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DEVOTED TO SOUTHERN RIGHTS, DEMOCRACY, NEWS, LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND THE ARTS. M. J. fFRANCIs, Proprietor.TERR.-TW@ Deles P VOL. V. SUMTERVILLE, S. C. APRIL 23, 181. An Interesting Oriental Story. Vhe Modern Baroun-al-athaschd. In the dietrict of Ferdj Onah, Xlgeria, (which signifies Fine Coun -try) Dives a Scheik named Bon Akas-bon-Achour. He is also dis -tinguished by the surname of Bou. -Djenoni (the Man of the Knife) and may be regarded as a type of %the eastern Arab. His ancestors %conquered Ferdj' Onah, but he has been found to acknowledge the supremacy of France, by paying a yarly tribute of 80,000 francs. His dominion extends from Milah to Rabouah, and from the southern oint of Babonah so within two eagues of Gig-Il. He is forty-nine years old, and wears the Rahlve costume; that is to say, a woollen gandoura, confined by a leathern belt. He carries a pair of piscols in his girdle, by his side the Rahyle fisea, and suspended from his neck a small black knife. Bofore him walks a negro carrying his gun, and a huge greyhound bounds along by his side. le holds despotic sway over twelve tribes; and should any neighboring peoile venture to make an incursion on his territory, Bou-Akas seldom conde scends to march against them in persons, but sends his negro into the principal village. This envoy just displays the gun of Bou-Akas, and the injury is instantly repaired. He keeps in pay two or three ndred Toibas to read the Koran to io people: every pilgrim going to Mecca, and passing through Ferj Onah, receives three francs and may remain as long as he pleases to enjoy the hospitality of Bou-Akas. But whever the Scheik discovers thit r e~ ~'th t ~sorr-ho, wherever he is, fmd him, throw him dowu, and give him fifty blows on the soles of his feet. Bou-Akas sometimes entertains three hubdred persons at (inner; but instead of sharing their repast he 4'alks round the tables with a baton in his hand, seeing that the servants attend properly to his guests. Afterwards, if anything is left, lie eats; but not until the others have finished. When the governor of Constan tinople, the only man whose power lie recognises, sends him a traveller; ac cording to the rank of the latter, or the nature of the recommendation, Bou-Akis gives him his gun, his dog, orhis knife. If the gun, the traveller takes it on his shoulder; if the dog, he leads it in a least; or if the knife, he hangs it round his neck: and with any one of these potent talismans, of which each bears its own degree of honor, the stranger passes through the region of the twelve bribes, not only unscathed, but, as the guost of Bou-Akas, treated with the utmost hospitality. When the traveller is about to leave Ferdj' Onah, lie con signs the knife, the d1og, or the gun to the care of the first Arab lie meets. If the Arab is hunting, he loaves the chase; if labroring in the field, he leaves his plough; and, rtaking the precious deposit, hastens ito restore it to Bou-Akis The black-handled knife is so well Iknown, that it has given the surname re1 "Bou-Djenoni, the man of the Jcnife,"' to its owner. With this im aptement he is accustomed to cut toff heads, whenever he takes a fancy rio perform that agreeable office with Ghis own hand. When first Bou-Akas assumed the -government, the country was infested -'with robbers, but lhe speedily found sneans to extirpato them, lie dis :guiised himself as a poor merchant; nwalked out, and dropped a douro (a .gold coin) on the ground, taking care mnot to lose sight of it. If the person whlo happened to pick up the douro, put it into his pocket and passed on, ron-Akas made a sign to his chinux ,(who followed him, also in disguise, and knew the Scheik's will) rushed 'forwar d immediately, and decapitated the offender. Ln consequence of this method of administering justice, it is a sayinig amongst the Arabs, that a chil might traverse the regions which own au - Akas's sway, weaing a golden crown on his head, wvithout a single hand being stretched out to take it. T1heo Scheik has great irespect for woman: and has ordered that when the females of Ferdj' Onah go out t< draw water, every man who mcti them shall turn away his head. Wishing one day to ascertair whether his commands were attendei to, he went out in disguise; and meeting a beautiful Arab maiden or her way to the well, approached ani saluted her. The girl looked at him witl amazement, and said, "Pass on, stranger; thou knowes not the risk thou hast run.' Ani when Bou-Akas persisted it speaking to her, she added: "Foolish man, and reckless of thj life; knowest thou not that we are it the country of Bou-Djenoni, wh< causes all women to be held it respect?' Biou-Akas is very strict in hi. religious observances; he never omit his prayers and ablutions, and ha, four wives, the number permitted h) the Koran. Having heard that thi Cadi of one of his twelve tribei administered justice in an admirabh manner, and pronounced decisions it a style worthy of King Solomot himself, Bon-Akas, like a secom Haroun-Al-Raschid, determined t< judge for himself as to the truth of thi Accordingly, dressed like a privati individual, without arms or attendants he set out for the Cadi's town mounted on a docile Arabian steed. lie arrived there, and was jus entering the gate, when a cripph seizing the border of his burnous asked him for alms in the namo o: the prophet. Bou-Akas gave hitr 'kauoum but the cripple still maintain ad his hold. 'What dnst thou want!' asked the Scheik-'I have already given thec alms.' 'Yes;' replied the beggar, but th< a v sis jot only--'Thi shalt giv shall do rqor thy ther" Rteoei tnou canst.' 'Vell! and what can I do for thee? 'Thou canst save me- pooi crawling creature that I am!-frou being trodden under the feet of men horses. mules and camels, whicli would certainly happen to me it passing through the crowded square in which a fair going on.' 'Anil how can I save thee?' 'By letting me ride behind you, and putting me down safely in the market-place, where I have business. '13 it so,' replied Bou-Akas And stooping down lie helped the cripplc to get up behind him; a busines, which was not - oi-omnlished withoul in uch difficulty. The strangely assorted rideri attracted many eyes as they passed through the crowded streets; and al length they reached the market-plac< place. 'Is this where you wish to stop? -Yes.' asked Bou-Akas. "'Then get down.' 'Get down yourself.' 'What for?' 'To leave me the horse.' 'To leave you my horse! Whal mean you by that?' 'I mean that lhe belongs to me Know you not that we are now in th< town of the jnst Cadi, and that if w< bring the~ case before him, he wvil certainly decide in my fav'our?' 'WhTly should he (10 so, when th< animal belongs to me?' 'Don't you think when lie sees m two, -you with your stroing stra igh1 limbs, which Allah has given you fo'I the pur'pose of walking, and I with my weak legs andi distorted feet,-h< will decree that the horse shall belong to him who has most need of him?' 'Should lhe do so, lie would rnot bc the ,just Cadi,' said Bou-Akas. 'Oh! as to that,' replied the cripple laughing, 'although lie is just, he i~ not infallible.' 'So!' thought the Scheik to himself 'this will be a capital opportunity o judging the judge? lie said aloud 'I am content--we will go before th< Cadi.' Arrived at the tribunal, where tht ,judge, according to the eastern cus tom, was publicly administerin justice, they found that two triab were about to go on, and would o course take precedenice of theirs. The first was between a talebs oi learned man, and a peasant. Th< pinto in dispute was the talel'. wife whom the peasant had carried off and whiom lie asserted to lbe his owi hetter half, in the face of the phiiloso phier, who demanded her restoration The~ woman- strange cireamstmma remained obstinately silent, and would not declare for either; a feature in the case which rendered its decision ex i cessively difficult. The judge heard i both sides attentively, reflected for a moment, and then said 'Leave the i woman here, and return to-morrow.' The savant and the laborer each bowed and retired; and the next cause was called. This was a difference between a butcher and an oil-seller. The latter appeared covered with oil, and the former was sprinkled with blood. The butcher spoke first: 'I went to buy some oil from this man, and in order to pay him for it, I drew a handful of money from my purse. The sight of the money tempted him. He seized me by the wrist. I c.-ied out, but he would not let me go; and here we are, having come before your worship, I holding my money in my hand, and lie still ,rasping my wrist. Now, I swear by the Prophet, that t8is man is a liar, when lie says that I stole his money, for the money is truly mine own.' Then spoke the oil merchant: 'This man came to purchase oil from me.-When his bottle was filled, lie said, 'Have you change for a piece of gold?' I searchied my pocket, and drew out my hand full of money, which I laid on a bench in my shop. le seized it, and was walking off with my money and my oil, when I caught him by the wrist, and cried out 'Robber?' In spite of my cries, however, lie would not surrender the money, so 1 brought him here that your worship might decide the case. Now, I swear by the Propha% ilia. this man is a liar, wh'n he anys that I want to steal his money, (or it is truly mine own.' 'The Cadi caused #ach plaintiff to repeat his story,, but. neither varied one jot from his or-ill .statement. saidl, 'LeaLVC th m'oneyWvith me and return to-morrow.' The butcher placed the coins. which he had never let go, on the edge of the Oadi's mantle. After which he and his opponent bowed to the tribunal, and departed. It was now the turn of Bou-Akas th and crinnle. 'My Lor''Cadi.' said the former, I conic hither from a distant country with the intention of purchasing mer chandise. At the city gate I met this cripple, who first askee for alms, and then prayed me to allow him to ride behind me through the streets, lest lie should be ti odden dewn in the crowd. I consented, but when we reached the inarket-place, he refused to get down, asserting that my horse belonged to hin., and that your worShini, would sr.rely adjudge it to him, who wanted it inost. That.my lord Cadi, is precisely the state of the case-i ewear it by Mahomet!' 'My lord,' said the cripple, 'as I was coming on business to the market, and riding this horse, whien belongs to mec. I saw this manm se-ated by thme road-side, appairenitly half dead from fatigue. I good-naturedly offered to take han on the crupiper, and let him ride as far as the market-place, and lie eagerly thanked me-, but what was my', astonishment, when, on ourm Iaririval, he refused to get, downm, and said that my horse was his. I immediately requir-ed hanim to appear be-fore your worship, in order that yonu mighit decide betweeni us. That is the true state of the case. I swear it by Mahcmet!' I laving miade each repeat his dep'o sitioni, anid having reflected for a moment, the Cadi said 'Leave the lior-se here, amid return to-mn-ow.' It was donme, and Bou-A kas and the cripple withdrewi in dliffereint direc tions5. (On the morrow, a nmbe~cr of' persons be'sidles those inunediately in te-reste-d in the trials, assembled to hear the judge's decisions. Th'fe tale-b and thme pe-asant were called first. Take away thy wife,' said thme Cadli to the former, 'and keep lier-, I ad vise thee, in goodl order.' Thleni tlunin to'wartds hiS chinuflrU, lie added puointinig to the peasant 'Give this nman fifty lows. lI e was instantly obeyed, and the tailct carried of f his wife. -Theni came forward the oil-mer chant andl thme butcher. 'Ilere,' said tho Cadli to the butch er, 'is thy money; it is truly thine, and not his,' T1hien pointing to the oil -merchant, ho said to his '$n'naz.x, 'Give this man fifty blows. away in triumph with his money. The third case was called and Bou Akas and the cripple camnei forward 'Would'st thou recegnise thy hors( amongst twenty other?' said th< judge to Bon Akag. 'Yes my Lord.' 'And thou?' 'Certainly, my lord,' replied th< cripple. 'Follow me,' said the Chdi to Bou Akas. They entered a largo stablo and Bou-Akas pointed out his horst amongst twenty which were standing side by side. "Tis well,' said the Judge. 'Re turn now to the tribunal, and sent thine adversary hither.' The disguised Scheik obeyed, de livered his message, and the cripplh hastened to the stable, as quickly ai his distorted limbs allowed. He pos sessed quick eyes and a good meme ry, so that he was able, without th slightest hesitation, to place his han on the right animal. 'Tis well,' said the tCadi; returi to the tribunal.' His worship resumed his place and when the cripple arrived, judg ment was pronounced. 'The horse is thine;' said the Cad to Bou Akas 'Go to the stable an< take him.' Then to the chinaux 'Give this cripple fifty blows.' 'It was done, and the Bou-Akai went to take his horse. When the Cadi after concludin; the business .of the day, was retirinj to his house, he found Bou-Akai waiting for him. 'Art tlh - di::crontented with m' awarA t'i' ;i.be judge. 'No, quite 'he contragj r-get the Scheik. But I aan-t:-to ask . what inspiration tho4. hat "eDderci justice; for I doubt rt that the othe two cases were deci4d as capitall; as mine. I am not ignrcan ~g and I wanted to judgeor iyself thy reputed wisdom.' The Cadi bowed to the ground and kissed his master's hand. 'I am anxious,' said Bou-Akas, 't know the reasons which determine your three decisions.' 'Nothing, lay lord, can be mor simple. Your highness saw that detained for a night the three thing in dispute!' 'I did.' 'Well, early in the morning I cam ed the won.an to Le called, and I sai< to her suddely-'Put fresh ink i1 my inkstand.' Like a person whi had done the same thing a hundret times before, she took the bottle, re moved the cotton, washed them bot out in the cotton again, and pourc< in fresh ink, doing it all with the ut most neatness and dexterity. So said to myself, 'A peasant's wili would know nothiig about inkstands she must belong to the tablet.' 'Good,' said Bou-Akas, noddinj his head. 'And the money' 'Did your highness remark, tha the merchant had his clthes an< hands covered with oil?' 'Certainly I (lid.' 'Well, I took the money and place< it in a vessel fdlled with water. Thil morning 1 looked at it, and not apa tiele of oil was to be seen on the sur face of' the water. So I said to my) self, 'If this money belonged to th< oil merchant. it would be greasy froe the touchi of. his hands; as it is not so the hutcher's story must be true.' Bou-Akas nioddled ini token of ap proval. 'Goo'd,' said lie. 'And my horse? 'Alh! that was a dificient business and, until this morning, I was greatlj piuzzledl.' 'VTe eriplelt, I suppose, did no recogise the animal?' 'On the contrary, he pointed In out immiedliatelv.' 'llow then did v'ou discover tha lie was not the owner?' 'My object in bringing you separ ately to the stable, was not to wheth er yoru would know the horse, hu whether the horse would acknowhledg you. Now, when you appronehet hinm, the creature tmn ,ed tow~atrds you laid back his ears. and ieighed wit] delight ; buot wheii the eripplde touchet him. lie kickedh. TFhetn I knew tha you were trulyh his uster.' Bou-Akas thought for a moment and then said: 'Allah has giv'en thee great wis dotn. Thou oughtest. to' be in m plaae, and I in thtine. And yet know not; thou art certainily wortht to be Schoik, hut I fear that I shiouh but b~adly fill thy place as Cadti !' Di),' . uaeho. wwn-de into. spoRit with infinite glee. in these things he remained a chid to the end of his days; while In iot'ees bility to tears he had the heart of a woman. Thus, to the last hour of life, he kept his affections fresh and flowing. He had the delicate organisation of genius. His frame vibrated to music like an Eolian harp. He had the most exquisite relish for the beau ties of poetry. He was extravagant ly fond of works of imagination. He devoured romances. And whet, in his reading he met with a passage which gratified his taste, he was nev er weary of repeating it to himself, or reading it to the friends who came to see him. In conversation, perhaps the most prominent faculty of his mind was fancy-sportive, playful, tender, and pathetic. His conversation was a stream which never ceased to flow. His brilliant imagination, and the wat mth with which he entered into everything, gave it a peculiar fascin ation. Byron said that Curran had spoken more poetry than any man had ever written. In a circle of ge nial friends, after dinner, his genius was in its first action. His counte nance lighted up, and his conversa tion beginning to flow, now sparkled, now ran like wine. Flashes of wit played round him. Mirth gleamed from his eye and shot from his tongue le had an endless store of anecdote, to which his extraordinary dramatic student enabled him to gilve the hap piest efect. He told stories, and hitting off the point of Irish charac ter by the most exquisite mimicry; he "set the table in a roar.' following perhaps with some touching tale which instantly brought tears into evey eye. 'You wept,' says Phil. Vot'oujaughiu , and you won your equal, and was quite willing, if you chose to become your auditor.' The wit of Curran was spontane ous. It was the creation of the mo ment, the electric sparks shot from a mind overcharged with imagery and feeling. In this it differed from the wit of another great Irishman. Sheridan bad more of the actor a bout him. His brilliant sayings were prepared beforehand. le aimed at display in the receptions at Hol land House as much as when writing a comedy for Drury Lane. Perhaps no foreigner, who has visited England, has had a better op portunity of seeing distinguished men than Madame de Stiel. She was constantly surrounded by the most brilliant society of London. Yet even in that blaze of genius, she was most struck, as she often told her friends, with the conversational powers of Curran. This, too, was in 1813. when his health had sunk, and his spirits were so depressed as to make it an effort to support his part at all in soci ety. From the vivacity ofhtis cortversation one would hardly have suspected the depth and seriousness of his charac ter. In talking with ladies, or with young persons, his mmnd was remark able for its constant playfulness. A gleam of sunshine illumined his whole being. Yet those who knew him in timiately were aware that he was subject all his life to coinstitutional melancholy. Like many other men celebrated for their wit, his gaiety alternated with deep depression. Th'le truth was, that lie sympathized too intensely with the scenes of real life to be uniformly gay. In his country he saw so much to sadden him, that his feelings took a melan choly tone. The transition was often instantaneous fgom humor to pathos. Ihis friends, who saw him in his light or moods, were surprised at tho. sud decn change of his countenance. 'In grave coinversation, his voice was re mnarkable for a certain plaintive sin cerity of tonet-a sadnes which fas cinated the listener like mournful music.-Athenaeum. A swanansIng Feat. "It was on the same track, by which we have thus gained safely our island home, that a swimming feat was performed, a fesv years ago, by a native woman in peril, which sur p asses all other achist'ements of the kid on record. When abouit mid way between the outoiost points of llawaii and Kahoolawe, or thirty miles from land on either side, a small island vessel, poorly managed, and leaky (as thain generally are).. Curran, The Orator. Curran sprang from the people. He was born at Newmarket, an ob. P sCure town in the county of Cork, in i 1760--being thus four years young. er than Grattan. On the father's side, he was descended from one of i Cromwell's soldiers. Passing his childhood in the country, he was thrown much among the people. He loved to recall the days when he I played marbles in the street of New i market, or assumed the part of Punch's man at a country fair. He loved to visit the peasantry in their cabins, and to listen to their tales. I There he saw the Irish character its wit, its humor, its sensibility to mirth and tears. There, too. in those rough natures, which appear so sul. i len and savage, when brought, face - to face. with their oppressors, he - found the finest and tenderest affec tions of the human heart. There, i too, he found a natural poetry and eloquence. He was a constant at i tendant at the weddings and wakes of his neighborhood. It was customary at that time to employ hired mourn. ers for the dead, and their wild and solemn lamentations struck his youth i ful imagination. In after years, he I acknowledged that his first ideas of eloquence were derived from listening to the laments of mourners at the Irieh burials. When transferred to Trinity Col lege, in Dublin, he became distin. r guished chiefly for his social powers. Full of the exuberant life of youth, overflowing with spirits, and fond of fun and frolic, he was always a wel. come companion among the students. His mother had designed him for the church. When he came out o college, his tastes took another turp. r But his mother never got .evr hei r disappointment at his nt heing premchet eteyou hisiirilllant we COI~ I~iw e a CU cou , sausCvuwM". .-a s lived to see the nation hinging oi the lips of this almost inspired orator Yet even then she would lament ovel D him. "0 Jacky, Jacky, whati I preacher was lost in you!' H1er friends reminded her that sh: 0 had lived to see her son one of the I judges of the !and. 'Don't speak t< s me ofjudgea,'she would reply, 'Johi was fit for anything: and had he bu followed our advice, it might hereat ter be written upon my tomb that ] a died the mother of a bishop., But no one as yet knew that h< had extraordinary talent for clo quence. Indeed he did not suspec it himself. In his boyhood he had a confusion in his utterance, from which he was called by his school-fellows [ stuttering Jack Curran.' It was not until niany years after while studying law at the Temple that he found out that lie could speak. After his fame was established, a friend dining with him one day, t could not repress his admiration of Curran's eloquence, and remarked that it muist have b'een born with him. 'Indeed, mry dlear sir,' replied Curran. 'it was not, it was born twenty-three Iyears and1( som months after mec. .But when lie hand made the importani .c3overy of this concealed power. .lhe employed every means to render his elocution pefect. lie accustomed hiinself to speak very slowly to cor ret his precipitate utterance. HeI Ipracticed before a glass to make hii .gestures gr aceful. Ie sp~oke aloud the most celebrated orations. Ont >piece lie was never weary of repeat .ins, the speech of Antony over th< 'body of Cmsar. 'This lie recommnen ded to his young friends at the bai as a model of eloq1uence. And while lie thus usedl art to smnootl a channel for his thoughts to flow in no man's eloquence ever issued mort tfreshly and sponitanecously from thc heart. it was always the heart ol .the man that spoke.' It was becaust .his own emotions were so intense, t that lie p)osused such power ovet the feelings of others. h Iis nautuiral sympathies were strong. , Like every truly great man, lie was ias simple as a child, lie had all ithose tastes which mark a genun man. ie loved nature, ie loved children, lie symipathized with thc ,poor, it was perhiaps from these pop ular sympathies that lie prefer.edI .Rousseau amoing the French writers , and that his frieindshsip was so strong with M~r. Godwin. r is nature was all sensibility. 1i< I was muost keenly alive to gay, or ti' mournful scenes. ie had a boyish love of fun and frolic, ie entere( muddenly shiNeO' cargo6s j wind, plunged bows urdeaanl dowD, there being on boatd be tirty and forty M ens, and -17 of them in the' cabin; Tit (4 after dinner on, Siunday tives that happened to be en were at once. all together -nt waves, with no means otescae 44 their skill in swimming. .. A tain man, by the name of Miuae who had conducted morning wdrt and a sabbath service with ple in the forenoon, nowcIle * round him in the water, and implored help from God for all. Then, as a strong current was setting to north, making it impossiblef to get to Hawaii, whether".tieyWer bound, they all made in different ways for Maui and Kahoolawe.; "The captain of the schooner,.,a foreigner, being unable to swim, was put by his Hawaiian wife on an oar,* and they two struck out together for the distant shore; but on Moidag morning, having survived the first night, the captain died; and in .te afternoon of the same day his wife landed on Kahoolawo. A floating hatchway from the AWeck gavo a chance for life to a strong young man and his brother; but the latter perish ed before the daylight of Mona; while the elder reacbed the i0 Mn safety by eight or nine - o'colM -A feeble boy, without any euppoit, swam the same distance of nea g thirty miles, and arrived safe to ..i.d before any of the others. Mane and his wife had each secured a cov ered bucket for a buoy; and 'tites young men kept them company f1 4 evening; but all disappeared one af ter another, during the night, either, by exhaustion, or getting bewilde - and turning another way, 6 * comm& the prey of sharks.. f wnorning the faithil p td th W14 hing U aternco Mauae became too weak to go e The wife stopped and lomilomie.M (a kind of shampooing common hero) so that he was able to swim again until Kahoolawe was in full view, Soon, however, Mauao grew so weae ry that he could not even hold to tbe bucket; and his faithful wife, taUUg it from him, bade him cling to .the long hair of her head, while she till hopefully held on, gradually nearing the shore! Her husband's hnd#, however soon slipped from her air, too weak to keep their hold, and she tried in vain to rouse him to furt& efforL She endeavored, according to the native expression, to colmia kona manao, to make 7i# hope sim to inspire him with confidence pointing to the land, and telling li m to pray to Jesus; but he could only utter a few broken petitions. Pt ting his arms, therefore, around her own neck, she held them fast on' *e bosom with one hand, and still swam vigorously with the other until-near p nightfall, when herself and her now lifeless burden were within a quarter of a mile from the shore. She hla& now to contend with the raging surf, and finding the body of her hiusband, which she had borne se; " , stog dead, she reluctantly cas oQ', 4nd shortly .fter reached ~ arng. "But there she wat rafg beW off than at sea, folong expostfee 4' the brine had so blind he~ ~ S that it was somne time r~ could see; her st~bgtb& .(~ spent to travel, and the so itit she landed was barrei.f~~ opposite side of the isaoWA - tlemnent. Food-and *ae'she5ut find or die. Provideintlafl ga t~* tained the latter in ta rain t recently fallen, nd thatW Mai d ing for her in the en~ o Mlonday nigtuedy~ end Thursday Va'i d wo out relief, while she crept oh~ graul ly as she could towvarda theinhib d parts of the laid. EAt lat w~~ day mrnuiag, whe her na~kq her swimming hojje thathd4d its h~adl so .lone above th*'w eg, was fast ftaing with he~ strenth, by ia ueletly she dise~ve~ed t4 Watera~hji fruit. Eatin :oo, ahoer~ 4 enlightened,' ie Jonthn . . honey; *eo o sh~e a pay j ftlihormesi, bjyI~ for, and conducted te anhd the tedagvttn ed shoonet ad i before?--Rev. &# 'U&eeeb. loniWor4 in teag ~