a while, giving no reason, and set there stolidly indifferent to the man's wonder at the strange proceeding. Keeping his gaze fixed the door, be remained for a full hour, then seeing no signs of returning, his patience was exhausted, and he went out abruptly. In that hour the thoughts and feelings that had passed through his unhappy brain were of a fearful nature's Out of the whirlwind of passion, one de liberate purpose had resolved itself. And now as the cool air fell upon his hot face, he tossed the thick, damp masses of brown hair back from his forehead, and turned his steps homeward. Arriving there, he turned into the lit ! tie library, and wrote rapidly for several minutes. The letter he carried into Ber ' tie's chamber, and left upon her toilet ta ble. It was a cruel, bitter letter ; but--' he meant that she should never know peace again, after having read it once. Deceit like_bers was deserving of dread ful punishment. It was a hard thing to go away and . leave his new home. He had toiled very • hard for it, and had anticipated so much happiness in-the possession. And here it must all end ! Tom thought everything that, made Ile worth the keeping must ; be left behind, and he became a wander er on• the face ,of the earth, a vagabond, perhaps, he said, bitterly. ,But what w ; ouldit matter now ? Standing in Bertie's room, with the del idate perfumes she loved stealing around him, poor Tom's agony was increased. One :of her tiny slippers lay upon,a - stool ; where. she bad left, it, and he snatched it ; up, kissing.it passionately, while a bitter ; groan - burst through his lips. " Ole Bertie,- Bettie ! How I have loved your -And theit-be put the little thing in his' pocket, the only memento he would car. ry away with bun. He would take one long look.' through the house, then he, Would go and lie in 'wait fin; that 'llan until he could punish him, after which he would -fly the country, and 'see her no xiiora forever. - A deadly - light gleamed -from honest 'A:W.B Wog eyes, as he took. a, .revolver frlam,its . ,e' wood _placed it . in; aninside Pocket, ,But. teal* were. on his .ebeektV. when be turned from Bertie's., room. for the - last ideas a bard and , bitter. 014.14tdoilsilat lay before him:- - .Twilight bad fallen by. this time, and: be pesTed.Vistiblly into eacbc: dim -.mord making bis way tci.l;lerties: boadoit fora last qoolc, !at -gib , ' spot she MONTROSE, PA., TUESDAY, OCT. 16, 1866. ! loved best. But the house was so still, his own steps sounded harsh to him in spite of the sott carpets. Turning the handle of the door, he stepped in aalight ly as he could , but he stood for half a min ute ere his eyes became sufficiently accus tomed to the darkness to enable him to distinguish objects. When they did grow used to it, he saw something that drove the hot blood back to his heart, and made, him feel faint. There in one corner, resting upon a lounge, and dressed in a white wrapper, lay Bertie fast, asleep! Her rich hair was scattered over the pillow, and a warm flash on her delicate cheeks, which made her look inexpressibly lovely. Her regu lar breathing betrayed a deep and dream less sleep. Evidently she had been there for some time, for the enrtains had been dropped to subdue the light. Filled with remorseful shame for the actions of the past two hours, poor Tom slipped out of the room, and quickly re turned the revolver to its case. Then he burnt the letter he had written, and bay ing destroyed all traces of his anger, re turned to Bertie, who woke to find her husband holding her in his arms, and cov ering her face with kisses. " Oh, Tom, how you frightened me ! I got so tired I had to lie down, but the cover is finished, and Tom so pleased. Did you have a nice game, dear?" " Very nice," answered Tom, aloud, but mentally added : A very nice time in making a fool of myself." " Why did you not bring Harry home to tea with you ?" "Couldn't come," answered the duti ful fellow witb some hesitation ; then he hastened to cover it by saying that it seemed quite as we!l, for he saw no signs of such a meal. Bertie laughed. "That's all you know about, my man agement ! A match touched to the din ing-room chandeliers will show you the table in perfect readiness, and in less than two minutes tea can be served. I am sav ing gas by waiting, you see. I mean to be a very economical little housekeeper until you are wholly out, of debt, so ma ny little things have to be paid for. And I'll tell you, dear Ton; one reasot why I did not yield to your wishes for a drive, was because I thought we ought to dis 11"ZtettlevihAigh be c 4 i ViAMP I RW - nAf t vis deny ourselves a few simple pleasures." Tom's arms closed very tenderly round the little figure now, but the blood came in a hotter flush to his brow. He was trembling, so as to make detection inevit able, bad not the little hands, wandering restlessly to his pockets, found something which brought a quick exclamation and rin,ging laugh to Bertie's lips. Then he, too, began to laugh ; and after some teas , iug, told her the whole story through, amid sea earns of laughter, ending with an earnest prayer to be forgiven for his blunder. 12=ME=1 Civilization Weakens as well as Strengthens. Society never advances ; it recedes on one side as it gains on the other. It un dergoes considerable changes ; it is bar barous, it is christianized, it is rich, it is scientific, but this change is not ameliora ted. For everything that is given, some thing is taken. Society acquires new arts and loses old instincts. What a contrast between the well-clad, reading, writing, thinking American,with a watch, a pencil and a bill of exchange in his pocket, and the naked New Zealand er, whose property is a club, a spear, a mat, and an undivided twentieth of a shed to sleep tinder! But compare the health of the two men, and you will see the white man has lostlhis aboriginal strength. If the traveler tells us truly, strike the savage with a broad axe, in a day or two the flesh will unite and heal as if you had struck the blow into soft pitch, and the same blow would send the white man to his grave. The civilized man has built a coach,but has lost the use of his feet. He is sup ported on crutches, but lacks the support of muscle. He has a fine Waltham watch, but he fails of the skill to tell the hour by the sun. A Greenwich nautical almanac he has, but being sure of the information when he wants it, the -man in the street does not know a star in the sky.. The solstice he does not observe ; the quill lox he knows as little, and the whole bright calender of the year is without a dial in his mind. His note books impair his memory ; his libraries overload his wit; the insurance office increases the number of accidents ; and it way be a question whether machinery does not en cumber; whether we have not lost by re fmement some energy, by a christianity I entrenched in forms and establishments some vigor of wild virtue. far Never place so much confidenc e , in your minister as to sleep during t he sermon. rer,`; Look otie, lest b 5% endoising_ the charodei of others you.. Jose your.own, , epo -cares like. Sulphur wares front VestivittS, therefore it is good fOr eruptions. 4( 1 1: 1 A00*1:lloillJt):i0)4 It is matter of amusement, to an unin terested spectator like myself, to observe the influence fashion has on the dress and deportment of its votaries, and how very quick they fly from ono extreme to the other. A few years since . the rage was very high crowned hats, with very narrow bnms, tight neckcloth, tight coat, tight jacket, tight small clothes, and shoes loaded with enormous silver buckles; the hair craped, plaited, queued and powder ed—in short, an air of the ,greatest spruce ness and tightness diffused e over the whole person. The ladies, with their tresses neatly turned up over an immense cushion ; waist a yard long, braced up with stays into the smallest compass, and encircled by an enormous hoop ; so the fashionable belle resembled a walking bottle. Thus dressed, ivas seen, with the most bewitching languor, reclining on the arm of an extremely attentive bean, who, with a long cane, decorated with an enormous tassel, was carefully employed in remov ing every stone, stick, or straw that might impede the progress of his totter , ing companion, whose high-heeled shoes i just brought the points of her toes to the ground. What an alteration has a few years pro duced ! We now behold our gentlemen, with the most studious carelessness and ; almost slovenliness of dress • large hat, large coat, large neckcloth, large panta loons, large boots, and hair scratched into every careless direction, lounging along the streets in the most apparent listless , nese and vacuity of thought ; staring with an unmeaning countenance, at every pas ; senger, or leaning upon the arm of some kind fair one for support, with the other hand crammed into his breeches' pocket. Such is the picture of a modern bean—in his dress stuffing himself up to the dimen sions of a Hercules ; in his manners af ; fecting the helplessness of an invalid. I The belle who has to undergo the fa tigue of dragging along this sluggish ani ' mal has chosen a character the very re verse—emulating in her dress and actions all the airy lightness of a sylph, she trips along Jvith the greatest vivacity. Her j ktiyhhigt eye, her countenance enlivened with kindred aniinatian'ev L ity — ltetailailr, except the torpid being by her side, who is either affecting the fashionable sang froid, or is wrapt up in profound contem plation of himself. HOW THE OLDSTYLES GOT MARRIED There is nothing that seems more strange and preposterous to me than the manner in which modern marriages are condncted. The parties keep the matter as secret as if there was something dis graceful in the connection. The lady posi tively denies that anything of the kind is to happen ; will laugh at her intended husband, and even lay bets against the event, the very day before it is to take place. They sneak into matrimony as quietly as possible, and seem to pride themselves on the cunning and ingenuity they have displayed in their manmuvres. How different is this from the manners of former times ! I recollect when my aunt Barbara was addressed by Squire Stylish ; nothing was heard of during the whole courtship but consultations and ne gotiations between her friends and rela• tives ; the matter was considered and re considered, and, at length, the time set for a final answer. Never shall I foret the awful solemnity of the scene. the whole family of the Oldstyles assembled in awful conclave; my Aunt Barbara dressed out as fine as hands could make her—high cushion, enormous cap, long waist, prodigious hoop, ruffles that reach ed to the end of her fingers, and a gown of flame colored brocade, figured with poppies, roses and sunflowers. Never did she look so sublimely handsome. The squire entered the room, with a counten ance suited to the solemnity of the occas ion. He was arrayed in a full snit of scar let velvet, his coat decorated with a pro fusion of large silk buttons,and the skirts stiffened with a yard or two of buckram ; a long, pig-tailed wig, well powdered, adorned his head ; and stockings of deep blue silk, rolled over the knees, graced his extremities ; the flaps of his vest reached to his knee-buckles, and the ends of his cravat, tied with the most precise neatness, twisted through every button hole. • Thus accoutred, he gravely walked in to the room, with his ivory-headed ebony cane in one hand, and gently swaying his three-cornered beaver with the other.— The gallant and fashionable appearance of the squire, the gracefulness_ and dignity of his deportment, occasioned a general smile of complacency through the room ; my Aunt Barbara modestly veiled her countenance with her fan,but I observed her:contemplating her admirer with gaeat satisfaction through the sticks. The business was opened with the most formal solemnity, but , was not long in ag itation.' The, Oldstyles were moderate; their articles of capitulation few; the. Equire was 01=4 aed ateeded to them aff. ' sbort,ihe blushing Barbara was delivered up to his embraces with due ceremony. - • - Then were the happy times. Such oceans of arrack—such mountains of plum cake—such feasting and congratulating ; such fiddling and dancing—ah me 1 who can think of those days, and not Oglt when be sees the degeneracy of the pres ent; no eating of cake nor_throwing of stockings—not a skin fulled with wine on the joyful occasion—nor a single pocket edified by it but the parson's. It is with the greatest pain I saw those customs dying away, which served to awaken the hospitality of my ancient comrades—that strewed with flowers the path to the altar, and shed a ray of sun light on the commencement of the matri monial union. Whakis " One Horse Power 1" The use of the term " horse power" is 'very common ; yet few, except good me ebonies and engineers, attach a definite meaning to it, but regard it as indicating, loosely, about the power which one horse would draw. It is, however, when used in the sense under consideration, as definite as possible, and means the power required to lift 33,000 pounds avoirdupois one foot high in one minute. A horse hitched to the end of a rope over a pully one foot in diameter placed over a deep well, traveling at the rate of about 2i miles per hour, or 220 feet per minute, will draw up 150 pounds the same distance he travels. The force thus exerted is called, in mechanics, a " horse' power," it being an approximation to the average amount of continuous power it is fair to demand of a strong horse. If we multiply the weight raised (150 pounds) by the number of feet it was moved per minute, (220,) the product will be thb number of pounds which the same power would raise one foot high in the same length of time (33,000 pounds.) The dynamometer is an instrument made for measuring power, particularly that exerted in drawing. Those used for testing the draft of agricultural imple ments are simply very strong spring bal ances, or spring steelyards, graduated to indicate the power required to raise any weight, within reasonable limit, at the rate of 2i miles per hour. When we ap ply the dynamometer, in ascertaining the draught of machines, if the index indi cates one hundred and fifty pounds, it is shown that the horse is required to draw inas.arthar.d.as he„vould do if raising 01:14) with a rope over a pulley one foot in di lameter at the rate of 2-1 miles per hour, and so for other weights. The velocity at which a. team moves is to be considered, as well as the weight to be raised, or the load to be drawn. If a horse travels faster than two and a half miles per hour, while raising one hundred and fifty pounds out of a well, he exerts more than one horse power. If be walks slower than this, he does not exert a force equal to one horse power. In ascertaining the draught of a plow, or reaper and mower, by drawing faster than two and a half miles per hour, the dynamometer would indicate more than the correct draught; and by driving slow er, the draught would appear to be less than it really is. In testing the draught of machines a team should always move at the rate of two and a half miles per hour, or two hundred and twenty feet per minute, which is the universally ac cepted rate with reference to which dy namometers are graduated, and an easy one to which to approximate in driving with almost any kind of team. Many people have supposed that 300 pounds—two horse power—represented the same force that a team would exert, when dragging 300 pounds along on the ground. A horse can haul 000 pounds on the bard ground with ease ; but he could not draw hard enough on the dy namometer to mark more than 250 of 300 pounds, except for a few minutes. The power of a man is estimateeat one fifth of a horse power.—. American Agricultu rist, Not Deep enough for Prayer. A good story is told of two raftsmen who were eaught in the late big blow on the Mississippi, by which so many crafts were swamped and so many steamboats lost their sky rigging. The raft was just emerging from Lake Pepin as the squall came. In an instant it was pitching and writhing as if suddenly dropped into Charybdis, while the waves broke over her with tremendous uproar, and expect ing instant destruction, one of the rafts men dropped on his knees and commenc ed praying with a vim equal . to the emer gency. Happening to open his eyes an instant, le observed his companion not engaged in prayer, but pushing a pole in the water at the side of the raft. " What's that yer doing, Mike ?" said he, "get down on yer knees now, for there isn't a minute between us and purgato tory !" I "Be airy, Pat," said the other, as . he cooll continued to punch with his pole "be a iry, now; what's the use of prayin' when a feller can tech bottom with a / pole ?" Alike is a pretty good specimen of a, large class of Christiana, who prefer-to: onntpreyera as . long xte they. can tech bottom." _ _ gar A peeiteetial tear in- valtte „mfr. passes the wealth of worlds; {VOLUME XXIII, N11M.13E11_42. Three Processes for Preserving Nast The perfect preservation of fresh meat in warn) countries offers such a remlnif.. ative field to the successful invento r, many methods have been proposed for itaf accomplishment. In an official .reportlaiar before Parliament on the preparation' of beef in South. America, for the English_ market, three methods, proposed by Prof., Morgan of the 'Royal College of Surgeons in Dublin, Baron Von Liebig, of Munich,, . and Mr. Sloper, of London, are to effect, this end. Mr. Morgan's process is based on faced infiltration, using the circulatory systerti of the body as a means of introducing in the tissues of the animal, by injection, a 3 preparation the constituents of which have not yet been wave public. The pro cess is simple and efficacious; by it an ox can be preserved in ten minutes, using from twelve to fourteen gallons of the flu. id. Liebig's process differs essentially from the former, for the meat, instead of being , preserved whole, is reduced to an essence , to be used in making soups. The concen tration is carried to such an extent that thirty-three pounds of meat are reduced to one pound of essence, and the alimen tary matter of an entire ox is containettin eight pounds of this preparation, making over one thousand basins of good, strong soup. The remaining process, patented by Messrs. McCall 4:t Sloper, professes to preserve meat in its fresh. or raw state, arriving in market in the eiact condition of butchers' meat just killed, but with an' additional advantage of keeping twice as long as ordinary meat, after being exposed to the air. The curing process is based on the extraction of oxygen from the ves sel in which the meat is packed. Tin cans are used in putting up the meat, in which a vacuum is formed to be filled by a cer tain gas, the composition of which is kept a profound secret. The only difficulty ot this process, in some respects superior to either of the preceding, is, that the small est opening in the tin case proves de structive to its contents, by allowing the I gas to escape and the air to get in. During the war a good story used to , be told of a private in one of the Massa chusetts regiments—the 14th we think: good things, and one day told the tagn , private to go for some oysters ; also giv ing him"in the usual jocose way the com mand : " Don't come back without them." Off went the man, and no more as seen of him for several days, and the in dignant and disappointed Captain report ed him as a deserter, and gave him np 88 a lost child. But 1;), after the lapse of nine days, the Captain beheld his report ed deserter, Bailey, coming into camp, leading a train of four wagons loaded with oysters. Approaching and respectfully saluting the amazed Captain, Bailey. re ported : " Here are your oysters, Captain ; could not find any in Alexandria, so chartered a schooner and made a voyage to Fortress Monroe and Norfolk for them. There's about two hundred bushels ; where do you want them." Bailey, it seems, really did make 'the trip, hired his men, and sold enough Oys ters in Georgetown, before reporting,: to, pay all expenses and leave bim a profit, of $l6O. Two hundred bushels were divided' among the regiment, and Bailey returned to duty as if nothing bad tranvirede+, N. Y. Citizen. Moral Courage in Everyday Life. Have the courage to discharge a debt while you have the money in your pock et. Have the courage to do without that which you not need, however much your, eyes may covet, it. Have the courage to speak your -mind when it necessary . to do so, and to hold your tongue when it is prudent you 'lout& do so. Have the courage to speak to a friend in a "seedy" coat, even though you are-; in company with a rich one, and richly.at tired. Have the courage to make a willund* just one. - Have the courage to tell a matt why you will not lend him your money. _ Have the courage to "out the _'moat,. agreeable acquaintance you have When m ' you are convinced that he lacks principle' A friend should bear with a friend's ill.- finnities, but not, with-his vices. Have the courageto show your respect for honesty in , whatever guise it appears;! . and your contempt for dishonest ptibli4-1 ty, by whomsoever exhihit4. " Have ' the courage to 'Wear your 'ald clothes until you can pay for new ones: Have the couragn-to oheryour'Makeii: at, the risk ofbeiugridicaled luau... Have the courage toprefercomfortmi„ propriety to fashion in all thing*, Have the courage telOaiotviedie ignorance . iith - er than . knowledge Pildijrl4lPretensOff;: .: ' - Rave- the obiliag9l.q ffrok l 4o' pleat for year friends tpthin y'oer maple' not beyond. An Obedient Private.
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