The Cedarville Herald, Volume 12, Numbers 1-26

A Story of the Late War. a y p*m«A(iD aiGSBY, Author of “ Loyal a tlM t.” “ X r LAay’fantaa- Uo," “XUm’a OnHtt.lacxat." vjrau . • Among Thlevea," Etc. Copyright, 1891 , byA*N. KelloggNewspaperC*. tAZAFTER L O n BUHDAT. ' T was the Lord’s Day—the d a y of a l l others when peaceand goodwill should h a Ye reigned; but the Nation ■;W'hi.sv i i f the throes of civil wav, ( a n d the t i d e of men’s e v i l pussions swept over the land—even over the quiet valley of the Muskin­ gum, with its sleepy agricultural vil­ lages and pleasant homesteads. Even the hamlet of Meltonburg—the last e e in; the world whei-e you would >. looked for excitement—was on this holy day in unusual commotion; and the scene of this mental disturbance was, of all other places, the village church, a building whose walls had never, since the early settlers had first hewed its rafters from the virgin forest- trees, tesoiinded to any thing more stir­ ring than a condemnation of rural sin- -ners or an invocation to a gbdlicr life. The pulse of. the place was throbbing a t fever speed, and.the reason was that Per, ytTosiah Brentwood, the aged pas­ tor, was preaching a war-sermon. It was not that the people were lost in as­ tonishment a t the peaceful odd man’s ■discoursing on such a subject,-which could hardly have, seemed more odd to -them than if one of their own sheep ’had-suddenly turned to rend them, but that the burning eloquence of one they had loved, but bad never suspected of the power of oratory, should stir thorn to such, enthusiasm was indeed a matter of wonder, 1 The congregation of petty merchants and farmers, with their wives - and daughters, sat in their pews spell­ bound, while with graphic simplicity he told them the story of the civil war, now in the fury of its first passionate outburst. His fervid description, his unsurpassed spirit of patriotism thrilled them with an emotion they had never felt before. And when he told them . tha t cruel as war was, there was a timo when the most God-fearing Christian must gird his loins for the fight and leave the tender ties of home and kindred to serve bis fatherland, the sacred character of the spot was for the moment forgotten and a little storm of applause greeted his glowing wordB. ’ For an instant tho preacher's eycB rested on the figure of a young man; and he was pained to see the youth’s handsome face fiush scarlet and his eyes droop before his glance In an agony of shame. Poor Frank llesant! He had taken every word of the sermon ns a reproach to himself; for while all the lads of the neighborhood had shouldered a musket and gone to the front, ho had remained a t home—not from any fear of the dangers of the battlefield, but because" the gentle woman, whose hand was now m Cii'WiK;.; SC •‘ WitAT IS THE SAME Or WONDER1” nervously clasping his, was Idawidowed mother, tind ho was her only child and the idol of her heart, Every word of the discourse htul fal­ len like s drop of molten lead in his ■fare. tingling them with msenso of •unde­ served shame; yet, if ho could have, redd the tlnnv-hts of tlio few’who realty had him In their minds, he would have 1>cen aolheid to know that fhfcy we’re only moved with ft great pity for tlio mother they were assured whs so soon to 1p bereft; for hone, whb wow tatlmtitc With him* dthildyfi WTM tho end would be. . .“ " ; filut knew it, tod. As-she clasped her loved one’s hand she turned on the pastor eyes full of bitter remonBtnince; insomuch that the good mftn hesitated and. stammered under hoy appealing glance, and only recovered himself with an effort for the continuation of his address- The sermon ended at last, and the ex­ cited congregation, after the manner pf country folk, lingered awhile to ex­ change idc:is-T-chiefly, in this .instance, unreliable news from tho scat of war— hqrripd fpssily away to their homes, Mr. Brentwood' did not occupy tho parsonage, but lived in his own home­ stead, a pretty farm-house, well out on the outslrirt of tho village, near where the river wound its way out of the or­ chards into the bolder scenery of the 1 mohntain landh. It was a qu iet iretired \ spot, well adapted to the studious hab­ its of its occupant, wliowas a far bet­ ter read man than.his parishioners had any idea of. His household was small, consisting simply of his sister Ruth and granddaughter Grace — the former a lady of uncertain years and temper, whose periodical fits of irritability were compensated for by splendid qualifica­ tions as a housekeeper and a strong af­ fection for her brother, whom the neigh­ bors said she ruled with a rod of iron — tho latter a, sweet girl . of eighteen, whose rad ian tsm ile—and_ winning ways made sunshine in the old man’s house. She was the ac­ knowledged village beauty—a trifle short in stature, perhaps, bu t with a form exquisitely molded, expressive eyes, •which spoke with cvpry glance, a healthy complexion that let the blush quickly suffuse the cheek, yet which had nothing of the pink-and- wliito hectic loveliness so dear to lady novelists; a small, .soft hand, a low, musical voice and an utter unconscious­ ness of her own undeniable prettiness— in fact, a sweet, strong, pnre-minded girl, just blossoming into a promising womanhood, Graco was the old mtin’s grandchild, the orphan daughter, of his only son, who had died with Ids young wife ten years ago. . The Sabbath-day’s work was over, and tho minister was on the point of retiring to , hip well-earned rest, when a sharp ring a t the front-door bell announced a late visitor. “Bless my life,” said tho old parson, “who can be coining here a t this time I of night? Shouldn’t wonder if Dea- ! con Spencer’s taken worse, and I’ll have to drive out . to Ids place, and the marc’s east a shoe, and—” But by this limu Grace lmd opened' the door and admitted a lady, “Goodness gracious, Mary Besant!’* i Miss Ruth ejaculated, holding up her j mittened hands in an ccstncy of sur- j prise. “Wlmt in tho name of wonder ( has hpougftV you out of doors in the » dead of night'"’ i I t was barely ten o'clock by tho Con- j nedticul time-piece which ticked over , the mantel-pled!, bu t it was “the dead ■ of night” to the village of Meltonburg, whose silent streets a t this hour showed , never a light, save when in some cot- ; tage wliitlow, where sickness wfts, a > lone lfimp gleamed like a solitary star, j The visitor was a:handsome woman of f forty years, who carried her age so well 1 that she might have passed for a decade I younger, notwithstanding her tear- j stained cheeks. { She Ignored Grace’s caressing greet- * ing and Miss Ruth's inquiry, and turned ' the .battery of remonstrant eyes on the 1 minister, who stood uncomfortably'ex- < pectant. j Then, with a world of reproach in her j accents, she said: | “Yon have done your work well,, sir— , my Frank, my hoy, is going to enlist . , He has told me the bitter truth to-night. ' I have gone down oh thyknCei before him and prayed him not to leave me;s but he is obdurate,” j The minister was speechless. Even | the consciousness of having simply ' done his duty was outbalanced' bjf the j infinite pity lie felt for the unhappy mother; bub Ruth was actuated by no I such delicate sentiments, and, with a sniff of defiance, boldly advanced to her brother’s rescue. \ “Hoity-toity!” she said. “Here’s & pretty to-do about nothing, Maty Besant. I’d he ashamed of myself, if I Were you, making Bitch a fuss over the lad. Is he made of different clay (Tom other young men, that ho should bc^ tied to his mother’s apron-string, when his country needs his services? Do you think th a t Stephen Williams and .Tclmnie Black, and ft score of others in; j the place who have gone to the front,1; hadn’t mothers to weep for them—Jnfct ns fond of them as you are of your j Frank—aye, and proud to thjnk they ; have strong son* willing to defend, them. Not go to thO front, indeed! IV,haw, if it wasn't for tho alMuril pro- , jndico of the age, Vd shoulder ft musket myself, You lmvo done yonr! living heat to spoil that boy of yours, . hud I tell you to yonr face that I .aai i glad you’ve failed. If Frank is going | a-soldiering lie is doing ju*t what he | ought t* do, nnd you should go Arana on your bended knees—not to him, bu t to God, to thank Hun for having given yon a son with such spirit. Tears, in­ deed! If he was my lad, this would bo the proudest moment of my life*” This was a day of surpfiscato the minister’s friends, In the morning he had astonished those who 'had known him for years by his display of oratory; to-night he literally paralyzed Miss Ruth, whose tongue heretofore had been accustomed to wag in perfect un­ restraint, by a sadden assumption of authority. “Silence, Ruth,” he commanded. “Mrs. Besant camehere—where sh®had a right to come—for consolation in the hour of need, and ! will not have her annoyed by yonr senseless gabble.” Senseless gobble! .For thirty years Ruth Brentwood had ruled her brother with uncontrolled austerity, and now he hod turned, .upon, her with a rude* nefls and vulgarity, which so over­ powered her th a t she sank upon a sofa in speechless Indignation. , v “And now, Mrs. Besant,” the pastor began, soothingly, turning .t o . the widow, “let me ask you—” t » “Ask me nothing, sir,” was the pas­ sionate reply. “Tell me, simply, will you try to undo the evil you have dope? I t is not too late even now;1you have great influence over my boy, and a word from you might turn him from his fearful purpose.”.. “And that word, my dear friend,”Mr. Brentwood .said, sadly, “can never he spokep. If Frank were, my own son, he could not bc dearer to.me, but---” The widow heeded .him not. Grace, notwithstanding her first repulse, had nestled to her side, and was standing with hands clasped on .her arms, her big oyes moist with tears. To her Mrs. Besant turned almost fiercely. “Why are you silent, girl? I thought you loved my boy. Have you no word to add to my prayers that may make that cold old man more human and less dutiful? Speak! Perhaps he may listen to you.” There was a painful pause. The girl bowed her head and was silent, , “What!” Mrs. Besant cried, in a hoarse whisper, “you against me, too!” She shook Grace from her with a pas­ sionate aversion. “Oh, no, no,” the girl, pleaded. “I would do any thing in the world for yon, but—" ' “But, what; child?” “But I think,” she added, in low; thqngh decided tones, “if I were Frank, I should go to tho front like the rest of the young men.” “And this from you!” The widow’s words were very bitter. “Then, when my bright boy, who never in all his,life till now has (riven me one pang o f anx­ iety, is lying tom with bullets on some battle-field, may the thought that it was’you and that crazy old man who drove him to his fate, fill your soul with half tho anguish I feel now, There, I have done. Cry your eyes oat girl—when it is too late.’! » She opened the door hurriedly and fled Into the darkness of the night. CHAPTER IL xm e w idow ’ s m ite . When the widow so abruptly left Mr.1 Brentwood’s house, ho gently closed the door after her, and with a sigh retired to Ids chamber, leaving tho ladies free to discuss the affair, an opportunity which Miss Ruth availed herself of with sincere satisfaction. She hod been awed for a timo by her brother’s re- fractoiy behavior, but the moment his buck was turned launched, into a chap­ ter of lamentations on the ingrutitnde of men and the wicked folly of women, not forgetting, however, to congratulate Grace on the firmness she had exhibited in refusing to encourage Mrs. BCsant’s apprehensions for her con’s safety. Grace heard little of the diatribe, for her thoughts were with the widowAnd her son. Yes, she confessed to herself, Bbc did really apd truly love this young man, who was causing so much trouble to the mall, and though ho hod never de­ clared Any peculiar affection for her, she felt assured that she was dearer to him than the other young girls in the neigh­ borhood; And it was hard—oh, so hard —to lose him; but would she have had him stay a t Meltonburg with the women and the oddmen, when his country-was in danger? No, » thousand times no, even though she should never set eyes onhlm again. ....... Her reveries Andthe clderlady’s mono­ logue Were suddenly bitoken by three stealthy taps on the window-pane. Both started in surprise. The taps were repeated. “Hush, Grace,” Ruth Brentwood Said in an excitedwhisper, ‘‘there is nothing to be.alarmed about. I t is onlyJames Lawson—I saw him hanging round the church door rto-night, when to*, dfirne homo from psceting.” “Oh, dear,’*Grace muttered; in -dis­ tress, “if my grandfather should hear him, IfhfttsliaUwtodo?” f „ ‘‘Thank gtoodniss; Abild, your grand­ father Ifcsaf* ift hiSttobm fqr the night,” Whs th e confident reply. “Open the door softly, add let the poor boy in.” ThA 'TObt boy,” who came into the jrodni slfbkfpg a t the girls’ heals; lmd not ah appcararice likely to prepossess a stranger. He was ayomig m in of ap­ parently two-ftijd-twSnty ydara of age, with light, lmy-whispy hair and a sal­ low, uaWUolmOftic octfapkxion. His clothes were old and shabby, hi* man­ ner dejected, and there was ft cringing humility ip his bearing which waspAin- ful to witness, c> “1 peeped JhtorigK this Wihdow—” ho said, glancing furtively into the face of either lady as though doubtful of th« re­ ception he was likely to meet w ith ,. Bprtfterw 1 thought I might venture to come in." Though Grace glanced a t him coldly and refused the band he stretched towards her. Miss Ruth beamed upon him her sweetest smile, for this elderly lady loved the shabby ne’er-do-well with the blind affection of a woman— perhaps because she had brought him up fromchildhood and showered somany favors on him. < James Lawson's briefcareer had been meteoric and full of trouble. Loft as a baby one night on the door-step of a farmer’s house, he had been saved from the tender mercies of the poor-bOuse by the compassionate Interposition of the minister, who had given the waif and stray a home in Ills household and, While never legally adopting him, bad brought him up under his care, -With as much consideration for his welfare as though he had been a blood relation; Which kindness he bed returned by de­ veloping in early manhood such a reckr less instinct for vice that Mr. Brent­ wood had been driven to turn him adrift and refuse to have any thing to do with him. But James Lawson hod “ i THOUGHT I MIGHT VENTURE IN. cunningly managed to keep on the blind side o f Miss Ruth, and that good ladyhad never ceased to befriend him, surreptitiously supplying him with xn&ansout of her very limited resources. “I’ve come to wish you good-bye," the young man said, lugubriously, giv­ ing his hat, . which he carried 'in his hand, an extra nervous twirl. “And, why good-bye, James?” Miss Ruth inquired. “Are you going to leave Meltonburg?” “Yes,” he replied. “I am going to enlist”." “Ah!” There was keen satisfaction in the lady’s ejaculation, while she glanced a t Grace with a look, which said as plain as words: “What do you think of that now?” “Well," she said, cxultingly, “that is good news, indeed.” Air. Lawson did not seem to appreci­ ate the manner in which his announce­ ment was received. Ilo expected femi­ nine sympathy not congratulations, “Yes, Indeed, James,” Miss Brent­ wood gushed, “you have now a chance to cover yourself with glory and show the folks what a lino young fellow yon are, after all their mean talk abont yon.” “It isn’t glory I’m after,” the fine yonng fellow frankly acknowledged. “ It's the bounty and tho chance of get­ ting a living, let alone being away from the eternal nagging of the folks around here, who seem set on driving a fellow Into trouble." Miss Ruth’s face fell a' little a t this disclosure; hut the fact remained that he was going to "flic War, and she solaced herself with this small crumb of comfort. pro HE CONTINUED.] Jeweled Frajrer-DoCks. Prayer-books are worbB of a rt now much more than they are works of religion, says tho Albany” Express. Dealers keep prayer-books in4stock which they .price all the way ‘from twenty dollars to one hundred dollars each. When something more costly than this is demanded the book is made to order. Books have been made and have been set with jewels, and repre­ sent an expenditure of four hundred dollars. Frequent reference is made to Pope's couplet in “Tho: Rapo of the Lock,” and the sarcastic wit displayed in grouping together the articles on a lady's toilet table, which included pins in shining rows, a Bible and billet doux. Perhaps, indeed, the Bible was in strange company, but no more Strange than that hi Which tho prayer- book of today finds itself. It docs not go oh my lady’s book-shelf. It has nothing to do with pews or altars. It belongs neither to literature not re­ ligion. It goes into her jewel casket and is counted In with her diamonds and her finger rings. A M ltoeiPlO ft Picture. In .Sydney, Australia, an assistant of the Geological Commission has discov-, crcsl how to photograph objects a t a greht distance. He has got ah impres-' sipn of landscapes a t a distance of six­ teen miles and made a d ea r picture. ■Tills; beats all previous records by a great deal and opens up limitless •riatas of camera possibilities. 8tr«»( Indication. Visitor (at public library}—If you havte the bofthd 'Ybhhtoe* of the Con­ gressional Record for the last ton years 1 should like— - r , Attondant(rl«glug telephone violent; ly> mo the poff&> station, quick! There's an escaped maulfth I mut AI—Chi easra Tribune POINTS ABOUT ARCHERY. How J**w» nod Arrow* Should Be M ju U 'sad How Used. 1 Things will never he again as they were when the archers a t Crecy and Agineonrt decided the fate of the bat­ tle. Bat if it has ceased to do serious business there is now no prettier pas. time than th a t afforded by the bow and arrow, and it always carries with it a gilded retrospect of history and rom­ ance. , They teU terrible stories concerning the efficiency of the bow and arrow in ancient warfare, an arrow having been known to penetrate a warrior’s armor, leather jerkin and saddle and killhis borfce, besides having pierced a steel plate two inches thick, while many an arrow has pinned a rider to his horse. In the old days an-arrow has been shot a distance of nearly one thousand .yards. They had all sorts of hows in those days; tho cross hdvvs—whose arrows they called guorrois, more properly quarrels, from the old French quarre, on account of the: squave head--were Used in sea fights and siegCB, But the elegant.bow was along bow, which (al­ though in one form many people ,\m now draw with ease) none can use with the strength, and swiftness, andgraceof the archers of the time of the early Edwards. Even after the use of fire­ arms was well under way tho Ions how was delighted in, and as lately as in tho time of the-great Queen Elizabeth there was a mass meeting of three thousand archers, ' specially" .massed, decorated j with gold ..chains, .attended by pages, j and met and reviewed by the queen. I Now the bow and arrow are only a j feature of summer pleasure taking, but 1their exercise will always remain a thing of grace and beauty. •The bow should usually be, if held up besides- its bearer, as long; as the bearer is tall or certainly five feet long, a t a venture. I t is best made of $wo different sorts of wood joined, the grain running different wavs, the outside piece curved, the inside piece flat Asli and e lm , and acacia are excel­ len t woods for the purpose. It can be whittled out of a barrel stave. In England they use the yew -a great deal Sometimes the ends are tipped with horn. The string is preferably of hemp, bound about tightly with sewing silk, where the arrow is apt to abrade ! it a t the middle. It should never he of catgut When a. bow of the length, mentioned is strung,, the distance from the middle of the curve of the bow to the straight String opposite should be about fivo inches. The bearer strings liis bow, after attaching the string a t one end by stuuding it upright on the ground,: bending it, the flat side turned in, and snapping the loops over the other end. ,It should be oiled, and when, unstrung should always be laid away. The ordi­ nary lad of fourteen years can, bend a bow that “pulls” , from twenty-five to thirty pounds . The arrows can ,ba made of any white"wood, the lighter tim better, the end of the hard wood, carefully joined, and into that a brass . or steel tip sunk or riveted., They may ^ be varnished; they must be perfectly straight. They are notched a t one end and lightly feathered, the large feather always to be a t the top in shooting. The feathers, split and wot with ,glue, are slipped into their grooves or slits prepared for them. If tho archery is to bo pursued in any finished style the archer, whether boy or girl, should have a leather belt around tho waist, with a pocket to hold two or three arrows; tho quiver, also made of leather, and long enough to hold all the length of the arrow except the feathered part, is thrown aside while shooting. Some wear also a pleco of leather on the arm to prevent bruises from the string, together , with a peculiar glove, consisting of » strap about the wrist holding' "three long thongs, with pockets for- the. fingers tha t the string m ight. hurt; and tho paraphernalia is concluded with a little box swinging from the- belt and hold­ ing some suet and beeswax rubbed together for use on the shooting glove, and a wollen tassel on which to (lean and wipe things, Tho archer stands perfectly erect* with the Ipft foot for­ ward, and the face so turned to tho right as to align, the sight over the left hand, whose first finger holds the arrow over the middle of th e ,bow, while the right hand afixes the arrow byjfs notch to tho string. Tlipn tho left forefinger is removed-and the left hand grasp* tho bow firmly; the bgw is -raised, tho string pulled by Gw righ t hand close beside the right ear, the aim.is taken and tho arrow, sout home. Ip long flights tho right hand must not be raised so high, in order th a t the arrow may he sent with a- curve. ~N Y. Herald. . . ' K ubb I s ’ s jrfebt 4b the CbSuackB, The empire bf RffsAla ls ah aggrega­ tion of man£ diverse/Bfttjipns and peo­ ples wrested from" two continents. Untributory levies have been exacted in the Course Of ’tiiiie from Turkey, Tartnry, Circassia, Persia,;, China find tile entire domain o f Siberia. The chief Acquisitions hiive’beoh ftoeuf-cd slhce year 16S3, chiefly through the ;in* rirnmetothlity of tlm Cossacks, those in- ioniHftble hnd Constant ftlHeg of tho Muscovites, who, from th e1Very begin- ^ t h e i r predatory ’toe.ursioiis hftve tonstelitly' pushed their Way into Dew ^ e r r u tith o Whole Immense teuton which stretefie* from the 'northern boundary o t China finhc Arctic o**n *nd theW a l m xM kins to R o h S T i K Thftrilf IHGlWlhto M. & _AVhenmaking’ - 4 half teaspoon more than sods, as thn ^ again m cream of ta rta r mi ;j.s ^ Crde; Btiffm*. 0 fate of th —Beat the yolk > to do a o n the top of rusks v no prettie putting them into !(j j,y the bo makes that shine ( carrje8 wj, cad cakes. history and . _-To loosen read to cut the slime, tories conce make firm sen ow and art them. Sen bass ai rrovv having to scalo and clean. . t warrior'a a -Oil-cloths »h<> 1 ddlo and k used upon them, a - pierced a the colors and tl t, while mu greatly benefited 1 jffor to his If a thin coat of vs ow has heei a year. f one tho —A Splendid L To one quart of fi hows in or one egg, one ti 5- -whose a two teaspoonfuls ,. more prg or one egg with tl , French q cup of warm w . navp head- yeast. Ma k e up ' sieges. B troit Free Press. , ,g bow, whi —Rhubarb Pie many poqp stalks into small aoms cap nsi tie water to prev .ness, andgr until tender, .add ime of the sauce three well * the use o: piece of butter, a ,v»y the Ion; and a little nutm- as lately as one c ru s t—Bostt u Elizabeth —Egg Salad.— Ethr^ ° tho erv or lettuce let assed, deec six fresh eggs t ^ '“lccl ^y 1 they are thorou * “V the q shells and cut th ww are o on the lettuce ai asure takm; naise dressing. tlways rc a nished with pars H,t7- , Ladies’ Home Jo s™»y be, n| —Solutions of . Jot. nly live feet known to bq fat. ^ niadft Qi Which, cause ^so { ^ out affecting the tho °' organisms in tl Among recent, d f a t e r “ ^ . harrei stave fungus yew a great may be arrestee are fective.—N. Y. v ia \ p t t o a —Those who ■ radirii may enj jf catgu t petizer. Prepa .montion half pint <?f gT -orn the midi pint of salt and , t0 ttlo stt ‘ to make a very ^ be aboul . together, and i strings his strong to be ag trlng a t om few days bcfori lt 0tl the ffr, tie tightly cork ltt turned in may be liked. /er the otlie; gar and le t it | when, uns then remove at away. .The then add the vi -ears can. be —lligdom,—' in twqnty-fi matoes, (two ] arrows ca pints of peppe wood, tlie li of onions, one if..the hard- radish, one om iato th a t a ounce ofdove; reted., Thej one-half ounce lust .be per; quarter of a pi otehed a t on one pound of the large fc After choppini a top in shot in a little salt d wot.with a colander,, t grooves or Pour ten qua over the mixt' bo pursued ii —Cream of -‘her, whothe quart of asp ! ft leather aside the he ti a pocket to small pieces 5 the quiver pint white si long enotlj chopped oniot this arrow e; butter, ten mi is thrown fuls flour, an : wear also a frothy stir i t to prevent hi also one baj together, wi teaspoonful sting of a salt and one 1 ding three fifteen mlnut < for the fi: add one p in t it hurt, Mhi paragns tops luded with ft Boston Glolx te belt and * _ heeEWax f t TO RENO- HOUSEHOLi r ARQHEf iside piece eacia are 'he archer si the left foot so turned ii light over tht ur holds the 4' bow, whil* arrow by Its 1 the left forefi Directions Fn An excelle ly useful wh renovation, solve four <n shavings in When cold, nia, two our ti hand grasp and glycerin I* -raised, water. Mix 4 right hand for a long ti th* aim is t for future u E home, Ift about eight md must no quarts. that, the -a; For men’s * curve;—f* dilute a sn . amount of th6 C#srtcta r pieLthoY W that gathiM ^ ^ will immed ! diluted flui S h « 7 !n fti^ r ia . The 1 useful whe X r t iSSffift monortton a td ^ ^ P When w * t!m ^ ** irir way ifito S S T S * , t» a llynW to j S l r a d t o a ^ “hltwArd 1 S S p S S l to^Bohrfuff > aftrpar s i £ , MafraRN 0