va\vy\{\.
LI Firs i.n'ii.T’
y if >)i!r rrf f!ir>/ piny nun 7/,
lii:h Imt-^ - f I,r,!tfrdi,^."
r.il'i’s liiitjs,” l.o’.v how faint,
How t'.iN' ’Iiey fade :i\\ ;iT :
i‘s liiiv’tK i*. hojii:';, it.s hri;li*i'5t j'-ys.
Aro coiiipa'-si j i;; a da\.
Y;'Ut^i’sl.r’.-’,hr jv.A miKl, pm'. 'rnrr.;p;jr:{3-1it,
Its suiisViim' rii’.d I’i ■«'iuv i; >,
Its hopi-s .ill.! (Vai>, !«\t sdT.J ti.ars,
iK'i'rDi'vs, li:*|ir'y hours;
•Vii.l n.riiiliooJ’j aiul bvij^htcn’d noon,
l!,-. lionors, >Knj;'tTs, c:irc3,
Thf p-^rL-nt’i pains, the jjaTnt.’s joys,
M)(‘ psr'~r.t's anxious iituyt-i-s, •
Faiii.- in uli! cvt-nin^^ gr:iy,
'I'hc tu'.liphi cf the iniin.!;
TIi'. ii sink in (Icatli'.s long', (Ircainlcss ni^jht,
And leave no tracc behind.
Yet, thouph so chanfjing’ and so brief,
i()iir lif»'’s eventful pap^’,
It has iu cliarms for even- grief,
l*.s joy for every age.
In youth's, in manhood’s poMen hours
I.ovrs, frji ndslilps strew liit- way
>Vilh April's (riiliest, swcctrst flowers,
And all tiie hloorn of May ;
And whnOlv! as>-', n-illi wintry hand,
lias frostvd o'er the liea>l,
Virtui’s fair fruits sur.i\e the blast,
■\Vhen all bf'sidcs arc fled ;
And faith, with pure uuwaver'nj;' rye,
Can pitrce tli'- i^i.thevinp;- };!oom.
And ^!nile ujion tli'' ppoiiir's rafre.
And liv’e beyond the tomb.
Be ours, tlien, \irtui 's deathless charm,
And fait!.\ uiitirlii),'- flii^l.t;
1 lu ll s'lall we Tisi' from d ath’*i dark sleep
'I'o w (II ids of eioudiiss liglit.
VAi^ir/rv.
All ploas\ire consists in Varxriy.
['I'hc lollowiuR- is copii'd from the “ New-
\oi'k Mirror and I.atlits’ Literary (la/cttc,”
j)Ml)iisli d in New-York, li_\ t;eorge I*. .Morris.
It is till jtrlze I^ssat/, entitlinji- its author to tiie
rewaril of 20 ilc'ii;irs, oll'eri.-(.! bomefiine since by
Mr. ,M., as a premium, to tlie writer «>f the be.st
essay for his valuable .uul interestinjj .Misei llauy.
Eig^ht c.s.Huys were acce[)ted by the conmiittec-
appomted to judg-c of their merits and award
the premium.]
THE DREAM OF LOVE.
BT CU MILES LUPLOW, OF lUCHMONn, ViHGI!«I.4.
I have seen a bubble blown into its cir
cular and inclescriljubic beauty j on its
brilliant surface were painted tlic most in
imitable pictures of light and life ; grace
ful clouds floated in tht; I)osoin of tbc.
mimic sky ; a tiny sun irradiated the lit
tle world, and cast all the magic of light
and shade over a landscape of most be-
>vitching splendor. A creation, bright as
a poet could imagine, glowed before me;
but a wave of the air broke the spell of
its transitory,-but beautiful existence,
and it was gone. It was like a dream of
love, li there is one happy being in cre
ation, it is the lover in the luxury of his
visionary aspirations—if theie is a sijigle
blissful moment, like a star sparkling in
t!ic shadowy firmament of life, it is that
■v/hicli discovers a long nourished afVec-
ijon to be mutual.
'I'hc moon, as she rides on through her
iiinuiiy of s’pare, has not a greater eflrct
UjKiU the oee;.n-tidr, fh.an li.i- tlie j)ussion
of love upon the lido of hunuin tl'.ouglu—
iiu.v jieiiiiiiting it tos( li!‘ down into a
oi teoij/Uiary tr;iti(iuilil v—agiii'i
l)ic!ding it heave am! sv.eli. Ijy the inag-ie
of iis viewle'ss ]u)uei'. \'\ iilwr.:! it, what
would be the woi ld As ;i creation uiih-
out li;.,^l)t ; yt, |)0'sr il, as we do,
how does il discutnpose tiu v.-)!)cr |;Kins
oi reason ! Ilou do I he lolVu’^t l)iiiw;n ks
of stern i)!ubsoplu I'ta down mu) di-,;ip.
];eur bvlore tiic !lagr.ii;'e oi’ ils lueatli.'
Jt lb tlie poeti’v ol ill ought, w hen reason
sltiii-.!)e! '. o?! h r sl it !y liirone, or w an-
clers awiiv in haj)j;y dre;jii',. Jt. is sc;tce-
1} to be deliiud, fur it seems in a pefj)ri-
ual hahj of sol’i light, uliidi it ciaz/les
•while it fus' iuiites the mind's v)r. i’ is
to the sjjirii hut, MiH'-hine is to t!ie
( r—liM'ing till' iVagi aiiee fimu i*s bo '.om.
and briTiging out all liu’ energies of its
Vouiig nature, or :ts iln‘ hand of bea'^ly
to ihe slumljerit’g luti' ’.'assin;-- o\er the
silent ehorcls. tii! “■ il duth dis;.'iur.se niosl.
 hifjuenl music."
1 had a vi>ung r.'-icii'l, rising into
niaiihood —iiery and nii-'. ttled as a warri-
cv sit ed ill liattle, his i-.iveer was iingui-
cled by jjriuli IK e or t!ioiight. A tiever
f..i!ing llo'.v of s|)i! lts r.iiide him alwa\s
ea'/j—he w as I'ullfjf ■•oiise and frolii.
III. e.oukl bring a '''ar into your eve, be
fore iiic sinllo iiad h.Ti your lip—lie was
all hope atui bajj])iuess.
Sudde’ily he stooc’. before me an altev-
t'd being—his eye had irrown mclancl.oly
jtiid full of metiiialion. Its moislure was
'•fteii suereef’ed by a flash ; andjU f:rc
a,>;ain extinguidied in the trembling tear.
He shuntu'd the l ude e.lamor of the !)’ist-
ling world, and would steal away into
some solitary recess, and in the still shacle
of tlie i'unjst jionder on the sweetiu'ss ol’
his own sorrow. Jlismiud became al
most a world of itself, and thousands of
visions rose o))edient, at the call (d'ciea-
tive thought—liis soul, lifted high on fan
cy’s wing, \vuu!d explore, in its wild and
beautiful career, the fuliomless regi(jns
of imagination, throir^h all tlie variety of
its inagnifK ent domain. lie loved—deep
ly, devotedly. It was moie than love; it
was adoration. The objectof his passion
was all that wor.ian coulU be. 'J'here is
no obj»*ct, in all creation, half so sj)lendid
as such a Iiein:;—tlie cjiarms that are dif
fused through tlu- w hole universe seemed
gathered togetiier in her.
\\ I’.eii the sun is going down in th(“
west, he leaves liehiml him a track of
bright ligh.i, hut il is iniiipid rom]>ared
to the light of her eye. 'I’he fragrance
of the rose was n(d so delicious as the
warmth of her breath music couki
wake no melody like the thrilling loiu's
of her voice. Her motion v\ as more
gracefid lhan the heave of the sea, oi- the
change of the chuid, ami ti e mai;ic of
mind, gleaming through all her words,
and looks, and actions, shed around iier
a eharui more graceful than Arabian in
cense.
No wonder my hero bowed down be
fore her ; no wonder that the sound of
her voire was al'v;ivs in his ear, that her
image was before him iti his daily occu-
jjation.', and bore a part in the mysteri
ous changes of his dream. '1 here was no
afiectation in her nature*, and she confes
sed she loved him'—they seemed created
for each other—and who woidd have be
lieved that fate—but I am digjcssing.
There is something very melancholy
in the reflection that any woman can die;
but to him that s^. should perish,.wa.s the
\ery agony of despair. He had-left her
for a lew days, intcntiing v\ hen he retur
ned to have asked her luind. On tlie
morning of his return, he sprang into the
stage-coach, in a most delicious reverie.
He held no discourse with his fellow pas
sengers, but wrapped himself up in a rich
dream of anticipation. His heart was
full of happiness. He thougiit himself,
as he entered his house, Ion happy for a
mortal man. He was pi eparing to pav
her the fir.st visit, and dw elling in his mind
on her j)leasing welcome, w hen her bro
ther came to see him—he did not observe
any thing peeuliar about him at first, and
not till the warm, affeciionute shake of
the liand was over, did he notice that his
eyes were filled withteais, and a dismal,
gloomy, bla( k crape hung from his hat.
Ho started, and in a hollow voice, that
had a desolate dreariness in e\ery toae,
he said,
“ l-'lizaheth is dead I”
At first lu- was nr>t comprehended. A
vacant, horrid hui^^li, that echoed strange
ly through the still room, was his only
..nswcr—then he re|.rated tlie uord^. and
the featui’Cs oi my li ieiid became pale and
motionless as niar!>!r—then he sat down
'.n a c !;air and eovered his face witii his
hands, but not a word—u breath br(.-ke
ilie sih'nce. 1 here was something alarm-
iiiirin his ( aln'iies it seemed like the si
ience ol the In av). black  huid jiist be-
lore it laiiii' hes ;ls deslruriive li!;-hlui:i>,^
from its bosom. He bei koned, and w ish-
j ed lobe alone. He na.s h f' in stdilud*'.
I I would not jirofaiie ’h.* v'il)ji-ei hv an\
I ;.tlemi)tal describing his l'c">ings. There
was a d;:ii-, honible confusion in hi-
ii'.ind, lil.e >,,iiu' accursed dream ;’,larin.,
around him, and i.Ik‘ ni,;ht rtdleil awa^
I its k>n!«; hours of sleepk-ss agt-iiy.
I 'I'he noM d.iy was the funeral; and
when the sun rose in his same glory, ami
all tilt? •• pomp and circumMance” cfday
ijf-ati to beam upon the fare of nature,
and the merry voice of men sometimes
came uprMi the breeze, ami the calls rat
tled rude!\ along-, and all around was bu
siness, and adventure, uiuPVcteil by tIu'
!;reiii even! that hud cor.u- -like an ocean
ol scorehing f.re upoti the paradiw; uf his
heart—lie recoHectf'l, and he said, “to-
lU'v is lier I'lihtrai—h(.r I’uncial !” Hi.*;
bcnuniLed lulii 1 dwelt upoii tue v.'ordi.
but there was something uncleiined, and
almost inconiprehenslble in them. She
was to be buried at five in the aiternootu
The clock struck four—he pul on his hut,
and wont steatlily to . her house. He
thought twenty times he heard her sweet-
I\-toned, laughing voice, as he passed a-
long. He turned his head over once or
twice to see if she was not at his .shoul-
(k'r. but there was nothing, and be walk
ed c,n. lie saw the honse, and his eye
sought every w indow—but Elizabeth w us
not there. He rang the bell—-the servant
came, weeping—he looked at him and
walked on—he jiassed into the parlour—
the chair Avhich she had occupied, when
he was there Ijefore, was standing in the
very same place, and there was her piano
—lie almost thought he heard music—he
listened; a sob from thi.‘ next room came
like ice upon his heart, and.he sat down;
Her mother came into the room—her
face was serene iu grief, but the first
burst was o\i‘r, and she vas compara
tively calm. She asked him if he would
look at the corjise. He ,ine\v she was
dead, f)ut the blunt rpiestion shook every
nerve in his fVame, and seemed to breathe
death upon his soul. He arose and fol
lowed the bereaved mother. I'here was
an air of death in the aj)artn\ent; and a
\artiished coHin was (u the table, a white
cloih llung carefully at the head; a few
friends sat and wept in silence, nuising
on ihe lieauLies and virtues of the being
they weie about to consign to the cold
earth. He walked up to the table, and
stood as still, and pale, and molionles.s,
as the form that lay stretched before him.
He would have torn away the \eil that
coveretl that face, hut he could not—he
felt that he might as well have attempted
to heave a tnountain from ils rocky base.
The mother saw—she fell—a mother can
feel—and she silently uncovered that
beautiful countenance. It broke upon
him in all its loveliness. There was the
same white forehead—the sleeping eye—
the cheek that he.had kissed so fondly—
the lips that had spoken such sweet
sounds—he gazed at her corse with in
tensity of thought. Her living image
was before him—he saw her smiling—he
beheld her ni the graceful motion—now
her figure pas.sed bef’ore him, beautif'ul
in the mazy dance—and now he gazed in
her full black eyes, and read unutterable
things. He liad a ring on his finger, a
present from lier—he tried to speak—he
looked at the ring, then at her—agony
swelled his heart—he gave one long gaze
and looked no more. * » * »
He knew not how, but he stood by her
grave ; and they were nearing the cofliii
towards the dark narrow pit—a heap of
fresli earth was piled at its side. Some
one said, “Where are the cords ?” He
heard the answer, ‘‘ here they are and
then the conin was gradually let down
into the bottom of the grave—it sat firm
ly on the ground, and he heard a voice
say, “ thei e, that is right—draw up the
rope.” I heti there was the souml, as if
the orders were obeyed—in the act of do
ing it, a few grains of sand and pebble
dropped upon the cofTm—then all was still
—then a hatidlul of soft, damp, hea\y
clay, was shovelled down. Oh, that
sijund ! that solemn, dreary sound of ut
ter desolaiion 1 It broke the horrid siicll
that kept his voice silent and his eye dry
—his lip began to quiver—a sob heaved
his ai hm;.; breast—large tears gushed
li om his 'ves—lu'i5trctched out his hands
m an agony of weeping and grasped
an old ([iiaker gentleman’s nose, in ihe
sla;,e-coach, where he was sleeping, and
gave occasion for Oiiadiah to ol)serve,
“\’erily, friend, w hen thou hast sufli-
ciently amused tin self with my nose, per
haps thou w ilt return it to its rightful
ow ner. ’’
1 he w hole horrible creation of fancv
l-assed away like a mi.sl; his heart boun
ded within him, and he soon took sweet
i'cvt,n(;e upon those wicked lips that had
been so cold and still, yet so beautiful, in
the darkness of his droajrii.
DlSSIf TION (.tr A BROKRN IIFAKT.
Ashoit time .'ineo a youn^j: lid v, who
^uis possossi'd of every virtue that eon-
ters ili;^:iily am.1 Insiro on th(,‘ fejivilo
chaructor, died. She had kmi; pined
'im'or t!ic tortures iiifliefml by tli:it
faillil'.i] sorv.int of de.ilh, tin' eoiisiimp-
tlon ; ;iiid, niental dejcrtioi! scomin^r n,
have priMliK'cij iier bodily mal;ul\', it
was ooncluuCd lu diij-oct licr hear'f. in
ordtT to liis.'nvcr whether it conln nf-
ford any clue to the mystery which was
eoniieelcd with her illness. Ac.^o'-H-
iiiHy, a “skilful j-^rofcssorol Anatomy
was'cnjra-i il to perlorm the oper.xtion,
and it \vas .soon discovered that she
died of that incunibit; disease—n' W
Ayn heart. The heart was very acrid ;
its piices were ii;i*.d r.p by lont; cciicf.
Alii'.oup:h they thus percoived what had
been hi-r disease, tliey leared tiiat tne
e:iuse of it must ever remain a sceret to
them. Ifowever, tiiey eoiicliuled to in
spect the core cif the heart, and on nnr-
I'ovvlv invi'stigatiiia; it, they saw the
likeiiess of a yoitns "'ho seemed
fonned for the j)ur|)oso of taseinatiii^C the
tender sex, but in his eye could i)e dis
cerned a ecrtaia expression whic'.h told
of jjprfi ly and dark deceit. ith the
aid of a mieroseope, the following,’; lines
were found punctured on the heart:
over them was inscribed Shakspear’s
beautiful sentijnent.
“ Love is no love wliich altcreth,
>Vhcn it alterationi^intls.”
1 am a poor broken heart i
I rested all my hopes on one,
Who in me planted sorrow’s dart.
And smil’il with joy at what he’d done.
I gave iiim alltbat heart should give.
Deep in n\\ folds his form I w ore,
For him alone I wished to live ;
Ilis image fill'd my i.-inost core!
More constant heart where could he find ^
Could he on earth a truer meet}
Oil! no—and yet with soul unkind,
Tor all my love he gave deceit!
Oh 1 when he gained this hrurt a vow
Of Love W.1S given—’iwas softly spoken;
It then was gay—w hat is it now >
A heart which blijrbted love has broken !
Yet, oh! my Henry, though thy breast
Hadi wand(.red troin the love it \owcd,
Though eold in earth I soon shall rest,
Wrapped in the cliiil sepulchral shroud,
May heav’n on thee its blej.siiij,'’^ pour;
May all life’s joys await thi’c here ;
May bliss be tiiine when life is o'er ;
of thee 1 ask but one—oni, tep.r!
From this it was too |)lalnly u^en
what had caused her deaih, and tlie by
standers were m’ore than ever convinced,
that thon_e;h a few, faithless, women,
jiossessinj]^ co.juettes’ heiirts, may ex
ist, woman is, in general, a kind and
alfeetionate being, loves with truth and
fidelity even when the object of tier
love IS unworthy of it ; and the jiliysi-
cian remarked tliat he had in the coitrse
of Ills pra.cliee, found many cases of
broken liearted females front “blighted
love,’’ but he never knew an instance
of it in his own sex. A'lr/i. Pu^t.
LNDL’S'I'HY.
“The Jews are said, during some
period, at least, of their existence as a
l>eoj)le, to have educated their children,
uiiiver.sally, in active busine.ss; and to
hiive adoj)ted, proverbially, this aphor
ism, that hr, who doe.! not drini^ vp hi.'}
child to useful industry, brings him
vp to bv. a begc^or, and a nui.saiiee. It
is to be li'rvently wished, that all Chris
tian Parents \vould adopt the same max
im, and tlius prepare tlicii- childeii to
become blessings both to tlieni.selves and
mankind. It lias been rcjieateilly ob-
servedjn these diseonrse.s, that Industry
and Kcouomy are not natural to man,
and can only be established by iiabitua-
tion. These habits mu.st both be begun
in the morning of lif’e ; oi there fhn-
ger, that they will jiever i)o begun suc-
resshdly. As no man, consistently with
his plain duty, can he, excused from be
ing industrious and economical, himself;
-NO no man can be jiivtiliod for a mom-'iit,
who does not eileetinlly commimie.itc
botli Industry ,'uid licono'my to hisehil-
dren. He, wlio, at the tir'-l, made la
bour the employment of m.:nkind ; and
who afterwards coniinandrd to gather
up the iVagmeids, tJiat milhin v mi'r^hi be
lost; will admit no exensf foj- nt--'--
leet ol these dutios,- u hetber tlirv ]'•>-
peet ourselves, or our oilsjiiiiiir. In
this subject, pan Ills and chiklriMi ol’liorb
sexes ai(; ('(]ii:illy ei^iirrrned. 15,1b p;ir-
eiit^ are bound to teach their eliildr.-n ;
:md their eiiildren, nf bolh sex( s, arc
bound to h;arn, to Ic imluslrion-and
to be ec(moniie:d ; to fill uji their timo
with useful employineiiN ; to n.i tliodl/c
il, that it may be thus lllli.d np ; and to
teel, that the loss ol time, the ne;dce! oi’
lidents. ;md the waMe of properly, arr
all serious vio!;iiioiis of Hi, jc (hjty ,,,
f»0(l. I he jiarent-, are bound lo iiispnc,
lo imlnbe, aeontenipt,
■*" idihorrence. for |j,at silly, worllih >s
Irivolity. to which so nirmv eiiildren, ol
lashionablf parents espfciallv, are traiu-
od;that sinful wnsi,. of the goKien hours
of hie; tlial sie||j devotion to aniuse-
men1;thal sham-ful, pitiable dependence
on tnninir, to help them along, evmi
tolerably, througii their prnsenl, tedious,
dragging existciee. Few persons are
more* lo be pitied, as certainlv few are
more to j..,- blamed, than tlio.se, who fnd
their enjoyment only in diver.>ion‘:; and
eling to a ridt', a danee, a_visit, a play,
'■r a tiovel, to keep thein from si^ikin-
'iito gloom .'uul deispondence.
ous persons, who s|)cud their time v
useful jiursuits, are the only persotr
whose minds arc serene, contented -.' i
eluMM-ful. If we wish happiness f, ’r q''!
children, tiien ; we shall carefully
cate them to an iiidustrious life. ’
J^ivight's Sermom,
MORAI.
IMPOK'l'ANCK OF KDL'CATkTn"
The children of the present age arc the '
hope of the age to come. We who 1
now acting.our several parts in the busy
scones of life, are hastening off the s
apaci! : months and days are swcepingnj
away from the business and the suif^c^
of this earth, and continually laying some
of us to sleep under ground. The circlr
of thirty years will j)lant another genera. I
tiou in our room ; another set of mortal^ I
will be the chief actors in all the greater [
and les.ser affairs of this life, and willfin
ihe^workl with blessings, or wiih mis.
chiefs, w hen our heads lie low in the dust I
Shall w e not then consider with our
selves, what can we do now to prevent
ihese mischiefs, and to entail blessin'-J
on our successors r Wh.at sliull vvid;)
10 secure wisdom, goodness, and ielij>io„^ I
among the next generation of men : Hue I
we any concern for ihe glory of (iod,
the rising age ? any solicitude for the
propagation of virtue and happiness to
those who sludl stand np in uur stead?
let us then kea,! ken to the voice of tied
and Solomon, and we shall learn how this
may be done ; the all-wise fiod, and th>
v.-isesl of mi'n, join to give us thisudviu:
“Train uji a child in the w;:y tlut he
should go, and w lum he is old he will not
depart from it.” 'i'he sense of it may
be expressed more at large in this pro]v>
sition, \iz: let children have a good edu
cation given them in the yoiingcr partj I
of life, and this is the most likely wav to j
establish them in virtue and pieiy in their |
elder years. JVaifs.
Wc, our concerns and names, will sooa
be shrouded in forgetfulness, and those!
who succeed us, gif'ted hoj)efully wiu
better dispositions, regard our collisions
with melancholy pity. Let us reniem-|
her that we must stand at the same tribu*
bunal, w here our opinions and actions
will be weighed in the balances of unwa
vering justice. Let the consideration of
that hour absorb all small thoui,'hts.
While individually so deserving the re
bukes of Hea\en, let tis not be prono to
comlcmn others, recollecting that he who
lacks benevolence, must expect judi^^nifnt
without mi'rcC. While opportunity is
given, let us retrieve our own characters, I
raise the reputation of our common chris-^|
tianity, and leave the legacy of the Chris* V
tian, a peaceful temper to our children.
As a large and familiar intercourse ]
w'ith men of dilferrnt habits and disposi
tions never fails, in characters of any
force or generosity, to disjiel tlic pre
judices wlih which we at first resard
them, and to lower our est invite of our I
own superior hoppiness and wisdom; I
so a very ample and extensive cniirse ot f
reading in any department of letters [
tends n.'ifiirallv to enlarge our narreiv j
principles of jud^met'.t, and not onivKi
east down the idoMielore which we liivl
foi-morly abascil ourselves, hut to dis-1
close to us the might and thr mnptv
of imieb that wc had iius*.ak'‘n and con- |
lemivd.
HlMH.riV.
■ ITumllitv •,lands at the head of thehrJ-
litudes. and is incoi])or;.ted witii^di'"M
all. And the jjiMciinis iiijiinctii>:i. ‘•i.i'aUi |
of me, |*or I am meek and lowly in
is a plain intimation, i!ial our Kedeenic-
particularly inleiided that p.jrtioii "I 1.!‘' |
own divine ( haracter for the most in"’'^
diiivi'object, not of our adniiraiioi'
liiit of oiir imllalioii. It is the
which of all others be most |
eomniends, most nniformlv en;oiM'.
w hi( h bis own pure and holy Ilf'* niosti”' j
vai iablv exhibits. If we look into W
()kl Testament, we see that j''.
havin;v described binisidf as “as the
and bole One w bieli ln!ia!)ilerh j
bv a transition the most
a condi'scensiou the most im (ini ei'‘‘^' j
immediately subjidns, that “ H‘
with the cfmlrile aufl the luiniMe;
Ibis from a molive ine\prcs‘'lh!y Si-'■
oils, “to rcvivi' the spirit of the hiinv’}/
and 10 revive the heart of the cont!
Jesting upon seiious subioct^
ways the mr'rk of a shallow ami
eial mind, poor in its ideas, uui
floorer in its judgment.
There are three sii^d^ts most
-I proud priest giving his h!ess.>.,
knavisii livpoci’ite saving h'’
;:ud afjsvp-r’" -,i;:nr'^ 1’.'--' •