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BY • 'HAVILAY ' 84 .- C. RVS E Ft'.
FAREWELL TO LOVE.
gars.well to love's last golden dream,
The sweetest that my life has ever .
known! •
Farewell to Hope, Whtise radient beam
Made bright a. path eo dark and lone i
'Twits sweet to hope that thou would'st
Prize
The undivided' love I gave;- •
That hope in dark, death ruin lies, '
And Loveltinst elitly grave.. I
•,
'Twas sweet e'en lor a day to-feel
That thOu were allot earth to me, '
ivoixiates pr,ideoouid nptitonceal
My heart's devotedness to thee.-
'Twits sweet to think an arm like thine, T
As man tan shield,W.Ould shleld'my form,
Protect me when thesunlvohld shine,
pi'is the thickly 'gtithering` starlit.'
'Twits sweet tObOtie that' I` might Stand,'
eto strong in' Love; by thee when th/
Would'ashed.a tear, loving hand
To swoOth thy'T pillow, tan thy brow.
'Thas sweet to dream, e'en foe a day',
Together we 'night ,tread Life's 'road,
Walk hand "in hand the upward way,
And help each 'Gther on'to God.
. .
In. rain 'heath Heaven's vault of blue,
I built for Earth and Time once more
The Father saw ;—Ah, weill lie knew
My heart's Idolatry before.
Yet thou perchance: may's ' t live to see
A day when thou 'would'st glacay hold
The.wealth long treasured, offered thee,
'Bove honor, tame, or glittering gold.
The dream is past ! beneath a yoke
I shunned before, I bow again;
And bless the Hand which . dealt a stroke
That gave my-heart the keenest pain:
The dream is past—"l might have been;"
When earth looks dark 'tis bright above,
The pain is past,—all calm, serene,
bul a last Farewell to Love I--
THE BETTER WAY.
One evening, arthe twilight was dusk
ing into deeper shades, Farmer Welton
stood in his dooryaid with a gun in his
hands, and, saw a , dog coming out from
his shed. It was not hie dog, for his was
of a light color, while this was a surly
black.
The shed alluded to was open in front,
with double doors, . for the -passage of
carts ; and this shed was part of 'a con
tinuous structure connecting the barn
with the house.. Around back of this
she'd was the sheep fold. '
There had been trouble upon Farmer
Welton's place. Dogs had been killing
his sheep—and some' of the 'very best at
that. He bad declared in his wrath that
he would shoot
,the first stray dog he
found prowling about the pretnises. On
this evening, by chance, he had been car
rying his gin, from the house to the barn,
when the canine intruder appeared.—
Aye, and in the barn he had been taking
the skin AVM a valuable sheep, which
iiii
h been Billed and mangled With tiger
ish erocity.
o when be saw the strange dog nom- .
ing through' his shed, : he brought the
gun to his shoulder, and,' ; with' quick,
sure aim, 4red. 'The dog gaps n leap and.
bowl, and having whisked around
.in a
circle two or three; tones, he . bounded
4* jp a tangent, yelping painfully and
was soon lost to sight. , .
"Hallo`! what's to pay now, Welton ?"
"Ah---is that you Frost ?"
`.!Yes. Ye been shootin' something,
haven't yer ?" , • '
---, "I've sbot-a' - dog, I think." ,
"Y
-e-s I. teed him scootin' <ff. It
was Braarett's, I reckon."
Before the' farmer could say any fur
therP : his , wife called him from the porch,
and he went in. • •
Very 4hortly afterward a boy and girl
eame'l3llC through the 'shed as ;the dog i
had eolith: nowt back of Welt9ef's farm
:distant half. a mile of so, Saw and
grist milli, with quite a little settlement
around 4t, and the people having occasion
to go on foot from that , section to the
farms on the hill could cut offs leng,dis
taut:* hycerossing Welton's lot. __lle boy .
and girl - were children 'of Mi. - Brackett.
When they reached 'heme they were
met by a. =scene, of dire confusion. -Old.
ptkio, th e : grand old Newfonndland dog
—the loviog and the loved—thetrne and
the faithful—bad come boine shot thro'
the litadottid was dying. The .chddren
threw themselves upon the Ahaggy 'mate
and Wept and Moaned in agony..
14.i.13rtuikett arrived_just- as the dog,
breathed his last. One-of the,blder boys
stood.hy with a lighted lantern, Jet it
had gr9wn quite - dark now,u.nd the farm
er saw 'what had , happened.
"Who did this.?" be asked, groaningly.,,
"John Welton did it," Said Toni -Free,
coming:up at,that moment. "He's been
basin' sheep r and I guess- he's got kind of
wrathy °'
"But my dog never killed a sheep—
never lie's been reared to care for
sheep. How came he down there ?"
"He went over to the mill with Sue
and me," said the to.
-boy, sobbing
as he spoke, - "and he- was running ahead'
of us toward .home. heard a; gun - just
before we got to' Mr. Welton's, but, oh !
I did. not think be could havi shot poor
Carlo. '
Kr.,Braokett was fairly hold° himself.
To fay be was angry. would not. express
it:: had loved tbat 9 , dote.- - ,it had been',
the chief 'pet' nt bie household tOr years.-
lie was not a man ; in the : habit Pint
profane language, but on the present oc
casion a fierce oath escaped him ; and in
that frame of mind—literally boiling
with hOt wrath and indignation—he
,star
ed for Welton's:
. _
John Welton and . Peter. Biackett had
been neighbors from -their earliest_ days,
andfAhey had 'been friends, too. Between
theltwo families there. bad been a bond `of
luve;and good will, apdltspirit of frater.
natAinduesS Hand regard and marked
thAr.intercuurso. Both the. farmers
we , hardworking- men, ‘ with Strong feel,
WO' and positive characteristic& They
be Tinged -to the same - religious society
ana sympathized in 'politics.' Ther had
warm discus,iiont, but newer, yet a direct
falling-out. Of the two Welton woe ‘ the
More intelleatual, and perhaps a little
more tinged with pride .thu was 1 his
neighbor. But they were both hearty
men, enjoying life ter the good it gave
them.
Mr.Welton entered his ; kitchen, and
stood the empty gun up behind • the
door.
..,•"•What's: the mattet,• .John
asked, as . she saw bis troubled face..
- "I'm afraid I've done a bad thing," he
replied, regrAfally. "I -fesr Lhave shot
Brackett's dog." .
"Oh; John 1" • .
"But I didn'cicnoW . whose dog it was.
I saw him coining - out. frorn..the ; ehed--4t
was too dark to see more than that it was
a dog. I only theught of the sheep I had
loit and rfired." • •
"I am sorry, John. Oh, how Mrs.
Brackett and the children will fed.' They
set everything by old Carlo. But you
Can explain it."
"Yes,l can, explain it."
Half an hour later Mr. Welton was go
ing to his barn with a lighted lantern in
'his hand. He was thinking of the re
cent unfortnnate occurrence, and was
sorely worried and perplexed. What
would his neighbor say . ? He' hoped there
might be no trouble. He reflecting tnus
'when Mr..Brackett appeared before him,
coming up quickly. and stopping with an
angry stamp of the foot.
Now, there may be a volume of electric
inflnence even in the stamp of the foot,
and there was such an influence in the
stamp which Brackett gave; and Welton
felt it, and braced himself against it;
There was, moreover, an atmosphere ex
haling from the presence of the irate man
-at once repellant and aggravating.
"John Welton, you have shot my dog I"
The words were hissed forth hotly.
"Yes;" said Welton, icily.
"How dare you do it ?"
- "I dare shoot any dog that comes
prowling about my buildings, especially .
`when have had my sheep killed by
L-them."
"But,my dot never troubled your sheep,
and you know it !"
"How Should I know it ?"
"You know that he , never did harm to
a sheep. It wasn't in his nature. It
was a mean cowardly act, an (an oath)
you shall suffer for it,"
"Brackett, you dory-'t know to whom
you are talking." -
"Oh We'll find out (another oath).
Don't put on , airs,, john- Welton.: Yon
ain't a Saint. I'll have satisfactioti if I
have 'to take it out yodr hide 1"
"Peter, you'd befier go home and cool
off. `Y'a 'are making yourielf ridicu
lous." , • • -
Now; really, this was the unkindest cut
of all. All the mad words' of Brackett
put together were not so hard as this
single sentence; and Jolla Welton put all
the bitter sarcasm in his command into
it. •
Brackett broke forth into a torrent of
invectives, and theti turned away.
Half an hour later John Welton ac
knowledged to himself tkat he had not:
exactly right. If he had, in the outset,in
answer to Brackett's first outburst, told
the simple truth—that he bad shot the
dog in Mistake ;that be , was :sorry, and
that he was'willing to do anything in his
power to; make amends---had he done
this his"neighbor would probably have
softened at once. But it:was too late. now.
the blow thad'been" struck; he had been
grossly insulted, and, he -.would not back
down.
Mr. Braekett was patio reflective, Ile
only;felt' his Wrath, and - 11 e, n urbed it to
keep it warm. That night isebitched his
horse to a job wagon, and • 'went to the
71111(ge for a 'barrel of Our. Raving
transacted his - store . - baiinees, he -nail
ed upon &than Pepper, a rawyfi, to whiim
he narrated - We facts of the shooting of
his dog. .
Pepper was a man anxious. for fees.
Be had no sympathy'or soul above that.
'You say. your dog. was in 6mpany
with two of .your children?"
- "Yee'
"And this passage over Mr. Welton's
land :and through his shed has been freely
yielded ,by him.as a right, of way.to his
neighbors ?"
."Yew sir, ever since.l' can remember."
` . "Then, my . dear'sir, Welton is' clearly
li a ble, you will come with me we will
step intii Dir.:,Gartield's and have a salt
commenced at once!? -. 3 - . 3
Mr. Garfield - Was the tustici?
tiiiihisOpen4 Oaf Friday elyeAing,
MONTROSE, PA., DEC. 6, 1876.
On Sattirday itfliad become noised abroad!.
in the larmipgdistrier. that there was not;.
only serious !trf..qible between the neigh
bors Welton and Brackett, but that they
- were going to.law abotwit.-
. on-. Sunday morning_John Weltiati told
his - Wife that he should not attend Onto)].
She 11 . 0 ucifieed to ask her husband Why
he ,would •ttot go out. :She - kaiew he was
unhappy, and, that he:could not bear 'to
meet his.old,neighbor in, the house ot, God
While thOltirk cloud was upon him. Nor
did she wish' to meet 'either - Mr:or. Mrs.
Brackett. - 'So they both stayed at. hoMe.
.i.Peteri. , Brackett • was: ?Bien more , miser
eble than .John Welton,- Ihough•perhaps
he did not know it. He 'held close
ceinpaiiiiiSmp . the very worst demon
niiiiiicauentibrace—the demon of wrath:
ftilivengeance—and in order to,Maiiitain
• himself at•the,straiii •.to...which.he htid set
his- feelings,_ he was obliged to nurse - the
monster. ! He did . not .attend church that
_day, 'nor did his wife. Two or three times
during the -calm, 'beadriful Sabbath, as
he glanced over toward his neighbor's
dwelling, be found;beginning to
wish that he - . had not gone. to see John
Welton in such a heat .of anger ; but he
put the wish -away, and nursed back his
wrath. • . • - •
On Monday toward. noon. the constable
came up from the village and read to
John Welton an imposing legal docu
ment. it was a AunitnOns issued by Wil
liam Garfield, Esq.,.a justice of the peace
and ouorutn,ordering the said John Wei
ton to appear before . him \ at,two o'clock
Wednegday, at his office,.then and there
to answer to the complaint of. Peter
Brackett, etc. The officer read the sum
mon, and left with the dorenda,nt a copy.
It was the first time John Welton had
ever been called upon to face the law.—
At first be was awe•stricken, and then he
was wroth. He told himself that he
would fight to the bitter end. AA now
he tried to nurse his 'wrath, and became
more unhappy than before.
On Tuesday evening Parson Surely
called Upon Mr. Welton. The good 'man
had heard of the trouble and was exceed
ingly exercised in spirit Both the ,men
were of his:look, and he loved and re
spected, them, He sat down alone with
Welton, and asked him what it' meant.
"Tell me calmly and candidly all about
it," he , said.
After a little reflection Mr. Welton
told the story. Ile krieW the old clergy
man for a true man and . a whole-hearted
friend, and he told everything just as he
understood it.
"And neighbor Brackett thinks, even
now, that you shot the dog, knowing
that it was his ?"
suppose so."
"If you had told him - the exact facts
in .thE. beginning. do you think he would
'have held his auger ?"
This wait a hard question for John
Welton but he answered it manfully.
"Truly,. parson, 1, think .he would?'
"Were you ever more 'unhappy in your
life than you have been since this trouble
came ?"
I think not."
"And, if possible; neighbor Btackett
is more unhappy than you."
"Do you think so ?"
"Yes. He is the most vengful and an- -,
gry."
brief - pause, and Mien the parson re
sumed : -
"Brother, Welton, with you are needed
hilt' few words. You are a stronger man
than' i giuther Brackett. . Do you' not be
lieve he has a good heart ?"
"Yea." • - a
- "I wish you could show him how true
and good your heart is."
'Parson !"
wish you could Show himiliat you
posseis true Christian Courage."'
"Parion, what'do you , mean ?"
"I• wish you had. the courage - to meet
and conquer him." ,
"Hbw, would you have me do it ?"
"First Conquer yourself. You me not
offended ?" ' - '
- „ "No., Go on."
And thereupon the good-old clergyman'
drew up his chair and laid his hand upon
his friend's arm and' told, him whit he
would have him do: He spoke earnestly,
and with tears in his eyea''
"Brother" Welton, have yoU the heart
and courage -to do this"
'The farmer arose' and, took . two .: or
three turns across the, floor, ,and finally
said
"I will do it."
*
On the following day, toward - the mid
dle of the forenoon, Peter Brackett stood
in the doorway with his head bent. ,He
was thinking whether ; .be should harness
his horae and be off 'before, dinner, or
whether he would wait, until. afternoon.
He could nut even put his mind to or
dinary chores.
"I wonder," he said to himself,,"how
the trial will come out . l I epose Wel-
WWII hire old Whiteman to take . his case.
Of course the officell be crowded. Tom
Frost east it's, noised ; everywhere, and
everybody'll, be there. - Plague take it I I
wish—" '
Etts meditations were interriptect by
approtithibg sOpou4 on lookiog up'be
f.f• ...I
beheld neighbor Wehot,:
"Good tuurtiltig, Peler." , • -
Branket gasped, • and finally answer
•
ed :
'Good morning," though - rather arasti
f
ly.
Welton went.,on,'frankly and pleasant-
-.. . .
"You willgoto the village today -?"
aliose • • • :
"I 'have . been summoned .14"Jtuitiee
Garfield to: be •there; also,bu t_reallyi Peter',
Iden't, want to go. .One -of us.. ,will-be
enoue,lf. ~,Garfield fis .a • fair : . one, =and
Oen .knoWa 11m-facts he wi11.d0.•,-Oat
is,, right. :Now. 'you: can -istate. tbem l as
well .as can, and :whatever: his Aicision
is I will ab.id.e.bv.it. ,
.Xou- cad -.tell him
that 1. shot your 7 dog, , and that.your dog
had done me,no harm,:'
"Do. you acknowledge that :.014.0ar10
never harmed-you—that he' never. troubled
your. sheep,.?"inquired °Brackett,-. with
startled surprise. !.
"It was not - his : nature' to. do Jiartii . to
anything., 1 am ..sure hewould...sootier
haVe saved one of my,, sheep' than have
killed • • " • ' • • •
"Then what did you shoot him for'?" -.
."That is what. Lain coming at,:Pet - er.
You. Will tell the :Justice that I had lost
several:of- my beat sheep—killed .by dogs
—that Thad just been , •'•taking the' don
from a fat, valuable wether that • had
been so killed and mangled:; that I was
on my way hominy house, withi my gun
in my hand, when 11- . saw a dog-come-out
froth my „shed. • 'My -.first. -thought was
that, he had come frOm my sheep: fold.
It was almostdark,; 'and I. could not see
plainlyc ;Tell, 'the Justice - that I had no
idea it was your dog.:: L never dreained
tbati had fired th:WCruel. shot ',at, old
Carlo until Toin tolcl;ttie.'' • ••' ; •
"How ?: You didn't know it, was•my
dog?" ,• : . • I -
"Teter, have yod. lhotight so hard-Of
me at to think that I , could knowingly
and willingly have"Aiarmect that . , graud .
.old.dog;? . I would sooner:have. shot one
of. my oxen." . . •
"But you didn't tell 'me so at first.—
Why didn't you ?"
"Beeadse you' came upon me so—so
suddenly " -7
• -
• ` . .`Oh pshaw !" cried Brackett,. With a
stamp of .his.foot. "Why don't you spit
it opt as it was'? Say I came down on
you so like a hermit that - you. hadn't a'
'charnce to think. • I was a blatited fo01,;--
that's what I was." • ; - . •
"And I was another, Peter; if 1 hadn't
been I:should have told You the truth at
once, instead of- - flaring up.' But we-will
understand- it now. ~ ..You 'can see the
justice—" • ,•
"Justice be hanged ! Juhn—hang it
all ! What's the use.? There! Let us
end if B°l'
From her window - Mrs. Brackett' had
seen thetwo men - come' together, and she
trembled for the result. By and 'by elle
saw her husband, as thougic flushed
and excited, put out his hand. Mercy!'
svas he going to strike his neighbor ? She
was ready to cry out with affright— , the
cry was almost upon het lips—when she
beheld a seena that forth rejoiding
instead. 'And this was what she saw
She saw these two strong men grasp
one another by the hand', and she-saw big
bright.tears rolling down their cheeks l and
she knew that the fearful storm was , pass
ed, and that' the warm sunshine of love
and tranquility•would come again. ' •
Her Own
_Living.
Tall and ilight, with - blue Wistful eyes,
lips red and ripe as a wood-berry, and a
complexion all carmine and white like-a
damask rose in . the . sanshiue. Erminia
Hall's was a face that an artist would
have fallen down; and worshipped. But
it is never as philosophers tell up, there
is a compensation in all - things. The
pocknianed girl that sat opposite to her
in church, was. a. millionaire's daughters
and this_ young thing with the' angel
face was on the Out-look- :fon an eligible
place as-governess. . --•
For Ermitna Hall vas penniless, and
it Wu necessary for her .to earn , her lire
lihoodin, some way or other,- and, the'
trade of .goveraelis was at , least genteel.'
"Keep . a day schboli" suggested. old
Mr.,PrinCe, who 'had been wont, to dine
every. Sunday with 'Judge Hall:.during
that: eminent': bankrupt's lifetilife, and to
consume a quantity -of lobster, salad,
phatapagne and boned itirkey,. which: was
simply appaling upon thoae festwe,oc
°Wong.
"Nobody would come to me," said
poor: Erminia, with tears in her eyes.
She had supposed, .inexperienced child
that she was, Mr. Prince would have been
ready with a twenty or fifty :dollar: bill in
this her necessity. •
"'Needlework," suggested Dir. Clay, who
had mysteriously .made 'money out of the
very speculation that had beggered;the
dead man.-
"I never learned to etw;7: faltned: Er.
rill oia: ' : _'•T could riot-,=earn' I =a- - -.7 bent that
Wat..":.. .:_,. .. i • ~.:-..,- ,-;:-......-..,.,:._:'-'::
, ! tiol n3' p 7 *gr vint,ed,. „Kr; ', , ylay,,. aThe
edatiatitin Ot...itOtnen - in, i,l4o:.oteiletit 'Oiy‘iii
Oiitrii4i - -Ois - 4, -- 4610 - oti*e'. - : tkidiotild:lie
.:,-i,,T,. - ,J - -, ,4 : ;:, : lf.;i' - ': i' !'1,.;..',.1-1,1•:j.-'i
- VOL' . .7-: -- 33.NP:'50
• • N. ,•. • • •
— "Do you suppOse," meekly. hazarded
E: midis; "that'l. could obtain.any copy !
Mg from your office'? • Madaßoiselle
Leferu used to say I wrote an , elegant
hand.' 'Here is a speyimen."
- "Up itiOkes black, long 'tails tn 'g's
and 4'B4—ltalian'. sehoul, 'eh:? ‘Pshaw I
Xour,wriong, may do for a young Judy's
albuni, but no' lawyer would look twice
at it. - But I dare say you'll scratch along
soutreauw. -. • • , •
Why,..there: are , ways enough.
Nobocly needs 0, starve, in ; tlinrcountry : .
1 dare say ir you keep on the 1°0%4
8 oniethittgwill turn "
'And - that was , - Willie- satiafaction that
Erminia got; . . •
• She went next to lief rich cousin Mrs.
Belton. 1
",1 am, Sorry yon came =this morning ;
Erininiit,"said that lady coldly. .•
"I am bttsy with my accounts." '
"I won't detain you an mistant,", said
Erminia,-with a sinkiag heart,
need something , to do very much."
Mrs. 13ellairs Belton shut her 1 . 0 to.,
geiher, Rs' if bei -mouth were' a new pta
eat portiron'aie,' and, penciled down her'
figures without looking up.
"And I thought," ,went on Erminia;
her heart railing her more and more. "I
' could peinaps teach your little children,_
I '.would work for very little, and—"
"Quite out of the question," said Mrs.'
Bellairs Bektoo: "I have just engaged
Swiss bonne, who will give them , the regu
lar accent:'
And Eirninia turned away, feeling al
most desperate: Lunch was nOw
process` --she
,perceives the fragrance 'of
the chocolate,atd sees the dining room
girl,setting rench rolls and spiced sal. :
won uu the, table, yet Mrs. Eiellars /3el- .
ton never asked her to stay and break.
bread with her.
"Obi how strange and cruet the world'
is !" said Erminia, with a choking sensa,
Von in her throat. "I. had so many
friends when poor papa was alive, and,
`now I have not. one except Majorifiles,
but
.I will not go to him. , IP waealwaya
criticising and carping, even in the days •
of our prosperity; now.` he would be*
limply intolerable."..,
And so poor Erminia Hall crept into a
cheap restaurant to appease the gnawing
pangs of • hunger. For she had lodged'
and boarded-herself, in order to save the
greatest possible amount of ready cash.
and she, had eaten but tittle the whole day.
An,oYster stew and a cup of_ tea 'lt:
seemed like boundless extravagance to
the girl ;but she was Very faint and hun
gry, and- felt the sore necessity of food.
She was early yet, there. are few oriato
'mers at , the neat little white draped ta- 4;
bles, and the proprieter was leaning
against the counter talking to a woman
who seethed to be some relative.
"Thev'w struck, every one of 'ern" said ,
he. "The,ungrateful (Allows, after I had )
paid their good regular wages,
,all the ,
autumn, when 'no one else did I and now,
if I have to shut up shop, I' won't have
one of 'em back again. I'll employ
women, hanged if I don't." ,•
"I don't, see why you shouldn'i," said .
his interlocCor.
."They'll come for less
and work harder. Women always do."
"So I've heard," said the restiurant •
man. "And I'll advertise' to-morrow 'for '
a lot of girls to , wait here." •
Erminia roseand went timidly toward
the, red faced.,good natured looking man.
"Sir," said the "you sPoke of employ
ing girls for waiters. '1 need work. I
will comeand work faithfully. Will you
employ me ?"
The restaurant keeper looked bewildet6 , ,
ed.
"You area lady, Mist!" Stuttered he,
"I know that," said &minis, as , if she
were making some damaging admisiiOns, -
"but ladies muSt live. And - . I am very
poor."'"
SO the next' day she came in
white apron • and a . French print dm*
and began her new duties - in the '"Eagle'}
eating saloon?! ,;
• "Ai least," she told herself,. "I
earning my own livlihood. And when , j,_
am. busy I dou't have' timek
to thin"'
Mr. Bellaire' Belton • came in one day: ,
for glass of ale an 4 a plate' of oyster& ,;,;
yti . l ess m y soul 1 gaevd.he i as)leartia--1
is Efall, quick and neat, looking l as,le she
had been •born and bred - to' the tr*, •
served - hiai„ "this is'neveryou ?"
4Why not ?" said Erminia, , linghintv
sptte ,, nf herself. .
4,31 y. wife's, 'cousin in a cheap restau.,,,
rant ?" be exclaimed, "Good heavens i ,
What is the world' coining to ?"
"It's net so disagreeable a business as
you might think it," said Erminia, "Atilt
must live."
"Disgraceful I—perfectly diegracefull"
said Mr. Bellaire; &lion, ashe boltea
out, leaving his oysters untested: •
• Mr.-Prince came in for a sardine and a
cup ,of coffee—champaign and truffles
were altogether out of the questicti when,
he had to. set T tle the bill out of his own
pocket - -and be started and grew very .
red when he saw But he loCk='
ed itraight into' his cup' of coffee, aii4
pretended not to.know her. , .
7 .444')/r , . 01tiff, dated at her as it, she
wow: swat rare, onrositt ;ork.
, *, Continueit on 249401,P*