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THE CHRISTIAN SUN. RELIGION WITHOUT BIGOTRY; ZEAL WITHOUT FANATICISM; LIBERTY WITHOUT LICENTIOUSNESS. Volume XXX. SUFFOLK, VUA., FRIDAY, AUGUST 24, 1877. Number 34. jjoetrj.' A MOTHER’S CARE I do not think that I could bear My daily weight of woman’s care, If it were not for this : That Jesus sccmeth always near, Unseen, but whispering in my ear, Some tender words of love and cheer, To fill my soul with bliss 1 There are so many trivial cares That no one knows and no one shares, Too small for me to tell ! Things e'en my husband cannot see, Nor his dear love uplift from mo, Each hour's unnamed perplexity That mother knows so well. The failure of some household scheme, The ending of some pleasant dream, Deep hidden in my brca»t; The weariness of children’s noise, The yearning for that subtle pcisc That turneth duties into jcyg, And giveth inner rest. These secret things, however small, Arc known to Jesus, each and all, And this thought brings me peace. I do not need to sny one word ; Ho knowp what thought my heart hath stirred, And by divine caress my Lord Makes all its throbbings cease. And then upon his loving breast My weary head is laid at re3t In speechless ccstacy 1 Until it scemcth all in vain That care, fatiguo, or mortal pain Should hope to drive me forth again From such felicity 1 —Parish Visitor. THE BROWNELLS. BY MRS. M. BUTTS. It really seemed as if tlie Brownell family were furnished with an unnat ural number of spiritual sharp cor ners. That they were always hitting each other was cer.fr ; the result was certain, too; f<>» jk day of the three hundred and sixty-five passed away without recrimination and sullcuness and fault iindiug^p.r;v.greater or less degree. “That is my book,” says Sallie; “I got it out of the library this morning; 1 don’t see any use in being a ‘membor’ if Tin obliged to wait for everybody else to read them first.” “Why don’t you give it to her, Jane,” says Mrs. Brownell, in a sharp, ner vous voice. “She didn’t care anything about the book till she saw I was interested in it,” replied Jane, continuing to read resolutely. In a day or two Jane is going out shopping, and has forgotten till the last minute that her gloves are rip ped. “I should think you might take a few stitches in my gloves,” she says, “when you see that I haven’t a minute to spare.” “You may wear them as they are, for all me,” answers Bailie. “I can be disobliging as well as you, if I try.” • * So Sallie goes on with her sewing, aud Jane snatches her gloves from the bureau aud goes out, planning some petty revenge. In the evening when tho boys come home, the girls say, in an unnatural way, “I should think, George, that you might take us out somewhere; here we stay in this dull house week after week, when other folks’ sisters go to concerts, aud lectures, and—and —everywhere.” ' “Ob,” says Sallie, with a sneer, “I hope, Jane, you don’t expect anything of George aud Jim; if you do, you will be disappointed; they would rather lounge at home and smoke than oblige us.” “Now, what’s the uso of putting on airs I” says Jim. “Wo don’t any of us care about obliging each other, and wo all know it; there’s no call for talk on the subject.” “That’s so,” replies George, laxily tilting back in his chair; “nothing like being honest, Jim. Sallie, how about those shirts t” “As if she would put new bosoms in your old shirts,” exclaimed Jane; “She has enough to do for herself; nobody in the house can get her to do anything.” “Indeed I” snaps Sallie. “George, why didn’t you get Jane to bosom your shirts.—She likes to work, espe cially for you boys.” While this amicable conversation is going on in tho parlor, jtho dining room is the scene of similar family jars. Mr. Brownell is trying to read * his newspaper; Mrs. Brownell is mending stockings; Ada and Trank are building card houses on the ear 0 pet. Presently there is a sound of liead-bumping, and a loud cry, The father scowls savagely, and tin mother opens her month nervous), to ask what is the matter. Be fore she can speak, however, Ad rises from the recumbent positioi where Frank has pushed her, am gives her brother a sudden, stingirij slap on the face. This is followed b; a howl that would do honor to i young tiger. It is now Mr. Brownell’ turn. “I wish you could be induced ti keep your childreu in the nursery evenings,” he says in an awful tone “They are your children as mucl as they are mine,” says the mother scolding the young ones vigorously “no 0110 would ever think It, though you don’t notice them from orn month’s end to another.” “It is a wonder,” retorts the hus band; “they are such sweet, loving attractive little creatures.” “They come very naturally by theii dispositions,” is the pointed answer “Well,” says the father, “I’ll leave you to the enjoyment of their socie ty,” rising and going toward the door “That’s nothing new,” replies • tin mother, indifferently. I have painted you a true picture of this household, and I have no doubi about my readers’ endorsements oi its truth, for I am sure that they have all seen similar specimens of family life. Among the eight members, there is not one who has any idea ol giving up his own pleasure for the sake of another. Fach one is intent, unconsciously perhaps, upon his own comfort; and as a consequence, never was a house more comfortless. And yet there are all the elements of a happy home lying dormant among mu weeus oi seiusuuess. “The trouble is, my brother’s family is too prosperous,” said elder John Brownell, a country pastor with eight children, aud a thousand dollar sala ry. “If the girls had to make ovei their father’s old clothes for the boys instead of kiltering up lace and em broidered ginicracks, and reading die away novels, they’d be a good dea better off.—There’s nothing in the world like self-denial to bring out the virtues.” “Well,” replied Mrs. Elder, “we ought to be possessed of all the vir tues, if that’s the case.” “And where will you find a politer, kinder-hearted family thau ours I” asked the husband. “They have been obliged to yield to each other ever since they were born, and it is second nature with them now to be gentle and considerate.” The Elder was right. The Brow nells had been badly used by fate; they had been over indulged, and knew nothing about the educating intiuouce of sacrifice. But there came t change. A sudden depression iu business; losses; the dread of ruin, tad overwork destroyed the balance jf Mr. Brownell’s fine physique, aud threw him into a fever. Then the lateut energy of the family displayed itself. George and Jim threw away their cigars, and tried to straighten nut the tangled skein of affairs. But with all their efforts they could not make headway against the tide of disaster, and they soon found them selves, not penniless indeed, but a long way below the level of their for mer prosperity. In tho meantime, the father seemed to be going slowly but surely away from them. There was now no time for self-indulgence; no unused force expended itself in dis content and recrimination. Sallie showed great talent as a nurse, and night and day assisted her mother in her sorrowful duties; Jane took charge of the children, and showed wonderful skill in occupying aud amusing them; the house was so changod indeed, that one Would not have recognized it as the same, if he had judged it by the moral atmos phere. “I don’t know how it is,” said Jane to Sallie, as they sat alone at the lunch-table, “but with all our trials I feel happier thau I used to.” “I suppose it’s because wo don’t quarrel any more,” replied Sallie; “and we are busy all the time helping each other.” “Yes, uncle always said we would never amount to anything till some thing happened to take us out of our selves. If father conld only get well now, I believe we would bo very happy together; Goerge aud Jim are so changed that I begin to love them ; and I’m sure the feelings I use to have were anything but loving.” “If he could get well; but I am afraid he won’t. Poor father 1 How I regret now all our crossness to him, I suppose he was often tired out with business, and worried with things that we knew nothing about; there he was working for us, and wo were never willing to give up our own com fort to try to make home pleasant foi him.” s This conversation expressed tin r thoughts that were constantly in tin - ininds of the whole family, workiiq i liked leaven, and expelling the evi > of selfishness. At last there came ; 1 sad day, when the husband and fath er was given up by the physicians 1 The dying man called bis family k around him, and spoke to them ir * feeble tones of the past aud the fu ture. ’ “I have always meant to act f'oi i your good,” ho said ; ‘‘but I have gone ■ far wrong ; I have thought too muct 1 of the body and too little of the soul: i I have let my own heart starve, anil ! have not cultivated in you that prin l ciple of self-sacrificing love that alone > can make life worth living. Forgive me, anel in the future live for each ■ other; then love will spring up in • you like a fountain, anil will over How aud bless everybody around ' you.” Mr. Brownell did not die. From 1 the edge of the grave ho came back to life; but he came with a now sense of duty ; a new sense of the re sponsibility of a father. Ilis fortune was rnaiuly gone, but the whole family had begun to work the mine of love, aud they found that it contained in exhaustible riches. You may be sure that Uncle John was much oftener an inmate in his brother’s house than he had been be fore for many years. And the good minister was of great use to the re pentant business man, when the eight children from the parsonage began to make frequent visits, aud there was never any more chance for living alone, aud being selfish. “YVe don’t have a minute for our selves now,” said Sallie, as she laid down a completed shirt, aud took up a bureau cover that she was embroi dering fora Christmas present for the minister’s wife. “jSTo, and I’m glad we don’t,” said Jano with energy ; “Uncle John says that people oughtn’t to have spare time until they know how to use it. Wasn’t it kind in George to get those concert tickets, when ho has so little spare money 1” “Lovely,” replied Sallie. “I’m go ing to make my old serge suit an swer for this winter, aud buy him the books he wants for his chemical studies.” “I’ll help you,” said Jaue, “for the books will bo expensive. I don’t see just now what I can give up, but some way will open.” “Oh yes ; everything will be easy, now that we have begun in earnest to help each other. Do you know, Jaue, since we have actually tried to live a loving life at home, I begin to see a new meaning in Christ’s words I” “Well, dear,” replied Jane, as she rose to answer her little sister’s call, “you know it is said that we must do his will before we can know of the doctrine.” The Value of the Soul.—I like, says Dr. Plumcr, the story of the old minister in Kentucky. Some one rudely said to him, “You have been preaching hereabouts for twen ty years, and I have never heard of your converting but one man.” “And who was that?” said the humble preacher. A man of fine Christian character was named to him. He modestly said, “I had not heard of that before. Blessed be God for so groat a mercy. And now, by Divine help, here is at it for twenty years more, and if God shall save another soul, that will be two, and either one of them will be worth more than all this world.” Have you enemies ? Go straight on, and mind them not. If they block up your path, walk around them, and do your duty regardless of their spite. A man. who has no enemies is seldom good for anything; ho is made of that kind of material which is so ea sily worked, that every one has a hand in it. A sterling character—one who thinks for himself, and speaks what lie thinks—is always sure to have enemies. Stkip us, 0 Lord, of every proud thought; fill us with patient tender ness for others, seeing that wo also are in the same case before thee; and make us ready to help, and quick to forgive. And then fix every grace, compose every fear, by a steady trust in thine eternal realities, behiud the changes of time and the delusions of men. Thou art. the. rock ; we rest on thee. Be substantially great in thyself, j and more than thou appearest unto others; and let the world be deceived in thee, as they are iu the light ol heaven. Walu uprightly, CONFLICTING PRAYERS. There are what sometimes seem t( j be conflicting prayers. One man is praying for what hr desires, and the granting of it to him on the part of God would be doing that very thing against which anoth er man may be praying, and both tht men may be true Christians. The same may occur in regard tc the great bodies of men. In the late conflict between Germany aud France Christian people all over one country were praying for the success of theii own arras, which would involve, ol •course, the disaster of the arms oi the other country. German priests prayed God to grant what French priests prayed Him to withhold. A gentleman, who fought in the army of the United States during the late Civil War, was telling the other day, how, when he was on picket du ty, sometimes in the night he would approach so near the Confederate Army as to hear the Southern men at their prayers. He said it produ ced a strange effect upon him. He believed in prayers, and he and his comrades had been engaged in earn est supplication asking God for the success of the Union arms; and now in tho still night air lie heard the voices of these men—men who be longed to the hostile army—in tones { which bespoke their intense sincerity, j beseeching God to grant them that [ which, if given, would be the refusal I of his own prayers and the prayers of all who were engaged on his side of the controversy. He represented j himself as having no personal animos j ty, and knew that none in the camp of | the enemy could have animosity to ward him. He was fighting from j conviction; he believed that they were just as honorable men and faith ful Christians as were those on his own side. God was listening to his childrens as they plead in two oppo sing parties. Each asked Him that which, if granted, would be a terri ble disappointment to the other. Now the question naturally occurs, j how does a case of that kind stand to reason and to faith t Let us get back of special cases and look at some of the general prin ciples. The Heavenly Father is governing the universe of matter anil mind anil spirit by law. The law is not a dead thing; but in each case directly ad ministered by the personal act of God. He has ordained prayer, not as ah instrumentality which shall control His will as the ancients believed that fate controlled the will of Jupiter, but as His appointed method of hold ing communication with the souls of mcii. When men approach Goil it is not to command Him as if He were a powerful slave to do their bid ding, but to submit themselves to Him as a sovereign, asking Him to control them in all their ways and all their works. Men do not come to God to- instruct Him what to do as parents teach their children, but they come to Him as loving, obedient chil dren come to a wise and powerful pa rent, asking at once for guidance and assistance. That is not prayer which is spoken to God in any spirit opposed to this. True prayer is never the language of aseltish suppliant, but always the ut terance of the tender trust of a lov ing child. A loving child naturally wants what is best for himself. Self love is not selfishness. Self-love is perfectly consistent with supreme love for God. The soul desires its greatest need to be supplied. It pre sents every prayer to God with the understanding that it asks only that which will most promote His glory and the best interests of the soul for the Here and the Hereafter. JSvery such prayer God answers. We have the highest authority, the Word of our Heavenly Father him self, for knowing that “every one that asketh receivethHe does not al ways receive the auswer to his pray er in tlio shape he desires. That was his intellectual conception of what might be best for him. Such an in tellectual conception must often be a mistake. If it was not a heathenish, selfish kind of prayer, then it was an swered, anil whatever followed the prayer the suppliant must take an answer from the Infinite Wise God, bringing to pass that which is abso lutely best for the suppliant. It is so in all the common affairs of life. A true Christian carries every thing to God iu prayer. “By suppli cation, with thanksgiving, let your requests bo made known unto God,” says the apostle. The Christian man invests his cap ital in some business. He invokes God’s guidance and help. He con ducts all the affairs of the business for God’s glory. The result may be that he comes off, after years of toil, with every single cent of fits capita] sunk. What then! God. hath an »wered his prayer. It was greater prosperity for him to have come oul of that transaction penniless than t( have trebled his capital every yeai he was so engaged. He has done his part with thorough fidelity to God a,ud man. He must believe that God has done best for him. We cannot reconcile apparently conflicting prayers as they rise from the lips of the Christian, but in the mind of our Heavenly Father, there is a perfect reconciliation, and all Christians ought to submit to His Providence. It is not only unchris tian, but it is absurd to lose faith in God because our prayers are not an swered cxactly.in the shape devised by our imagination, and in the man ner described "by the words of our prayers: Wkei'f tthe devout Chris tians of France-were praying for the success of theif arms, if they weie sincere and idtelligent Christians, the spirit of {heir prayers was with God. He overruled this hostile colli sion of two great nations for His own honor and for the best interests of them both. It seemed to be against France in the issue, but a French Christian might truly say: “The defeat of our arms may be the tri umph of our country. It may bring us a thousandfold more blessings than victory over Germany could have brought. We did our best and this is the result. God reigns. We take the award. We shall make the best use pf it.” Such fanguage as that would be the natural language of a Christian heart. Hilt if a French Christian should say : “I will no longer believe there is any God. A God that will let the wicked cause triumph is no God for me the utterance of such sentiments would prove that he had not prayed at all; that what seemed to be prayers were ouly the pleadings of intense selfishness. The Christian who rises from his knees always certain that the prayer which he has offered'will be so an swered by Almighty God as shall be best for his spiritual interests, and then go on his way quietly expecting anything and everything, has the In nitely Wise God’s answers to his prayer. In the light of these truths there cau be no conflicting prayers.—C. F. Deems, D. D. THE CHIMNEY SWEEP’S PRAYERS. I like to repeat the answer a little sweep gave me the other day in a Sunday School. Knowing that all the children of my class were con stantly occupied during the week, I feared that the duty of prayer was sometimes neglected. I insisted that day on the importance of prayer. At the close I asked the little boy of ten years of age, who led a very un comfortable life iu the service of a master sweep : “And you, my friend, do you ever pray t” “Ob, yes, mon sieur.” “And when do you do it ? You go out very early iu the mor ning, do you not f ” “Yes, monsieur, and we are only half awake when we leave the house. I think about God, but caunot say that 1 pray theu.”— “When then ! ” “You see, monsieur, our master orders us to mount the chimney quickly, but does not for bid us to rest a little when we are at the top. Then I sit on the top of the chimney aud pray.” “Aud what do you say ? ” “Ah, monsieur, very lit tle ! I kuow no grand words with which to speak to God. Most fre quently I only repeat a short verse”— “What is that f” “God bo merciful to me a miserable sinner.”—French Sunday School Magazine. Youthful-Industry and Care fulness.— Gorov, an old man of eighty, was sitting at the door of his rural dwelling, when a youth from town came to him and entered into conversation. When he heard the number of the aged mau’s years he marvelled at the healthy and vigor ous appearauce before him, and ask ed Gerov what he had done to enjoy such strength aud serenity in the winter of his life. He answered: “My son, this is, like every good gift, from above. Y'et we must do something here below to obtain it.” Then the old man rose, took the strauger to the orchard, and showed him the splendid trees laden with de licious fruit. Then tho old man said; “Dost thou marvel that I now en joy the fruit of these trees f Behold, my son, I planted them in my youth. Hero thou hast the mystery of my quiet, fruitful old age.” Tho youth bowed his head ; for he understood the old man’s words, aud pondered them iu his heart. We should give as we should re ceive, cheerfully, quickly, and with out hesitation, l'or there is ho grace in the benefit that sticks to the fin gers, CHRISTIAN CHEERFULNESS. “Tho joy of the Lord is your strength.” This expression must be understood as paralleled by all those verses so pleasantly familiar to ns in the book of Proverbs: “A merry heart maketh a cheerful counte nance “He that is of a merry heart hath a continnal feast“A merry heart doetb good like a medi cine “Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop, but a good word maketh it glad.” Nothing can be plainer to any student of the Old or New Testament than the fact thdl God loves to have his children happy, and has done everything needed to keep them so. _ But what does this exactly mean ? It cannot be levity which is intended, not in the least. There is a mirth whose end is heaviness; and so there is a laughter in which the heart is sorrowful. Surely, a becoming se riousness is the characteristic of every true Christian life. And you will seek in vain in the Bible for any commendation or even toleration of the merriment of fools, crackling like the thorns under a pot. Volatile and giddy temperaments must not plead inspired authority for simple silliness or any empty recklessness or frolic. What is intended is a cordial and happy contentment, a fresh liveliness of heart unbroken by any morbid re duction of one’s self, undisturbed by any habit of carping at others. It includes a generous sentiment of sensibility under the superabounding loving-kindness of God. It excludes moroseness and forbids complaining. It is opposed to all undue and per sistent wailing over confessed and forgiven sin. It rebukes melancholy at want of appreciation of ourselves. lavs us nanu neavny agaiusc an back-biting and mean judgment of others. The gospel commands so briety as one of its precepts, b&t not sourness ; it exhorts to sanctity, but it never urges any one to sanctimoni ousness. It does not even forbid a good man to be witty; but it does say he should not whine. Bound our inner life the Creator | has poured a great atmosphere of joyous entertainment and good. There is a beauty in the works of nature; there is a curious attractive- j ness in the passing events of life; \ there is affection in the associations of our neighbors and kin ; there is a proper pleasure even in thebecoin-j ing and moderate exercise of oue’s j appetite : there is kindling to the i soul in the strains of rich music; there is food and there is exhilara- j tion for the imagination in the tri umphs of high art. Now all these are intended to come in contact with the sources of our being, to purify and invigorate them. They are like the diviue word itself, the entrance of which always giveth and is meant! to give light. The gospel should improve our susceptibleuess and refine our intel lectual and spiritual tastes, not be represented morbidly as tearing them up and out by the roots as worldly and profane. Preferences are to be educated; it is not always certain they are to be crushed. lie is our benefactor who teaches us how to derive most protit and most pleasure innocently from all this suggestive world of thought and beauty. But1 it is not possible for any one to minister to us in such regard in any other practical way than by helping us to help ourselves. No man ever did more to make the whole world around him happy than he who persistently keeps himself happy, and lives a cheerful, joyous life be fore God. Just as au enthusiastic pedestrian, on an autumn morning, wheu we moodily sit desolate over a fire, some times comes into the room and with bright invitations and inveiglements of a good time abroad hurries ns out with hi pi for a walk in the fields crisp with frost. He does nothing for us except getting us to do once for ourselves what he does for him self habitually. He beguiles us with mauy a cheery story, and excites us with many a challenge to run. He even tempts us with a “stump” to leap over a five-barred fence. Up the hill, and across the plaiu, he keeps us going among the early ici cles till our faces are all aglow, our pulses are beating gaily on in rapid circulation, our whole being permea ted with a waimth and ruddiness of exhilaration which actually makes us want to shout and whoop like a schoolboy released from durance on a fine afternoon of a glorious Satur day. Observe carefully that he has done nothing uuusual or unnatural in our behalf. He has only wrenched us away from our artificial restraints, and 1'oTced ns in despite cf ourselves to breathe pnrer air, and breathe more sir at ouce. lie has communi cated the enthusiasm and ' healthy glow of his disposition to our slug gishness. So he has given ns a light er, brisker heart—what tiie Scripture ! calls-‘a merry heart.” And when we return, we discover it has done us i good “like a medicine.”—V. S. Robin ' son, D. I). THE TWO BILLS-A FABLE. I . Two bills were waiting in the bank PTor their turn to go out into the world. One was a little bill, only a dollar; the other was a big bill, a thousand dollar bill. While lying there side by side, they fell a talking about their use fulness. The dollar bill murmured out— “Ab, if I were as big as you, what good I would do! I conhl move in such high places, and people would bo ,,so careful of me wherever I should go! Everybody would ad mire me, and want to take me home with them ; but small as I am what good can I do ? Nobody cares much for me. I am too little to be of any use.” “Ah, yes! that is so,” said the thousand dollar bill; and it haughtily gathered up its well-trimmed edges that were lying next the little bill, in conscious superiority. “That is so,” it repeated. “If you were as great as I am, a thousand times bigger than yon are, then you might hope to do some good in the world.” And its face smiled a wrinkle of contempt for the little dollar bill. v uuw uuv.il buv vuvmivi v v/uiV/Oj tu 1VVAJ tbe little, murmuring bill, and kindly gives it to a poor widow. “God bless you !” sbe cries, as with a smiling face sbe receives it. “My dear hungry children can now have some bread.” A thrill of joy ran through the lit tle bill as it was folded up in the widow’s hand ; and it whispered, “I may do some good if I am small.” And when it saw the bright face of her fat heifers children, it was very glad that iroW^'do a little good. Then the little^ dollar bill began its journey of usefulness. It went first to the baker’s for bread, then to the miller’s, then to the farmer’s, then to the laborer’s, then to the doctor’s, then to the minister’s; and wher ever it went, it gave pleasure, adding something to their comfort and joy. At last, after a long, long pilgrimage of usefulness among every sort of people, it came back to the bank again crumpled, defaced, ragged, softened by its daily use. Seeing the thousand dollar bill lying there with scarcely a wrinkle or linger mark upon it, it ex claims : “Pray, sir, and what has been your mission of usefulness ?” The big bill sadly replies : “I have been from safe to safe among the rich where few could see me, and they were afraid to let me go out far, lest I should be lost. Pew iu deed are they whom I have made happy by my mission.” The little dollar bill said : “It is better >to be small, and go among the multitudes doing good, than to bo so great as to be imprisoned in the safe of the few.” And it rested satisfied with its lot. Moeal.—The doing well of little every-day duties makes one the most useful eiul happy.— Well Spring. Obedience to Parents .—A Christian merchant, who, from being a very poor boy, had risen to wealth and renown, was once asked by an intimate friend to what under God he attributed his success in life. “To prompt and steady obedience to my parents,” was the reply. “In the midst of many bad examples of youths of my own age, I was always able to yield a ready submission to the will of my father and mother; and I firmly believe that a blessing has, in consequeuce, rested upon me and all my efforts.” Am I in the coustant habit of trac ing all things to God? Do I recog nize His providence in all events, seek his guidance in every duty, and His hand in every joy, and acknowl edge it in every sorrow' ? Does it make trouble easier to bear that it comes from Him ? Is joy sweeter because He sends ti, and duty easier because He commands it J In all my ways do I so acknowledge Him that I can claim the promise that He will direct my steps 1 Christian faith is a grand cathe dral, with divinely pictured windows. Standing without, you see no glory nor can possibly imagine any; stand ing within, every ray of light reveals a harmony of unspeakable splendors. —Hawthorne,
The Christian Sun (Elon College, N.C.)
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Aug. 24, 1877, edition 1
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