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My dear To-morrow—I can think

Of little else to do,
And so I take my pen and ink

To drop a line to you.
To-morrow dear, I'm ill at e.ise

Concerning you to-day;
So let me have an answer, pleaso —

Bipondez, vous plait!

I long to like you very much;

But then it will depend
On whether you behave " as such"—

(I mean, dear, as a friend).
To make me happy is a task

So easy to obey;
But will you bring me what I ask?

Jtcpoiielez, s'il vous plait!

I hope you'll recollect your purse;

For bo it understood That matters—though they might be worso—

Are very far from good.
And, if you have a little gold

You care to tlirow away,
Why then—but am I over bold?

Jlepondez, til tout plait!

A little—just a little—fame

You might contrive to bring (I rather think a poet's name

AVould be a pleasant thing).
And yet, perhaps, as I have got

No mortal claim to lay
To such a gift, you'd rather not?

ScpondeZj a il tons plait!

Well, dear To-mourow, you may strike

A line through the above,
And bring me folks that I tan like

And folks that I can love.
A warmer heart—a quicker brain—

I'll ask for, if I may:
To-mokuow, shall 1 ask in vain?

liijmidez, »' il rous plait!


Actuated by that laudable anxiety to know all about everything, that has invariably characterized the promoters of the New Series, we despatched a reporter to Sheffield, who had bound himself by a frightful oath to give us an accurate account of the impressions which he received from tho proceedings of the Social Science Congress at that melancholy town.

Our reporter, who is a careful man, with a large family, had already spent a day at Sheffield, on the occasion of the burying of an aged aunt, some four or five years since, so he knew enough of the hypochondriacal influence which that dismal town exercises over a casual visitor to induce him to leave all his razors at home. He has since had reason to congratulate himself on liis foresight.

He went to Sheffield with an extremely vague and sketchy notion of what Social Science really was, but he has returned with the firm conviction that Social Science (as understood at Sheffield) is only another term for general impracticability.

He attended many meetings, at which many important questions were raised, discussed and finally disposed of with an inconsiderate dispatch which made our reporter tremble for the future of Things in General if many Social Science Congregators ever got into the Houso of Commons. Howover, he was pleased to find that no consequences of any kind ensued. •

He was hurried about the dingy streets of that dingy town, from meeting-place to meeting-place, to hear A declare that the Masses should be Educated, to hear B declare that the Masses should not be Educated, and to hear the rest of the alphabet determine whether A or B was right in his views. And when that was settled there was an end of ifr, and A and B and C, down to Z, fell a-complimenting each other. ,

This is a general view of the features of every meeting at which our reporter was present. They settled matters in their own way in a

great hurry, that more time might be left for making mutual admiration speeches. And our Reporter assures us that he never heard so many complimentary superlatives at one time, as ho did on the occasion of Lord Brougham's addressing a theatre full of Social Science noodles on Things in General, at Sheffield.

He was pained to see Lord Brouoham put forward to take the chair on this occasion. Lord Buouoham is a nobleman who has done good service to his country, and has done it well. He has earned his repose, for he is eighty-seven years of age. He is a hale man for eightyseven, but no man of that age is qualified to address a crowded theatre from the Btage, for half an hour at a time As it was, not a third of the audience heard a third of what he had to say.

Our Reporter noticed that such insignificant details of. Social Science, as attention to convenience of seats, suitability of lecturerooms, convenience of access to them, proper space for the accommodation of two thousand visitors or so, and arrangements for the adequate supply of refreshments were totally beneath the notice of the promoters of the Congress. He noticed that discussions on various topics took place in different parts of the town, at the same time, and that one elderly (but obliging) waiter ap]>cared to have the entire burthen of the refreshment department on his mind.

He was pleased with the courtesy exhibited by tho principal manufacturers of Sheffield in throwing open their workshops to the inspection of the visitors. He was especially pleased with the gentlemanly treatment he experienced at the hands of the managers of Bessemeb's steel manufactory, and Nayi.or, Yickebs and Company's rolling mills. But he must be permitted to take exception to tho behaviour of Messrs. Rodgebb, the cutlers, who availed themselves of the presence of the Social Science Congress at Sheffield to entice strangers into their warehouses under the pretenco of explaining their manufacturing process to them, and then dim them to purchase any article the visitors happened to admire. Our reporter, in his guilelesB innocence, entered the warehouse of Messrs. Rodgebs, under the impression that he would be treated as a visitor, but before he had been five minutes within their walls, he was so importuned to purchase scissors, fishslices, plate-baskets, salt cellars, and many-bladed knives, that ho was only too happy to avail himself of tho shopman's back being [turned, to rush out of the establishment.

In conclusion our reporter cannot imagine why the Social Science Congress selected such a queer town as Sheffield, as a fit and proper meeting place. It is, he imagines, the town in England, which of all others, is the least adapted to such a purpose. It has no large meeting hall, it has no lecture-room, the places of meeting are scattered over the town at long distances from each other, the town is filthily dirty, and, beyond its manufacturing triumphs, does not offer a single feature of interest to the visitor. But the fixing on Sheffield as a place of reunion is on a par with the general impracticability which seems to characterise everything that the Social Scienso Congregators take in hand.

« IT IS NEVER TOO, fee.!"

Mr. Reade, you've written stories
By the dozen—and your best

Goes to prove, "Ad boiios mores
Via sera nunquam est."

Well, there may be something in it,
But' I venture to contend

That there always comes a minute
When it is too late to mend!

For I sent a pair of highlows

To their maker in the Strand
(Not a step from Mr. Milo's

Where I purchase Maryland);
He returned them—it's a fact, sir!—

With a note obscurely penn'd, Saying, " Upper leather's crack'd, sir,

And it M too late to mend!"

I have watched the colours dying

In the chocks that I have kissed; When the eyes once bright were trying

To dispel the growing mist.
I have known, in my affliction,

All the signs which make us bend
To that desolate conviction,

That it is too late to mend.

So I wonder you can cherish

That opinion, Kb. Reade,
While your fellow-creatures perish

And your melodrama are d—d.
When a vulgar play arouses

Only hisses at the end,
And is played to "paper" houses—■
Why, it is too late to mend!


Editor,—I am at S

3rd October, 1865.

pa. Every good boy likes to be near his Spa; especially when his Spa is not a harsh Spa, and likes to see his dear boys playing with all their might and main. What a delightful place this is! How happy am I! Howl approve of everything! Here's everybody's health in Sparkling) waters! Never mind the expense, for have I not won five hundred and seventy francs in half-a-dozen deals? There is an innocent pleasure combined with a healthy excitement in the life at this place which endears it to me. Editor, I shall stop a month here. I am writing this (in extraordinarily high spirits) in the reading-room of the Redaule. I am going to stuke ten Napoleons just as a refresher before beginning another paragraph. • ****• "Victory! I have won. I placed them on a cross, and have -won forty more Naps.! I shall always come here. You come too, and bring all the contributors, and edit the paper from the Hotel de Flandres. Or, on second thoughts, give up the paper and come here with a ten-pound note apiece, and I will tell you what to do with it. I have an infallible system. It is this: Back rouge, pair, zero, twelve times consecutively. Back pair, noir, six times consecutively. Back zero, rouge, four times consecutively. Place four times your original mise "on horseback," and back the first twelve. Repeat this over and over again until you have won seven thousand pounds (eight thousand seven hundred and fifty Naps.) then leave off, as after this, the chances are dead in favour of the bank.

No man can calculate with certainty on making more than seven thousand a year at roulette. That is the worst of it."

There is a ■ geniality about everyone here which is absolutely bewitching. The ladies' costumes are exquisite, and the ladies themselves the most artless and winning young things in tho world. I am a winning young thing too, and so shall you be, if you como out here. You've no idea what jolly follows the croupiers are—I go and chat with them when they are off duty, and they all remind me of Prince Metternich. Thoy have just his cast of countenance. They are not at all angry at my winning little ways, although I have explained my system to them all in turn. They all admit its infallibility. They say that it is the only really infallible system, and seem very much depressed at^ny having discovered it. They are quite gentlemanly notwithstanding. One of them told me the other day that the bank reckons on the infallible system being known to twelve players in seven years (or seven players in twelve years—I forget which), and I am one of the seven (or twelve). They implore me to keep the secret to myself, and I affect compliance. Tra! la! la! Excuse this inconsistent exclamation, but I am in high spirits, and when you are in high spirits abroad it always takes the form of Tra! la! la!

I believe Spa is situated in a woody valley, formed by part of the Ardennes chain, But I don't care. This (as I have had occasion to remark before) is not a guide book. Smore champagne. Here's jolly good health, ole feller. Nothin' like fallible cistern. I shall go and have 'nother shy. One again! I shouldsha, 1 again! (I never could remember which was One the number and which was 1 the verb— perfectpasshiveparticiplepast of verb, that's to shay). Jesse, I shall go and back everything. Yes.

4th October.

A business appointment of an important nature compelled me to break off abruptly the dissertation on the evils of continental gambling houses, which I posted to you yesterday. I have, however, little to add to the remarks which are already in your possession. Of the evils that they work I am in a position to speak with authority; for, with the view of demonstrating to society the utter folly of embarking capital in such a speculation as roulette or rouge et noir, I have staked large sums of money on every combination that was open to me, and, of course, I lost eventually on all. This I was prepared for, and fully expected, notwithstanding the fact that fortune appeared, for a short time, to favour my speculations. Indeed, at oco time I had won a considerable sum, and many persons would have stopped at that point, and have taken their unhallowed spoil away with them. But I am not a gamester, and have no sympathy with those who are. I have come to tho sink of iniquity not to make a disgraceful income, but simply in order that I may be in a position to preach down the hideous folly of those poor deluded fools who think an income will turn up with a red or black card, and that when the wheel spins, it is spinning them a fortune. The haggard looks of the professed gambler, the feverish excitement that characterizes the demeanour of the novice, the low cunning that gleams from the beady black eyes of the sinister croupiers, suffice of themselves to tell such a tale of sorrow and of shame as should drive the intending gamester from the saloon into the train, and go home as fast as he can go to his innocent Peckham and his unsophisticated Camberwell. Snabiril

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By Oub, Special Amateur.

Whenever I go to a public thinner (which I am thankful to say isn't often) and listen to the mellifluous accents of the worthy toastmaster as he ejaculates gen-tle-m«n .' Chairm—pro—po.' ses toast! Arm-y Nave-y Voln-<«r* .'.' I feel a glow of enthusiasm run down my right elbow and quiver in the glass of tepid champagne that I hold in my hand. You may judge of my feelings then, at receiving an invitation to be present at a real sham fight where all the arrangements necessary for the proper performances of a sanguinary battle had been provided without regard to expense by one of the most—well, sir, courtesy demands that I should go farther and (without faring worse), say the most distinguished regiment in London. Need I say that I allude to

the Honourable Ar , but perhaps I may bo accused of revealing the

secrets of private hoB , well let me not violato the confidences of

the festive board. Suffice it to say in the words of an eminent Common Councilman when alluding to this most effective body, that "them's the liveliest corpse I oversee."

Every ono knows by this time that these energetic upholders of the national glory are so assiduously devoted to ball practice, as befits an Artillery Company, tljat they never omit any occasion for a dance, and the enormous consumption of tulle, blond, muslin, and other light fabrics, in consequence of the effective manner in which the members of the Company manage their spurs and side arms while engaged in tripping people up on tho light fantastic toe, has, I am informed, enhanced the value of such productions of the Indian loom, and con^ siderably raised their market value. I mention these characteristics of our brave defenders as illustrative of tho Boul-stirring spectacle, to witness which I underwent the fatigue of a journey to Wanstead Flats. I at once attached myself to the non-combatant division of the army in the field—need I say I allude to the commissariat—and as the position Assigned to that arm of the force was a sequestered thicket, where, as tho witty officer in charge observed, we found lobsters in c-chell-on, and champagno and stout in open order. I prepared for action by an attack on tho cold chicken. I regret to say that the pusillanimity of the light cavalry led them to retreat from the foe in this direction, and that the sharpshooters followed them immediately, while a couple of guns were rapidly advanced to the very front of our position, and unlimbcred before wo could secure tho hamper, into which I fell. Nothing

but the orderly retreat of the cavalry, and the determined advance of the light infantry and .field-pieces could havo saved our company, represented by myself, from boing cut to pieces with broken glass, and as it was they (that is I) were (or at least was) thrown into disorder, and had difficulty in getting into camp.

One touching ceremony replete with interest opened the subsequent proceedings. A carriage was seen in the distance, and as it neared the camp I could see that some great event was about to follow. A majestic lady alighted, and men let their pipes go out. She bore in her hand a neat spade, with which she commenced to dig a hole in the ground. What could it mean? Was it for the solemn interment of the apocryphal dog whose death is popularly ascribed to the misdirected ambition of a too eager volunteer? I asked the question. I was bonneted. Ere I could recover myself two lovely beings had brought forward an iron pot and cross trees. Then it rushed upon mo. The majestic lady who had just alighted herself was about to light a fire; that was the corporal's joke, and he added that there was nothing like putting the pot on while you were about it. This was done also, and soon the camp was a scene of revelry, and the steam of much cooking added its savour to the soft evening air. The sun was going down as our spirits rose. Then we all rose, and the alderman rose—I don't mean Alderman Rose, but Alderman Finnis—rose to the full height of the occasion, which, as far as I could mako out by the uncertain light of my seventeenth glass of wine, was between fifteen feet eleven and five feet three. He opened fire—at least no—I mean we marched to assault his collar, and to admire a magnificent display of his plate, which marched past in full uniform—at least—the weather was warm, and how those bravo fellows managed to dance on the lawn in heavy marching order is a wonder that deserves well of their country. I sat under a tree with a flask of chablis, for England expects everj' man to do his duty. It had been a glorious day, and had a glorious Finnis; but military life upsets tho system tUl you get used to it, and I walked home between two at the double.

NOTICE.Early in November will be published, price Twopence,

Now ready, Vol. Till. (1st Vol., New Series), priet 4s. Gd. Also, the Title, Preface, Axd Index, price One Fenny. Cases for binding the volume may be had at the Office.

London: Printed by JUDD 4: GLASS, Phoenix Works, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons, and Published (for the Proprietors) by THOMAS

80, Fleet-street, K.C.—Ostobcr 21, 1S65.

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By Popular Song-writers.




There is a name I dare not breathe,

Although it once was dear,
They deem my linen spotless now,

And no deception here;
And yet like sunset's rosy flush,

My cheek is hot with shame,
They ask me—but I will not breathe

My washerwoman's name!

Last night when in the mazy dance,

My neat foot trod the floor,
They little deemed my manly nock

A paper collar bore.
A "Richard" seared my heaving breast,

And yet who dares to blame f
Her bill's not paid—I cannot breathe

My washerwoman's name!



By W. C. B»nn»tt.

A Cavalier rode by a cottager's door,

And a maiden sat thereby,
The cavalier bowed to his saddle full low,

And the maiden winked her eye.
And years rolled on, and the maiden worked

By her door, and still would think
Of the cavalier's bow, and the knight he thought

For aye on the maiden's wink.

And years rolled on, and the maiden heard

No more of the courteous knight,
And, perchance, he called on her name and thought

Of her wink as he died in fight.
But the maiden lived the merriest life,

For the curate he came one day,
And she winked at him with her arch blue eye,

And he married her straight away!


Editor,—*' Sovfflet-bang, nous roici encore .'" as the poet says. Back in London. Grimy London. Black dingy London. Comfortable London. Expensive, ugly London. Jolly, sociable London. Convenient London. Back again, and not sorry.

Perhaps it would be impossible to discover a course of treatment better adapted to reconcile one to a nine months' stay in England than the journey from Spa to Ostend. You travel through a flat, uninteresting country to Malines (or Mechlin), and then you wait three hours for the train from Brussels which is to take you to Ostend. So you see that you have a good deal of time on your hands at Malines, and Malines is just about the worst place in the world to while away odd hours in. Mem.—Never eat anything at the refreshment counter at Malines if you can help it. For this reason. Feeling very dirty after my journey from Spa, I beg to be allowed to wash my hands. Permission granted. Am told to wait where I am for a minute. Eventually basin and pocket handkerchief are brought, and placed upon counter in the middle of the pastry, and there I wash my hands. I am charged half a franc for this luxury, but if I had been charged half a Napoleon it would hardly compensate tho proprietor for the damage that I do to his cakes and tartines, for my hands are extremely dirty, and I alway 8 splash dreadfully. So—Moral: Never eat anything at tho Malines refreshment counter if you can help it.

The most prominent fact that remains on my mind in connection with Malines is, that I was the only person in it. It seemed as if it were all mine. I assure you on my honour that I walked right through the principal street of the town at midday, without seeing a single human being. To be sure it was raining slightly. At length, frightened by this extraordinary solitude, and anxious to hear my own voice in conversation, I rushed into a peach shop. After waiting for ten minutes, an old lady appeared in answer to my repeated raps on the counter, and without waiting to ask my business, threw her arms round my neck and tried to kiss me.

I was at first disposed to attribute this extraordinary behaviour to her overwhelming joy at the discovery of a real, live, human being, but on further enquiry it turned out that she thought I was her nephew. As I wasn't, there was an end of the matter.

I began to get absolutely terrified at my loneliness, and to think that the three hours never would come to an end. But they did, and I found myself once more on board the train to Ostend,

Which is a more irritating place than even Malines. With all its solitude Malines is a picturesque old town, and possesses many quaint architectural phenomena which excite amusement, if not admiration. But Ostend is dirty, vulgar, pretentious, and German. It has two redeeming features, its Digue, which forms a good promenade, and its bathing. And when you have said that you have said all. It is nothing to me that the King of the Belgians spends his summer here in a second-rate houso which would disgrace a British vice-consul, and that he and his family pass the day in a tent on the sands, surrounded, of course, by snobbish English people, who, I suppose, expect to find the Royal Family walking about on their heads, or at all events, in some manner unfamiliar to humbler mortals. It is a dismal place, and the fat, oily, all-over-the-place-spitting, fish-with-their-knifeeating Germans make me miserable. So I hie mo on board the dirty little mail packet which is to carry me back to my boyhood's home. And (thanks to a smooth sea) the ricketty little craft lands me safely at Dover six hours after leaving Ostend Lights And there I get into one of the comfortable carriages of the S.E.R., and am whisked up to London in the twinkling of a jiffey. And hero in London, will be found, for many months to come, the humble individual who is proud to subscribe himself Sxarler.


There is melancholy news from Berlin. The Spree is almost dried up, and that's no joke for the Prussians.



Bt The Saunterer In Society.

F course as everybody is now coming back to town, I have, as in duty bound, made an expedition to the various places of amusement to See what is provided for tho returned prodi-gals and boys. There's Drury Lane, and there's the Haymarket, for those who like old-fashioned dramas; and for those who like the new - fashioned dramas there are Ash ley's, the St. James's, and tho Princess's. And for those who like anything that's good, whether new or old, there are the Adelphi and the Prince of Wales; for those who like anything that's bad there's the Olympic. Then there are tho two opera houses going for the musical folk. As for the entertainments there are plenty of them. You can take your unadulterated Scotch at Mil. Gourlay'b, or your unmixed Chinese at Chang's. Or you can go to the Opera di Camera, and take a delightful combination of the two in Ching Chow Hi, which is simply glorious fun, not to mention the jolly music, whioh haunts you so that for days after you find yourself going about the streets humming it, and sticking up your thumbs, which appears to be a Chinese custom. With regard to the Widows Bewitched, I can't help thinking the composer might have had a better libretto, and the librettist might have had a better composer. Why does Mb. Aim content himself with only two rhymes for a quatrain, and does he consider "court" a good rhyme for "thought?" But then Ching Chow Hi is delicious! Then there are the Howard Pauls in the most charming boudoir of a theatre, the fittings of which must have been designed by a lady, they are so tasteful. It is unnecessary to say a word for entertainers so well known, but I must just express my admiration of Mrs. Howard Paul's Sims Reeves. There is only one little thing needed to mako the impersonation perfect—it is not much, and Mrs. Paul is so consummate an artist, I'm sure she will not feel offended at the hint, which is this :—She ought not to appear on some of the nights for which she is advertised.

Mr. Stodare has produced a new puzzle—the Sphynx—and a most perplexing one it is. If it is a human head where is the body ?—and if it isn't—why.itis a triumph of mechanism. Mr. Stodare is an adept »t sleight of hand, but if he takes my advice he will curtail the pontriloquial part of his entertainment, and discontinue the sale of a very catchpenny book of tricks. He can succeed without these, for he s the neatest conjuror I have seen since Hermann.

There's a new toy called Pharaoh's serpent, which is all the rage ust now. It consists of a small cone, about the size of a largo pastile, covered with tinfoil. On lighting the apex a writhing and seemingly :ndless coil, something like a pale puff adder, pours from it. The toy las two advantages: it is a very amusing surprise, and as it is of a >oisonous nature you can, if you are an old bachelor and hate children, take them to your friends' houses, and make a clean sweep of heir growing families, by allowing the youngsters to inhale the fumes ir put the serpents in their mouths.

I Have had forwarded to me Borne doggrel on the Freemasons, for Toting a few lines of which I trust that honourable body will pardon me—

"Weep, brother Masons, weep, weep for your sins.
Oh, down on your knees; oh! down on your pins.

Oh, dear! oh, dear! What shall we do .
, He says we are a wretched crew."

The party guilty of this execrable trash describes himself as " M.A., nd private tutor." Does he teach his pupils to spell " bleat" with wo "e "s? And at what university did he hear of such a substantive a " a vice-regal?" I may mention for the benefit of those who would go to possess this literary curiosity—for it is curiously bad—that it I obtainable at a shop in the Strand famous for the magic donkeys, as ae imprint of the sheet rather pointedly declares. I may add, however, for the comfort of Private Tutor, M.A., that his verses are not •orse than a prologue quoted by the Court Journal, as written by Lord Pilliam Lennox for some amateur theatricals. Why even the authors of Glaucus and Camaralzaman might blush to own them. I Am sorry to see that the National Portrait Exhibition suggested y Lord Derby has been allowed to fall into the hands of the South

Kensington clique, and is to be held in the Botanical Gardens! There's only one thing more needed to ensure its success, and that is that Mr. Palgrave, who compiled the notorious handbook of the Exhibition of '62, should be employed to do the catalogue and write the lives—he'd do it with such taste and judgment.

I Don't often prophesy, but I look confidently for the time when the Anti-Game Law people will erect a statue to Sir Baldwin Leighton. His statute for turning tho rural police into gamekeepers has done what all their years of agitation have failed to do. It has shaken the Game Laws, and I think now there is Borne hope of their being revised to good purpose.

Lord Palmerston is dead. He died within two days of his eightyfirst birthday. It is hardly two months since I saw him cantering down Piccadilly on his famous old white horse. His vigour and spirits seem to have supported him to the last. His death is a loss not only to his party, but to the country, ■which he made to be respected and feared in foreign lands, where the name of England was once a byword. He was a genuine Englishman—and he himself could wish no nobler epitaph than that. As I write these lines fhe last photographic portrait taken of him, by Messrs. Walkbb, of Margaretstreet, lies before me. It is an excellent like


There's a book written

Called Sophie Laurie, It isn't a fit 'un For drawing-room Btorey. Teste uno Doctors And one or two i Magno dotore Pro tristi auctore, Testibus doctoribus Injurious moribus. For it's improperer ■ Than all other opera, And " Trash" adds Corrector. "I'll get it," says Lector.— "If you were wiser You'd cease this cry, sir, For now folks '11 hie, sir, The novel to buy, sir. All cry and no wool, A cock and a bull, And who's got the pull ?—

Buy a man,

Try a man,
But never belie a man,
Vol Correctoribus,
ZjOng-ibus auribus /"

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A Commission has very properly been appointed to inquire into what penny-a-liners still call the Rinderpest; but the list of its members that has been published in our serious contemporaries is inaccurate. We have great pleasure in presenting our readers with


The Lord Bishop Of Oxon.
Bishop Cowlen6o.

The Right Honourable W. Cowper, M.P.

Miss Burdett Cowttb.

Sir Edward Lvtton Bull Web, M.P.

Mr. Horseman, M.P.

Mr. Wilkie Cowlins.

Archbishop Cowlen, of Dublin.

Dr. Cowmino.

Mr. Peter Cuwningham.

Mr. J. Payne Collier.

Mr. Sterling Cowvne.

General Cowdrinoton.

Mr. J. D. Cowleridge, M.P.

Mr. Henry Cowls, C.B.

Mr. George Cowruikshank.

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