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it-7 ( o R 4 0 M l n 3 -to artfM * &~~~~~~~ ~ I-bt -A.i.am w wxt-u - C 8 IDEVOTD1 TSO5UTHERN NRIGNITS,,4a LIT NT3 PR A CISProprie'tor. Vo [J. 6,V.10 SUKMTE RVIL.L ES. C.# JUE. TE MP E R A N C E. Whydoes not that Clergyman Sign t9 Temperance Pledge ? - 1Y. OAROLINE GJILMAN. A minister of the Gospel sat in a cozy study, *hleh overlooked a e: pil6satinrosbect on the Jersey shore. 'had'Written his text, and one par. ahand was gently rubbing his fdrehead with the foringer of his lfhd id, waiting for a thought. His b6Uig iniete %-as filling a reticulated apei'ture, commnnly cal led a darn, in his stbeklhg. She rose occasionally with 'A light Atep to EWeep the ashes on the hearth, but at the time of whlch I speak, her attention was atdedi by the jingling of approach ing slklgh.bells. '1hy stopped at th ate, a lady was announced, and soon a Well-dressed stranger entered. "T4' -Pastor received her with coiresy, and she sat down. Tidre are times when the'common - 4oe'i oflife utterly fail, when even t-bo say "a very pleasant or cold day; mtidim," jars on some string of sdntlent or feeling. So it was in this eaise. The- Pastor cast his glance on the lady, with a sileit air of respeetful inquiry, and'Mary's needle ziiade quick mhovements, while the riistle of- the stranger's silk dress abunded loud in the silence: Mlary would have retired, but the visiter said, "You can stay my dear-." aund then, drawing from her side hdr pliicate'hiindkerchicf, she leaned i 'edai instait dpun it, as if there *ei iars to iawy. At length l vecontle, sir, on a singular and e embfriasing errand. I wish your Asistide' to rescue a follow-being from misery. I have a lovely friend, educated, intelligent, warm-hearted; a wife and mother. She is happy in all her domestic relations with an induilgent and wealthy husband. high ~'his p~rgfion.1'm. Shet ha~s ouiiS~ ends to catch her lou ered an - ulous endence. "This trend, so sereingly ble.sed, and indeed so beloved, is intemperate, and we fear (indeed she fears herself.) for the li'e of a beautiful infant, only two months old, which is in hourly dati ger. from the intoxication of its nother.' A th.ill of astonishmnent, and almost of terror, ran through the veins of her hearers. There was a pause. Mary's needle trembled in her finzers, her un elo gazed'at 'the floor, and the stranger pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. ' low can. I assist you!" said the TIstor, with a sweet tremer in his voice. that told volumes of sympathy. "My friend wishes to sign tile Tem perance Pledge," replied the stranger, " r and has asked me to call on you for the purpose." "But how is this?" interrogated the Pastor. ." Why. does she not apply to hpr own minister ?" " Because," replied the stranger, "lie takes. rio interest in umhA Temperance couse, and has never signed the Pledge. She has. heard of your eilorts, and fdble confidenee in your aid and sympathy." " To-morrow is the New Year," said the Pastor, thoughtfully ; " say to her, that I will be with her, and help her p resent her Newv Year's gift to our - Jleavenly Father." * The strangaer gave directions respect nghr frienge~s-residence, which was a Temle'lu d~tant, and departed withl the same 'i teder moelancholly with which sI came. The next morping Mary and her jncle started on tkeir humane errand; the crisp snow sparkling and crackling, w the horse drew their light sleigh over ~ts pure surfhee. .Msry wrapped her furs closely about elr,..seemimg to be lost in thouight; utse neae restless, and at length " Uncle, why does not thnat Clergy. 3minsign thme Pledge ?" The Pastor gave an unnecessary jirk ~t the reins; he looked up to the a) , e un dazzled him ; round at the Iandgeape it was all glitter ; then, eroing, og Mary's soft eyes, as they pp red .up among her furs, lhe said : Ithiiid,-miy little girl, that either *Ji is no$ puwar-e of the miseries of 4ryinkenniess. sor that he loves to sip '$heiy ieaehed the place of destina 'dlons; opneof those romantic country . pire nrthely sa-pot towns. The gity blo m o su mer tp hi den bur theo snow andt frosts throw their feathe ornamenjts over- the trees and shirubs at. marlied the, well-planned waiks. ~~hey were in)troduced into an aparMt. p9tgraeowithi tho luxuries ofwealth; .Qwers, hoCkspiud-bieda simatinag lts - soft rppgd 7: s ""e1 0.ther,. Wih a sense of* else They * t en omL1.oA ..r4ands.of mercy, ith1(*p-ehngnso.pv erty and ignorance, and.there seemed to be a sad but.-proper keeping with such and drunkenness. They had seen the vicim of, miatnia -. portr., raving and blasphemous, while his ,wife and children shrank in terror; they had seen the tavern reveller, pay the last cent which should.have gone to clothe his little ones ; they had followed the poor reeling not from the grocer's den, and tried to restore him to his fam ily and heaven; they had seett the bribed elector lying in besotted stu pidity, or the poor miserable fimale driven to - stimilants by want and anxiety; but here-drunkenness here, in this soth and peirfumed atmosphere! This was beyond belief. A picture of a churchman - in his robes was suspended fror the. wall. He gazed beningly and - serenely on the creature-comforts around him. "Uncle," said Mary, in a whisper. pointing to the picture, "'is Mhat the Clergyman who will not sign the 1ledge" But the door opened, and a laidy entered with an infant in her arms. They were dressed in white as if for baptism. - "Are you the person," said the Pastor, advancing towards her with the instinct of benevolence, "who desires to give our Heavenly Father a New Year's Gift, by singing the Temperance Pledge?" "It is my desire, was the low but firm reply. , Mary's eyes were full of tears. and as the baby held ont its little hands with a cheeriul utterance. she took it in her arms, and hid ' her emotior in caf-esses. The Pastor spoke in a kind, gravc tone of the responsibilities involved in the step she was about to take. TIe lady stood humbly before him. He drew his pockethook a written Pledge the lady seated herself at a table, shadeil her eves for an instant. then. i ban, tremblinig fromui the ee-t t.0 Wved nerve- s-itned lir inm. 4N et, "n10h11s T.N-tN-w' Ylears Giri The iiitiunt and Mar, and the gown. ed (timr-ehnian in the picture, witnessed the seemine. "1 TIInl,' said Mary, drawing a long breath after they re-entered the sleigh, "I wish that kind-looking ininistsr in the picture would sign the Pledge!" The Doctor Degree. * The subject suggested in the annexed paragraph froin the columns of 'To-day.' is worthy of attention. The indiscriminate and frequently ill advised bestowal of the highest de grees by our Colleges, is calculated to bring them into disrepute. It requires very little learning now-a days to be made a Doctor of Laws. and even less to be dubbed a Doctor of Divinity. 'A correspondent in the London Notes and Queries asks, with appa rently sincere curiosity, for 'some in formation about the obtaining of American degrees;' 'if it is the Pres ident, or President and Professors of American academics who confer them,' and complains that 'recently a large cargo of diplomas had arriv ed in this quarter [Liverpool,] such as D. D., and L. L. D., and con ferred on men of third-rate talent.' It is indeed a matter of reguet that such academic honours cannot be be stowed in this country uponl some more generally understood princi ples, and that there could not be some arrangzement made for concert among the numerous colleges before granting them, in order to give. themn validity. As it is, such deg-ees are so frequently and plentifully confer red, that, even when bestowed by institutions of acknowledged reputa tion and Iong, standing, their value is comparatively slight. 'rho colle ges under the control of the different religious denominations, particularly vie with each other to such an ex tent in conferring the degree of D). D. on the clergymen of their own faith, that, nearly all the gentlemen of standing and repute in that profes sion havingr it, it has almost ceased to be a distinction; or, if it is one, it is of so arbitr-ary a nature as to have little value.' RIoSE INsEC'rS. -If our lady read ers are desirous of keeping their rose bushes free from the small green vetmin thiat/ so frequently infest thorm, the following remedy will be found a most effectual one:--To three gallons of Wyater, add one pock of soot an~d one quart of urslaked lime. Stir it well-.-Iet i s tand for twenty. f oyr hoars,.anud wi en gheo soot rises to the surfgees a 1 ttoft U~se a syrillne .fort*.nnn omy MISCELLANEOUS. The Boy aad the. Panther. A WILD WESTERN SCENE. It was a fine morning in August when little ~Samuel 'Eaton, about seven years old, was making a dam in the brook that run before his fa ther's door. He was an only and beautiful child, and his mother, al most idolized him. 'There he was with his trowsers tuoked up above his knees, working like a beaver, his mother's eye glancing out from be. neath his sunburnt hair, and with some of his father's strength, tug. ging at a large stone in -the bed of the stream. 'Samuel, you had better come in, hadn't you ?' said Hannah, in a tone of half mother and half mate. 'No, I guess not,' said Samuel. An acorn came floating down the stream. The boy took it up, looked at it, was pleased, and 'reckoned' in his mind that there were more up the 'gully,' and when his mother's back was turned, off lie started for the acorns. The gorge of the mountain into which be was about to. enter, had been formed (the work of centuries) by the attrition of the stream he had just been playing in; and walking on a level that bordered each side of the water, he boldly entered the ravine. An almost perpendicular wall or bank ascended on each side to the height of a hundred feet, com posed of rocks and crags, fretted by decay and storm into fantastic shapes and positions. A few scattered hush. es and trees sought nourishment from the earth that had fullen from the !evel above, and excepting their as sistance, and the unseen surface of the ruck. this natural part seemed _bfac6esible-,-but~to1WM..- beast; About the eighth of a mile from the entrance a cataract closed the gorge, thlowing up its white veil of mist iu seeming guardianship of the spirit waters. The verdant bonghs hang ing over the bank cast a deep gloom upon the bed below, while so lofty was the distance, they seemed to grow up to the sky. Blue patches of water were to be seen peeping be tween them. Hannah soon missed her bor, but as he had often wandered to the fields where his father was at work, she concluded he must be there, and checked coming fears with the hope that he would return at the hour of dinner. When it came, neither Jo sial nor any of his men knew where he was. Then the agitated mother exclaimed, 'lie's lost ! lie's lost! and my poor boy will starve in the woods !' Gathering courage, she hastily summoned the family around her, and dispatched them all but her bus. band to search in different directions in the neighcorhood forest. To her husband she said Scour every field you call your own, and if you can't find him, join me in the gorge.' 'lHe wouldn't go in the gorge, Hannah.' 'He would go anywhere.' She knewv not why, but a presenti ment that the boy had followed the course of the stream dwelt strongly upon her mind. 'I can't find him HaInnah,' said the husband, as ho joined her at the mouth of the gorge. An eagle flew past the mother as she entered the ravine. She thought to herself, the dreadful birds are tearing my child to pieces; and fran tic, she hastened on, making the walls of tho ravine echo back with her screams for her offspring. The only ar-swer was the eternal thunder of the cataract, as if' in mockery of her woo, as it threwv its cold spray upon her hot and throb bing temples. She trained her eyes along the dizzy height, that peered through the mist, till she could no longer- see, arnd her eyes filled with tear. Who but a mother can tell the feel ings of a mother's heart ?I' Fear came thick and fast upon the reeling brain of Hannah. 'Oh, my boy--my brave boy will die !' and wringing her hands in ago ny, she sank at her husband's feet. The pain of 'hope deferred,' had strained her heart strings to the ut most tension, and it seemed as if the rudo hand of despair had broken them all, The terrified Imahn thr... water .pon her Jalefac and strove by all the larts he kne to win her back t6 life. At fast she opeuied her lan guid eyes, stared vildly around and, rose trembling to Ter feet. As she stood like'a heart-Iroken Niobe, 'all tears,' a fragmerst dfrock came tumb ling down the opposite bank. She looked up. She vas herself again; for half up the asceit stood her own dear boy. But even while ;he glad cry was issuing from her lip, it turnedinto a note of horror. 'Oh, mercy-meley!' The crag on whith the boy stond projected from the rock in such a way as to hang hmut twelve feet over the bank. Right below one of the edges of this c-ag, partly con cealid among some bushes, crouched a panther. The bold youth was aware of-the proximity of his parents, and the presence of his dangerous enemy at about the same tie. le had rolled down the stone in exultation to convince his parents of the high situation he had attained. and he now stood with another ir hi hand, drawing it back, Ind looking at them as if to ask whethfr he should throw it at the terrible a ina.l before him. Till then the mo er;seenie immovable in her suspen e;'b oon scions of the danger f 9it e irritated tho beast, e e e distanceeup the rock od with. her hand that, io-'s throw. Yet, with th of childhood, and ktep to control, lie fearl fraginent with all ISs ferocious animal. It his feet He gave as lashed his tail with fury about to spring. 'Get y . rin1os*ah !. The poor. man s not. ils glazed eye was fixed with a lonk of death upon the panther, and be ap peared paralyzed' ' with fear. sIts wife leaped from the s nd pla cing her hands upon her hnsband's shoulder, looked in his face and said, -Are you a man, Josiah Eaton ? Do you love ydur child ?' lie started as if from sleep, and ran with furious haste from the ra vine. Again the mother looked towards her son. le had fallen upon his knees, and whispering the little pray. ers she had taught him, not in cow ardly fear, but a thought came across his mind that he must (lie. The dis tracted mother could keep still no lon. ger. She rushed up the steep ascent with the energy of dispair, reckless of danger, thinking only of her son. The rocks crumbled and slipped be. neathi her feet, yet she flell not. On, on she struggled in her agony. The ferocious creature paused a moment when lie heard the wretched mother approach. True to* his na ture, he sprang at the boy. He barely touched the crag and fell backward, as Hannah ascended the opposite side. "Alt!" said shte, laughing dielir iously', "the panther must try it again before he parts us, my boy; hut we won't patrt," and sitnking on het knees before htim, she fonidly folded him to her breast, bathitng isa young foreheadl with her tears. Unalterable int his ferocity and the mannier of gratifying it, the panther agaiin sprang from his situation. TIhis timea he was mote successfuil. Ihis forefoot struck the edge of the crag. "Hie will kill us, mother, he will kill us!" and he nestled close to his mnother's bosom. The animal struggled to bring his body to the crag -his savage features but a step fronm the mother's face. "Go away, go away," shrieked the mother, hoarse with horror, "you shan't have my child!" Closer--still closer he comes his red eyes flashing fury, and the tlak pantings of his broath came ini her vetry. face. At this awful momnent she heats the faint report of fire arms coming from the gulf below -the panther's foot-hold fatils, his sharp claws loosen from the rooks, and the baffled beast rolls downt the precipice, at the fect of Josiah Ea tont. The sun's last rays gleamed on the little group at the mouth of the gorge. T1hey wore on their knees--the mother's hands raised over the head of her son, and the voice of prayer going to their Guar dian for His mercy in thwarting thme nanthr-'n hennp. Tsae Dy~nguus. t.. That wife over. whom yotlr Jovi broods is fading; that, now that toUin heart is *rapt up in her being, *ould b n6thing. She sees with quick dye joufdig ning apprehensiqus, and sheo tri hard to make that step of er elps tic. Your trials and your loves togeth er have centered your affections. They are not now as when 'you ere a lone man, white spread and '1jyer. ficial. They have caught fi'q do. mestic attachments a finer tone and touch. They cannt .shoot .out ten drils into barren world soil, and saick u11p thence strengthening nutriment. They have grown under' the -forcing glass -of the -home- roof; they will not now beai exuosure.' You do ot how look .fiin 'in the' face as if heart bond wias linki'ig you, as if a community of 'feeling l ty be tween. .There is a heart bond that absorbs all others;. there is a conumu nity that monopolizes your feeling. When the heart lay wide open, be fore it had grown upon and closed around particular objects, it could take strength and cheer from a hnn dred connections 'that now scem cold er than ice. And now. those particular objects, alas for. youi !. are failing. ! .. What anxiety pirsnes ' ou! HloW struggle o fanvy' her is no an: ~w igt rates now on your earo oil and turmoil. of the cityl It Iausie wl n you were alone.; it leasant even,when from the din - i elaborating comforts for the o jects.'- when you had t escape 'When evening adde31 oseethe world careless while you are steeped in care. They hustle, you in the street; they smile at you across the table; they bow carelessly over:the way; they do not know' what cniker is at your heart. The undertaker comes with his bill for they dead boy's 'funeral. Ie knows your grief; he is respectful. You bless him in youri soul. You wish thc' laughing street goers were all undertakers. Your eve follows the physician as he leaves your house; is he wise? you ask youself ; is lie prudent ? is he the best ? Did lie ever fail ? ' Is he never forgetful'? You are early home-mid after. noon. Your step is not light; it is heavy, terrible. They have sent foyou. She is lying down, her eyes half closed ; her breathing long and inter rupted. She hears you ; her eyes are open; you put your hand in h ers ; your s trembles--her's does not.' Her lips move ; it is your name. " Be strong," she says, " God will help you. She presses harder you hand-" Adieu ! A long breath-another; you are alone again. No tears now; poor man you 'can not find themi? Again home early. There is a sinell of varnish in your house. A collini is there ; they have clothed the body in decnt grave clothes, anid the undertaker is screwing down the lid, slipping round on tiptoe. Does lie fear to waken her ? lie asks you a single question about the inscription upon the plate, rubbing it with his coat cuff.' You look him straight in tlue eye; you motion to the door ; you dare not speak. Hie takes up his hat and glides out stealthily like a cat. 'The man has done his work well for all that. It is a nice coffin-a very nice coffin. Pass your hand over it- how smooth ! Somne sprigs of mignionette are lying carelessly in a little gilt edged saucer. She loved mignioneltte. It is a good staunch table the cof fin rosts (on--it is your table; you are a houskeper-a man of family! Ay, of famnily -keep down outcry, or the nurse will be in. Look over at the pinched fodtures; it is all that is left of her ! And where is 'yonr heart now ? -No don't thrust your hands, nor mangle your lips, nor grate your,'toeth together. If you could only weep. Another day. The coffin is gone out. The stupid ynourners 'hate' wept-what idle tears! Shs,' .ith vour erusha hear, ha. aqp. aty.Our.ome.niow/t , . p. Go intgoour-parIotthattyo.ur prim. honsekeepdr ihasmadei omfoltable with clean hearthina bliAgetieks Sit down 'in yonui eblr.;- tlier6 Ws andther velvet cushioned":one dyer ains15 "yon'ra-empty. Tou pren your fgpges 6p your eye-balls, "asf you. wou4ld press out something tha h)urt Ah4 ,brain b; WA yPU cannot. Your: head lean aupon your iand; your eyer.rcsts! upon the flashing Ashes always come after blaze. - Go hoy, into your room, vhere she was s:6kakstly lest the'prire house kek ercoieafter.~ Tlie have dek djniW on her fhair they have 1in ejcur tains rpon tie ed They have e. moyed from. the stiLdS its ph'ialnW silver bell; the perfume will not offend the sick sense .now. They have-half opened the windows, that the rdoi so long klosed may have air. 'It will not be too cold She is not thee. Couditions of Sale; by Auction, lan Ireland. I. The higheat biddse to be the purnildi, ri ioie eelo lwan bismore., any dispt'e arises ps J who was the highest bidder, the.sple is to stop until.the parties have fought itidut; -but if .cither,:eombatant!ais killed lie'shall .be allowed to amend his bidding, for, the-sake 6f hiseb& reaved.family . bII If after a'piece of land has Uself.sol1d, it caianot he found in ti estate to wihicLt g 6 it9shall b takenf'retho. estAt, itha6t liamp C9nvenient to it; but the purchaser of saidtAa'& 4 1a.3y to the ewner 9 de fulprie othe' piece thus a en; but this purcbase money shall be laid out in iinproving the same. Anyhow they, must settl it between them -IV. If a let has been wrongly dd scribed, such miidescriptior all pot vitiate the sale,. but puch compensa, tion .shall be granted as may bejust. It a piece of land has been described as a houso, the auctioheer shall be bound to build a house' thereon with the mnoney paid -for the same; and if it is not .convenient' for the' purch ser td pay for his purchase, the mo ney may be bdrroded out of the poer rates. If'the poor domplai oi' 'this, they must write to the newiappers and if they can't write, more shame for them. V. The auctioneer shall not be liable to be called out' upon any pre. tense whatever connected -with the sale now to take place ; but ibis con dition ball in no wise preverit his giving satisfaction in regard to any other sale, or his conduct in knockiig dow'n other jots or bidders. VI. In regard to its being insult ing to ask, a, gentlemen to show his dirry parchments, and make out titles and All that bother, no title shall be required beyond the sellers giving his word and honor that the title is as good as possible, and better. Af this, if there's any awkwardness, its a case for the Phionix Park. .VII. If what the. lawyers call "outstanding terms" can't be " got in," they must stop out. VII I. It' it shall turn out that the seller has sold property to which he was not entitled, and which be longs to some other person, and the rnght owner upon proper application, unreasonably refuses to give up pos session, the trouble, and' expense of' bringing him to a sense of what is gentlemanly conduct shall be equally divided between the seller and the buyer. IX. 'If the purchaser thinks he has paid too much, the balance shall be banded back to the aubtioneer, tb ha treated as liquidated damages, that is laid out in. claret, to bo drunk by all thk bona ,fde bidders at the sale. - X. The Auction .Duty shall not be paid at all,.as it. only .helps to maintain English ascenidoney. XI. Shoold there be mneh starva tion on the estate, or much difficulty in getting ' rent enouigh out of the tenant;, part of the purchase mdne,' shall be laid out lipu:biling, 1Inth' English papors , ai aha .t~ the charitable. nn ths XII, .That noeoft ese di tions shafl. be .biuning. .o a&y. body who disapprov-eso othem... a Whqugh the.Avkber .AM E eddhanddimspotnt worka wtI has made fiinr, ,opuap sand a'ud -Onn hights.i3Ousllb peairiee of the fifstt!*qu t *@o-k, a singua Ih6Ikx t&% Ofithe autlfoe"!! Onevery bi h of winter, Azitoine Ga 4nly awakA;ebyp e b the. street 4p.. r.AP.I9O4 r his dressing gQim hastily an' ran to .the;.Windo-ivopenedit,ikidA&I Spite of -the' darkseis, perei sl J erat Peltseidebeds iso Who Tth'64 h 're you.,sure,. qj k *uite su,,' Waid 'Take notice, taid opp 4 sons below, 'that al at whaeag say can only be said to li 'Then vouinyped(kv*" I at Ahtoine Galld;ibm qitickly, for' the wm~id iaeelhi~ myfice in nO, Ve a:- eai mNo Must speak saia i 'Ah, gentlet en, you nt hae a-word,4 Ieclaime4bIW -IFw the love of 'iivevt;'ayp talen ' i-ida G?11iid,4tiid W A'ith ' claimed, &For:thyv ove of heaoege men, muakce -haste,tfor theL~ piereing" Ce 1 .Lwoaa AtJlast tle 6dtitH bt distrbed the iepo th joined in one porup, 'Ah,' -losiur. C ?p not asleep, tel us one t j which you tell sr! wL.; .: This .was, in a.,auionAhtb first volumes of.the"Tbanasha One Niglwtsbiqhee4 P* re'hot tiaeep, tYir i u* stories ~i~elisui /el.li & Antoine Gallnld 4i"d 4u1to be anry a ti began to ieugh end' replyj (lem a, aragevoir!. heejas wjpdow, nnd. eturne4 -touQ where he wasnotflong befoiR #s gained some of the 6aIprio* wh e had lost at i , window. ni Hep hdil. eVer.,pritdb'h liehed all' his'dther Viiui-Wvj this ,exoidiu~;n.T * TmE Pockst-B6c~1a -A young. Ge-htiodid roi0ded by his fridi 'pg with him,regardwg i~a$~ to. a certaim young lady. YoNe GaNT.-'.p2oyp, it'll jauh you. how it is. You see Ieares. ing for the girl-it'stheadmanit pocket-book that Iti after?- tgswir Cinones or' tagAu'i.4W t4' ,Scnc Second.2-k eleven o'clock,.M., seted.-Young1 gentrsm - part. 'Uosittes as if w then slowly -remarks: 'Miss Matilda, excuse ie, bu#0 must be awaro that my. fretaietst its-my attentionscanhtot:a&v. been without- a object-' o' YoUNG LA1.0u'h, ye 96'1 heard, and shall onljy be 10 to grant tiat ypu 4euir~, from the table -a paper. par ifolding4it displaysp. fausioned, and emtpeac bo~ok.) .iT, HId hM6 been ,in vusM4 is that objt-at~i Permit medeltpes t it, aind congratuls*6 'jb .thI~~ will in-futuke haveino furtl~r~4 sion torenew.thee.visand Dii' CuI'e, ts thatj the boll?' 'No. Massagdst'g4.,dee~ ringing of'de'fissseblIlu no gebondbtli 'dalste liif qwt9Al rot W rt'ide ti?'ril t