Pike County Democrat, Volume 30, Number 33, Petersburg, Pike County, 22 December 1899 — Page 3

|ALMLY the close of day , Bethlehem In beauty ley, When ere long e star arose That with strange effulgence glows. While the joyful an

gex sing: "‘We from Heaven glad tidings bringl” Welcome, ever blessed morn. When the holy Babe was born! Shepherds watching on the plains, ■Saw the herald angel trains. As around a daullng light Flashes from their wings of white. Sounding loud o’er hill) and glen: “Peace on earth, good will to men!* Blessed morn ! Oh, sweet employ, -Christ to praise In songs of Joy! Kow In Heaven the Saviour waits With Its ever open gates, Where the saints before Him fall Throned In glory, Lord of all! Like the wise men let uS bring Fitting presents to our King; Give the heart, which In His eye% Ever Is the richest prise! Day of days when Christ was born! Ever hailed the brightest morn! When salvation’s work was done. All power given to the Son, -Still He marks the garden's gloom. Bloody cross and rocky tomb, And Is with us when we raise Sweetest songs of Christmas praise! —Sydney Dyer, in Chicago Standard.

rr» < _ ^ J J SN’T Joyce Baxter ^ the oddest girl you / ever saw?” exclaimed Veva to i - her chum one morning.

“What now?” asked Bessie, smiling over her fancy work. “Why, nothing,” replied Veva, “except that she’s taken it into her head ■to spend Christmas with that queer, old-fashioned aunt of hers up in the country instead of here in town where there’s going to be so much fun. She is*the oddest girl I ever knew. Fancy spending a week in that dull, poky place, where the neighbors live half a mils apart and with that old couple and their hired girl for company! But there’s no accounting for tastes. Joyce is lovely in most things, pretty and stylish and! always so pleasant, but sometimes when she takes such queer freaks it makes me almost believe she does it for effect. And to think she’ll miss the Christmas party at Jean’s! I know she’s invited, for Jean told me so.” The two girls drifted off from the j subject of Joyce into talk of fancy work ' for Christmas presents and gay costumes for the approaching party. Meanwhile in Joyce’s pretty home on the avenue Mrs. Baxter was holding converse with her dark-eyed daughter. “You’re a queer little girl,” she ■was saying, “to prefer spending the holidays up at Aunt Isabel’s when all the other girls are so excited about Jean’s party. It’s to be a nice affair, I know, because Jean’s mother has taken counsel with me and there are to be ^several pretty novelties besides the regular good time. If I were you, dear, Td give up the icfea of going to the Promised Land and stay at home.” But Joyce knew what she wanted, and presently Mrs. Baxter, with a loving little pat on the shoulder, left her to

herself. *'I believe the child intends to go up into the Promised Land as a regular Christmas fairy,” she thought, smilingly, as she descended the stairs. “All those mysterious little bundles in her room mean something.” But later ih, the day Joyce slipped her mother’s wrap upon that lady’s shoulders, brought her hat and* gloves •and made her go out with her for a little shopping. And on the way she revealed her plans. “I’ve made up my mind that there shall be a Christmas tree in the Promised Land this year,” she began. “I wrote to Aunt Isabel some time ago and asked some questions. She’s written back that the young folks in the Promised Land have never had a Christmas ttee and if I want to go into it I may have her big front room and Uncle Ben will see about the tree. So I’ve been buying and making these little things, you know, to put on it and now I’m after candy to finish off with.” Mrs. Baxter looked affectionately at her daughter. “You’re a good girl, Joyce,” she said, softly, “and mother’s proud of you.” And then she opened her own purse and purchased some •choice'gifts for Aunt Isabel and Uncle Ben. “You can smuggle them onto the tree without their knowing a thing ■about it,” she said. “I declare, Joyce, I do wish I was going to the Promised Land, too!”

"But you can t, you know,” laughed Joyce; "there’s the Christmas dinner to be looked after and papa to take care of. I*m the only one who can be spared. But won’t it be nice? I’ll write you all about it the very next day.” The Promised Land is the name given ■to a narrow valley which runs up among the hills which form a spur of the Allegheny mountains. It is an isolated region, "three miles from nowhere,” as some of its inhabitants say, but fruitful farms and comfortable homes are scattered along its length on •either side of the straggling road which forms its only street. When Uncle Ben met Joyce at the train down in the village he was somewhat amazed to see that there was a trunk which he was expected to carry too. But he asked no questions as he

1 cheerfully tugged It late the old sleigh. “Seems kind o* queer she’d bring along a trunk for just a few days,” he thought to himself, “but mebby she’s going to stay quite a spell.” And as the old man tucked'the blankets in snug and warm he found himself hoping that she would. There was seldom a strange face seen | on that familiar road which led up into j the Promised Land, and* Joyce caught j fleeting glimpses of interested faees peering out at them as Uncle Ben’s old j horse jogged heavily along. Two or three of the young girls she had become acquainted with during the preceding summer, when she had spent a week at the farm, and now she gayly waved her hand to them as she caught sight of them at the window or door. And so swiftly does news travel, evgn in the Promised Land, that before nightfall everyone knew that Joyce Baxter, Aunt Isabel’s niece, had come up to spend the holidays. Somehow the very knowledge of this helped to content some dissatisfied girl hearts with the prospect of the usual dull Christmas in

the valley. But when next day Uncle Ben’s wellknown horse and cutter stopped at every gate in the Promised Land and pretty, stylish Joyce came up the path to the front door, followed a moment later by Uncle Ben, who never missed the chance of a neighborly visit, there seemed to come all at once into those quiet lives a new something of delight and interest which had not been there before. And when Joyce in her own pleasant way had given her invitation “to come up to Aunt Isabel’s to-morrow evening at seven o’clock,’’ they all thought it was lovely and promised to go, but not one of them even suspected a Christmas tree. And it was not only the young people who were asked to come. Not one was slighted. Every family was invited, from grandma down to the long-dressed baby. Aunt Isabel had -said: “Ask ’em all, my dear, the house is big enough to hold ’em, I guess," and anyhow it’ll do us good to crowd up and be neighborly.” For the truth was that the widely-scattered families were not at all noted for their “neighborliness.” All had grown into a stay-at-home habit, or when they went at all it was generally to the village. A busier household than Uncle Ben’s

Bern had made a fire in the otg sittingroom fireplace, and around this the older folks gathered for a friendly visit. At half-past seven Joyce opened the front room door and ushered the children and young people into theabla*« and glory of the first Christmas tree some of them had ever seen. Bight proudly did Joyce view the pretty scene, the hemlock-garlanded room, the wreaths above the pictures, but overall and crowning all the lovely tree, towering to the ceiling, aglow with the soft light of dozens of candles, agleam with snowy festoons of popcorn, golden oranges and bags of candies. Joyce had worked hard all day and was tired—at least she had been tired before the people came—but now as she looked into the happy faces and wondering eyes she felt that it had paid. Who could tell of all the joys of that

wonderful Christmas Eve! How astonished each boy was when Uncle Ben loudly read his name and handed down to his eager hands some mysterious parcel! How radiantly happy was each small girl who received some pretty thing from that wonderful tree! And no child was forgotten. And then how they all shouted when Uncle Ben peered through his glasses at the parcels he found on the tree for himself! And how they all exclaimed when Joyce undid Aunt Isabel’s bundle and laid a beautiful, soft, fleecy, white shawl about her shoulders! And then when Uncle Ben, who ha4d privately invited a minister from the village, asked for a few Christmas remarks, they all listened reverently while that sweet old story of the Babe of Bethlehem was told once more. And after the candles had burned down, sputtered and gone out, the front room was deserted in favor of the big kitchen, where all sorts of gay, romping games were played. Joyce, flushed and merry, wondered once or twice if the girls at Jean’s Christmas party were having as much fun as she. Presently Belinda, important and smiling above her snow-white apron, passed plates and napkins, and Joyce helped her serve the delicious cake and sandwiches and pour the tea and coffee. What a royal good time it was, and how jovial the old men were, and how vivacious the old ladies! Aunt Isabel and Uncle Ben were plainly happy, and so

UNCLE BEN MET JOYCE AT THE TRAIN.

could not be imagined than was bis on the day before Christmas. Very early in the morning he and Joyce had driven off up into the hemlock woods and brought home in triumph a beautiful tree, tall, shapely and stout of branch. And it was Uncle Ben who set it firmly in a block of wood and bore it into the big front room. And it whs Belinda, the “help,” who popped great panfuls of snowy corn, and Aunt Isabel who sat in her red-covered rock-ing-chair and strung it into long festoons for the tree. And it was Joyce who filled the generous bags of lacenet she had made at home with candy, raisins and cracked nuts. And it was Joyce who twined long, spicy-smelling ropes of hemlock to swing from the ceiling and around the walls. Belinda and Aunt Isabel retired to the kitchen, while Joyce was busy with Uncle Ben in the front room, and presently Belinda’s cake-making skill was announced by delicious smells from the big oven, and Aunt Isabel sliced the pink ham and sandwiched it in between the daintily-thin buttered bread. “We’ll have tea and coffee both, Belinda,” said Aunt Isabel, “and pass the things around.” And Belinda, smiling broadly in pleased anticipation of the unusual thing which was about to happen, deftly spread the snow-white frosting over the big fruit cake she had al

lo\yed to cool. “It will be nice, that’s a fact,” she said, energetically. “It’s wonderful, ain’t it, what jest one girl can set a-go-ing when she takes a notion!” At seven o’clock the Promised Land people presented themselves at Uncle Ben’s frontdoor. The old man, shining with hospitality, beamed upon his guests and welcomed each one with a hearty handshake. And next came Joyce with a bright word for every one and a smile and a happy welcome for each and every child. The young girls looked at Joyce in bashful admiration. How pretty she looked in her soft blue dress, with one of Aunt Isabel's geranium blossoms in her hair! They came and came and Uncle Ben overflowed with genial warmth, while Aunt Isabel, whose rheumatism kept her closely to her chair, smiled peacefully upon them all and never onee thought of her bright rag carpet under all thosesnow-damoenedfeet. Unde

was Belinda, and if the guests were one-half as happy as Joyce they were happy, indeed. When it was all over and all the guests had departed for their respective homes in the Promised Land, Uncle Ben drew Joyce down upon his knee. “Little girl,” he said, “you done well— you done nobly! The true Christmas spirit is in your heart, 'peace and good will.* ” And Aunt Isabel smiled across at her. “You’ve brought the Christmas feeling into my heart, child,” she said softly. “I can’t bear to have you go home day after to-morrow.” Joyce laughed gleefully. “Pm not going, auntie,” she said. Tre three weeks’ vacation, and I'm going to spend it all with you.” Uncle Ben chuckled to himself. “That’s the way to talk,” said he. “I wondered when I see that trunk of yours if you mebbe wasn't going to stay with us a spell, and so you be. We’ll try to have some sleighrides and candypulls up here in the Promised Land while you’re here and I don’t doubt a mite but what we’ll all have a good time.”—Harriet Francene Crocker, in Union Signal. COMPARISONS NOT MADID.

Smythe—Was your Christmas a success? ' Brown—I don’t know; my wife hasn’t heard from the neighbors yet.—Up To Date.

PILLARS OF SMOKE ' 5 The Divine Symbol That Typifies God’s Power and Hercy. Dr. Ttlaiac* Speaks of the Trials Threaph Which Trath Has Trl■afhaaUy Strsgglei — Martyrs ta Faith. (Copyright. 1899, by Louts Klopsch.] Washington, Dec. II. The trials through which the truth has struggled are by Dr. Talmage here set forth under a Bible symbol of great suggestivene&s and power, text, Solomon’s Song 3:6: “Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke?” The architecture of the smoke is wondrous, whether God with His finger curves it into a cloud, or rounds itinto a dome, or points it in a spire, or spreads it in a wing, or, as in the text, hoists it in a pillar. Watch it winding up from the country farmhouse in. the early morning, showing that the pastoral industries have begun, or see it ascending from the chimneys of the city, telling of the homes fed, the factories turning out valuable fabrics, the printing presses preparing book and new spaper, and all the ten thousand wheels of work in motion. On a clear day this vapor spoken of mounts with such buoyancy and spreads such a delicate veil across the sky and traces such graceful lines of circle and semicircle and waves and

tosses and sinks and soars and scatters with such affluence of shape and color and suggestiveness that if you have never noticed it you are like a man who has all his life lived in Paris and yet never seen the Luxembourg, or all his life in Rome and never seen the Vatican, or all his life at Lockport and never seen Niagara. Forty-four times the Bible speaks of the smoke, and it is about time that somebody preached a sermon recognizing this strange, weird, beautiful, elastic, charming, terrific and fascinating vapor. Across the Bible sky floats the smoke of Sinai, the smoke of Sodom, the smoke of Ai, the smoke of the pit, the smoke of the volcanic hills when God touches them, and in my text the glorious church of God coming up out of the wilderness like'pillars of smoke. In the first place, these pillars of smoke in my text ind icate the suffering the church of God has endured. What d<^ I mean by the church? I mean not a building, not a sect, but those who in all ages and all lands and of aH beliefs love God and are trying to do right. For many eenturies the Heavens have been black with the smoke of martyrdom. If set side by side, you could girdle the earth with the fires of persecution— Rowland Taylor, burhed at Hadleigh; Latimer, burned at Oxford; John Rogers, burned atSmithfield; John Hooper, burned at Gloucester; John Huss, burned at Constance; Lawrence Saunders, burned at Coventry; Joan of Arc, burned at Rouen. Protestants have represented Catholics as having a monopoly of persecutors, but both Protestant and Catholic have practiced cruelties. The Catholics during the reign of Hunneric were by Protestants put to the worst tortures, stripped of their elothing, hoisted in the air by pulleys with weights suspended from their feet, then let down, and ears and eyes, and nose and tongue were amputated, and red hot plates of iron were put against the tenderest'part of their bodies. George Bancroft, the historian, says of the state of Maryland: “In the land which Catholics had opened to Protestants mass might not be said publicly, no Catholic priest or bishop might utter his faith in a voice of persuasion, no Catholic might teach the young. If a wayward child of a papist would but become an apostate, the law wrested for him from his parents a share of their property. Such were the methods adopted to prevent the growth of po

pery. Catholicism as well as Protestantism has had its martyrs. It does seem as if when any one sect got complete dominancy in any land the devil of persecution and cruelty took possession of that sect. Then see the Catholies after the Huguenots. See the Gentiles after the Jews in Touraine, where a great pit was dug and fire lighted at the bottom of the pit, and 160 Jewish victims were consumed. See the Presbyterian parliament of England, more tyrannical in their treatment of opponents than had been the criminal courts. Persecution against the Baptists by Paedo-Baptists.. Persecution of the Established ehurch against the Methodist church. Persecution against the Presbyterians. Under Emperor Diocletian 144,000 Christians were massacred, and 700,000 more of them died from banishment and exposure. "Witness the sufferings of the Waldenses, of the Albigenses, of the Nestorians. Witness St. Bartholomew’s massacre. Witness the duke of Alva driving out of life 18,000 Christians. Witness Herod and Nero and Decius and Hildebrand and Torquemada and earl of Montford and Lord Claverhouse, who, when told that he must give account for his cruelties, said: “I have no need to account to man, and, as for God, I will take Him in my own hands.” A red line runs through the church history of 1,900 years, a line of blood. Not by hundreds of thousands, but by millions must we count those slain for Christ’s sake. No wonder John Milton put the groans of the martyrs to an immortal tune, writing: ▲venae. O Lord, thy slaughtered salats, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold. The smoke of martyrs* homes and martyrs bodies if rolling up all at once would have eclipsed the noonday sun and turned the brightest day the world ever saw into a midnight. “Who is this that eometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke?**

Has persecution ceased? Ask that young man who is trying to be a Christian in a store or factory, where from morning to night he is the butt of ail the mean witticisms of unbelieving employes. Ask that wife whose husband makes her fondness for the house of God and even her kneeling prayer by the bedside a derision and is no more fit for her holy companionship than a filthy crow would be a fit companion for a robin or a golden oriole. Compromise with the world and surrender to Its conventionalities, and if may let you alone, but all who will live godly in Christ Jesus must suffer. Be a theater-going, theater-going.card-playing, wine-drink-ing, round-dancing Christian, and you may escape criticism and social pressure. Be an up-and-down, out-and-out follower of Christ, and worldling will wink to worldling as he speaks your name, and you will be put in many a doggerel and snubbed by those not worthy to blacken your oldest shoes. When the bridge at Ashtabuih broke and let down the most of the carload of passengers to instant death; Mr. P. P. Bliss was seated on one side of the aisle of the car writing down a Christian song which he was composing, and on the other side a group of men were playing cards. Whose landing place in eternity would you prefer—that of P. P. Bliss, the Gospel singer, or of the card players? y A great complaint comes from the theaters about the ladies* high hats, because they obstruct the view of the stage, and a lady reporter asked me what I thought about it, and I told her that if the indecent pictures of actresses in the show windows were accurate pictures of what goes on in many of the theaters night by night then it would be well if the ladies’ bats were a mile high, so as to completely obstruct the vision. If professed Christians go to such places during the week, no one will ever persecute them for their religion, for they have none, and they are the joke of hell. But let them live a consecrated and Christian lif&c^nd they will soon run against sneeriite o|tpnsj*imj. Meet me at any depot flhe world over, and with my eyes closed take me by : the hand and lead me so that my feet : will not stumble, and without my once looking down or looking on the level take me to some high roof or tower and let me see the tops of the churches, and I will tell you the proportion of Suicides, of arsons, of murders, of thefts. According as the churches are numerous are the crimes few. According as the churches are few the crimes are numerous. The most beautiful organization the world ever saw or ever will see is the much-maligned church, the friend of all good, the foe of all evil, “fair as the moon and clear as the sun.” Beautiful in her Author, beautiful in her mission, the heroine of the centuries, the bride of Christ, the queen of the nations!

Men may desecrate it* as Cromwell when he stabled his cavalry horses in St. Paul’s cathedral; or break off the image of Christ, as did the iconoclasts in York minster; or hurl against it august literary antipathies, as did Gibbon; or plot its overthrow, as do some in every community whose pride and hate and debauchery are reproved by the Ten Commandments which it thunders and the sermon on the mount which it breathes. But it will stand as long as "the earth stands, the same unique and wonder-working and beatific and miraculous thing for which God decreed it. Small wits tax their brain to say things that will put her at disadvantage, but many of them will send forits condolence when dying, and their children will be gathered up under its benedictions after the parental curse has been removed. Through her gates will march all the influences for good that shall ever reach our world. Take her membership as a mass, not speaking of the acknowledged exceptions, they are the noblest, grandest, kindest, best men and women of the ages. But for them the earth would long ago have been a burned out volcano. They have been the salt that has kept the human race from putrefaction insufferable either to human or angelic olfactories. The church of God will yet become the arbiter of nations. If the world would allow it, it could to-day step in between Germany and France and settle the trouble about Alsace and Lorraine, and between England and her antagonists, and between all the other nations that are flying at each other’s throats and command peace and disband armies and harness for the plow the war horses now being hitched to ammunition wagons or saddled for cavalry charge. That time must come, or through the increased facility for shooting men and blowing up cities and whelming hosts to instant death, so that we can kill a regiment easier than we could once kill a company, and kill a brigade easier than we could once kill a regiment, the patent offices of the world more busy than ever in recognizing new enginery of destruction, the human race will aft

er awhile go fighting with one arm, and hobbling with one foot, and stumbling along with one eye, and some ingenious inventor, inspired of the archangel of all mischief, will contrive a machine that will bore a hole to the earth's center, and some desperate nation will throw into that hole enough dynamite to blow this hulk of a planet into fragments, dropping the meteoric stones on surrounding steRar habitations. But this shall not be, for whatever 1 let go I hang onto my Bible, which tells me that the blacksmith’s shop shall yet come toils grandest use when the warrior and the husbandman shall enter it side by side, and the soldier shall throw into its bank of fires his sword, and the farmer shall pick it up a plowshare, and the straightest spear shall be bent into a crook at each end and then cut in two, and what was one spear shall be two pruning hooks. Down with Moloch and up with Christ 1 Let no more war horses eat out of the manger where Jesus was born. Peace! Forever roll off the skv the

Ah black pillars of smoke from tbe MareuX gom and Salamancas and Borodino*"' and Sedans and Gettysburgs of eart«*t AjuJ right after them roil intb the heavens the peaceful vapors from the chimneys of farmhouses and asylums and churches and capitals of Christian nations, and, as the sunligj|i strifes through these vapors, they will write in letters of jet and gold 'all over the sky, from horizon to zenith: '“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men!** While thinking of these things I looked out from my window, and the wind was violently blowing. And I saw from many chimneys the smoke tossed in the air and whirled in great velocity, volume after volume, fold after fold, and carried on the swift wind were the great pillars of smoke. And, helped by Solomon in the text, I saw the speed of the church smybolized. Do you realize the momentum the church of God is under? Why, the smoke of a chimney on the top of Mount Washington, when the wind is blowing 60 miles the hour, is slow as compared with the celerity of good influences. For 59 centuries the devU had it his own way among the nations. Nearly all the great missionary movements have been started within the century, and see what one century has done to recover the .world from 59 centuries of devastation. What great revivals! What mighty churches. Wh::t saved millions! .4j||||£ 1 .- Ti the ruins of Babylon and Assyria and Nineveh and the valleys of the Nile confirmations hay© been exhumed proving to all fair-minded men that the Bible is the truest book ever written. The mythologies of Egypt were found to have embodied in them the knowledge of man's expulsionfrom paradise and the sacrifice of a great Emancipator. Moses* account of the creation, corroborated by the hammer of Christian geologists; the oldest profane writers, Hiroiuns, Helanicus and Beroeus, confirming the Bible account of ancient longevity; Tacitus and PKny confirming the Bible accounts M destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah; Tacitus and Porphyry telling the same story of Christ os Matthew and Luke told; Maerobius telling of the massacre of children in Bethlehem, and Phlegou sketching at the crucifixion » .^sg&SZ.-J It is demonstrated to all honest men * that it is not certain that William Cullen Bryant wrote “Thanatopsis” or Longfellow wrote “Hiawatha” as that God, by tbe hand of prophet and apostle, wrote the Bible. All the wise men in science and law and medicine and literature and merchandise are gradually coming to .believe in Christianity, and soon there will be no people who .disbelieve in it except those conspicuous for lack of brain or men with two families, who do not like the Bible because it rebukes their swinish pro

pensities. • The time is hastening1 when there will, be infidels left except libertines and hdrlots and murderers. Millions of Christians where once there were thousands, and thousands where once there were hundreds. What a bright evening this, the evening of the nineteenth century! And the twentieth century, which is about to dawn, will, in my opinion, bring- universal victory for Christ and the church that now is marching on with step double quick or, if you prefer the figure of the text, is being swept on in the mighty gales of blessing imposing and grand and majestic and swift like pillars of smoke Oh, come into the church through Christ the door, a door more glorious than that of the temple of Hercules, which had two pillars, and one was gold and the other emerald! Come in to-day! The world you leave behind is a poor world, and it will burn and pass off like pillars of smoke. Whether the final conflagration will start in the coal mines of Pennsylvania, which, in some places, have for many years been burning and eating into the heart of the mountains, or whether it shall begin near the California geysers or whether from out the furnaces of Cotopaxi and Vesuvius and Stromboli it shall burst forth upon the astonished nations I make no prophecy, but all geologists tell us that we stand on the lid of a world, the heart of which is a raging, roaring, flame, and spme day God will let the red monsters out of their imprisonment of centuries, and New York, on fire in 1835, and Charleston on fire in 1863, and Chicago on fire in 1872, and Boeton on fire in 1873 were only like one sipark from a .blacksmith's forge aa compared with that last universal blaze which will be seen in other worlds. But gradually the flames will lessen, and the world will become a great living coal, and that will take on ashen hue, and then our ruined planet will begin to smoke, and the moiptains will smoke, and the valleys will' smoke, and the islands will smoke, and the seas will smoke, and the citiee will smoke, and.the five continents will be five pillars of smoke. But the black vapors will begin to lessen in height and density and then will become hardly visible to those who look upon it from the sly galleries, and after awhile from just one point there will curl up a thin, solitary vapor, and

taen even that will tanish, and there will be nothing left except the charred mins of o burned ont world; the corpse of a dead star, the ashes of an extin* guished planet, a iftllen pillar of smoke, But that will not interfere frith yom investments if yon have taken Christ as your Saviour. Secure Heaven as your eternal home, and you can look down upon a dismantled, disrupted and demolished earth without any perturbation. When wrapped In firs the realms of ether glow. And Heaven's last thunders shake the earth below. Thou, undismayed, shait o’er the ruins smile Aad light the torch at Nature's ftwerei ,.. - ;;v -• .411lfcvMMM