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F. R. FILDES, Editor. VOL. VI. £hc (Quitman banner. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY. terms: fwo DOLLABS .V YEAR WIIF.N PAID IN ADVANCE. ADVERTISING. One square. (10 linos, or less.) first inserticß $2.00; each following insertion, SI.OO. When advertisements are continued for one month or longer, the charge will be as follows : *o. of 1 Month. 2 Months. J Months. ! 14 Months. ;5 Months. 6 Months, j 7 Months. ; 8 Months, j I) Months. I 112 Months. I 1 - . !~ I lsi jo 2 8.00 1 15 18 21 24 20 28 30 35 3 10.001 15 20 25 80 34 6 381 4ti| 45 4112.00 18 24 30 36 40 42 44 4ti| 53 5 11.00 25 S3 30 44 40 48 50 52| 60 616 00} 30 4o 45 50 55 56 57 58 ( 65 12 30.00 50 65 70 75 80 85 90 100 120 18 45.00 65 75 80 a r > 90 100 110 120| 150 24J60.001 75 80 90 100 110; 120 120* 140 200 I.EGAEADV K KTISING. Sheriffs Sales, j»er levy <»f 5 lines $ 2.50 “ “ exceeding 5 lines, pr. sqr.. . 5.00 Sales by Administrators. Executors and Guardians, tier quare 6.00 Citation of Administration or Guardian ship. per square 5.00 to Debtors and Creditors 6.00 1 i tat ion for leave to .ell land 6.00 Citation of Dismissijn of Administrator.. 10.00 “ ‘ “ Guardian 6.00 Homestead Notice 5.00 For announcing candidates for office, $10.60 Obituary notices, Tributes of Respect, and all ai tides of a personal character, charged for as adveriisemenls. Cortical. Stand or. J Twas but a breath— And yet a woman's fair name wilted, Aud friends once warm grew cold and stilted; And life was worse than death. One venomed word, That struck t« coward poisoned blow, In craven whispers, hushed and low'— And yet the wide world heard. Twas hut one whisper-one That muttered low for very shame, That thing the slanderer dare not name. And yet ife> work was done. A hint so light. And yet so nii>.ln\ in its power, A human soul in one short hour. Lies crushed beneath its blight. Kiss Me, ffla urn . Kiss those lids before they close In their silent, soft repose— That the li tie life may seem blissful, us an angel's dream. And too soon, the rose will fade, And the sun’ight sink in shade, And the bright stars disappear With each quickly fleeting year. Mayhap on that lovlit brow. (All so bright and joyous now) Ere another sun go down. Willspmk.e an immortal crown. And the little lips w e press, With a silent soft caress, Rack to ours, may send no thrill; Lovely, yet so cold, so still. See yon mother bending low O'er that little couch of snow-! Flmderingly she moans and weeps, Rut the babe u&COOCtons sleeps. Sleeping, heedetb not those cr es, Wreaking pity from the skies, For those lit’le ears are deaf, Hushed the once soft-sighing breath, Then dash care from off thy brow! Kiss it gently, mother, now; Let no bit er tears be shed For neglects above thy head. fjjiscdtoncouis. Scene in a Jury Room. A THRILIING BT' RV. I once had the extreme comfort of leaving- my business to serve upon “the jury.” I pleaded in all manner of ways lor release, but to no effect. I could not swear that I w. sand nf, nor blind, nor yet non ronipof but I did tell them that I had already formed an opinion. They asked mo if my opinion would prevent mo from receiving the testimony in good faith and rendering a verdict according to it. I replied that of course 1 should weigh the evidence carefully, and be governed by it. I was then in formed that I “would do.” The case to be tried was one of arson •—then a capital offence—and the pris oner at the bar a yoang man named Charles Arnbold, whom I had known from my boyhood, and who was natu rally one of lire finest youths of the town Where lie resided. lie had a widowed toother, who depended upon him for sup port, and his circle of friends was large and choice. I was morally certain (that lie did not commit the crime, and hence 1 am sure, those who were friendly to him cot me on the panel, and had me retained. The trial commenced and we twelve toen took our seats in the jury box. I had a very respectable set with me— only there was one man whom I did not like to see there. This man was Afoul ton Warren. lie was a dark-faced, sinister looking fellow—at least to me 1 know that young Ambold had one fault. He had recently been addicted to diink, and been known to visit disreputable houses. It was -one of those houses that had been burned, for setting fire to which he bad been apprehended. Now I had often tried to persuade Charles Ambold fr. m the course he was pnrsueing. He lad repeatedly prom ised me that lie would reform, and as re peatedly lie had broken away. I had often talked to him of h s poor mother aittil he had wept like a child; but the effect was not lasting. There was a power of temptation more effective than a»y influence I could wield. He would fall away imo the evil companionship, and for a while his manhood was gone. One or two abandoned women had gain ed great power over him, and upon them he wasted much of his substance. And I know that this very man who was now on the jury—this Moiilteu War ren—was the one who had done more than all others to lead the poor youth aw y. It was Warren who had drank with him, and who had lead him away to those nu st abominable haunts of sin and pollution. Why was he upon the jury? I could only account for it on the ground that Charley still supposed him to be his friend. The poor sehorch i>d insect was still ign- rent of the flame which schorched him. Uo really be lieved that MuiiUan Warren was his friend. The trial commenced. The indict ment set forth that Charles Ambold had, “with malice aforethought,” and with all s >rts of wicked and felonious intents, set fire to a certain dwelling house, thereby endangering human life. This dwelling, as I have already intimated, was a low sink of iniquity where the abandoned of both sexes wore wo it to Congregate, and where the youthf.l prisoner had spent most of his time. The evidence for the prosecution came on, and I was startled. One after another gave in their testimony, some of them very reluctantly, and I was fright ened when I saw how plainly it all poin ted to the prisoner as the guilty party. Several credible witnesses swore that they had heard him threaten to burn the house down. Then came several wit nesses—three ol them prominent citi zens—who saw him lurking about the premises on the night of the fire With regard to provocation on the prisoner’s part, it was proved upon his own admission, that lie had been ill treated there and that he hud sworn to have revenge. And furthermore, it was proved that 1 e had been beard to 'say that his salvation of soul and body de pended upon the destruction of that house. Next came more testimony stronger still. The fire had been set in I ho back base ment nom where shavings and other stuff for kindling were kept. Entrance had btrn paired through a back win dow, which had pat tly been pried open with a knife. This basement wall was brick, and beneath tti • sash was the blade of a knife which had bten broken off trying to raise the sash. The b’ade was recognized as belonging to the prisoner's knife. A maker of cutlery had made a knife to order for Ambold only a few months previous, and he knew the blade at once, and swore to it. But this was not all. The fire had been evidently set on first to the sha vings that lay on the stone floor, but piled up against the wooden partition. The floor was damp, ands me of tin outer shavings even, were not wholly burned up. But just at the edge, where the fire commenced, lay a piece ofpaper, rolled up, and about half burned, and from the manner in which it lay, it was evident that the (ire had been set with it. This piece of rolled paper had been ignited by a match, a number of which were scattered around, and as soon as it was on fire it had been laid upon the floor, with the burning end just in the shaving. Os course these shavings were in a blaze instantly; but the p per torch being on the damp stones, had not burned wholly np. And this paper was found to be part of a leiter belonging to the prison! r. A letter which he had received from a friend of his (and a friend of mine), only a week before. That friend had to come forward and swear that piece of charred paper was a part of a letter be had written to the prisoner. Tnis friend’s name was Stephen Grant. He was a young merchant, and the letter had been written for the purpose of inducing Am bold to reform. Stephen tried hard to avoid testifying, for he knew as othcis did that the fire must have been set with that identical paper; but he was sum moned, and he could not deny his own chirography. The case looked dark. Many witness es were wil'ing to testify (o the prison er’s good qualities, hut no one could swear that he was not dissipated and and gradid. That house had been to him indeed a region internal. Its destruc tion cried out for his bodily life; and its existence had long been eating away Ids soul. Poor Charley ! I had before been sure of his innocence; but now I could inly shake my head aui pity him. Finally he was allowed to speak f r himself. He said he was innocent ol i the crime imputed to him. lie said he j had threatened to burn that house down j that he said about ail that had been ; sworn to. He was not ten rods off: when the flames burst forth, and he was j one of the first to give the alarm. Ho : had uttered otic cry of fire when lie no ticed where the flames must have origi nated, and the thought came to him if he j was found there he might be suspected , of having set the fire, so be ran away, j HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOFLS'S RI3HTS MAINTAIN, UNAWED ST FEAR AND UNBSIBED BT GAIN. QUITMAN, GEO., MARCH 17. 1871. Ho also said that three hours before the fire lie had been robbed in that house. I His pockets had been emptied of every | tiling in them, and his pocket-book, con turning forty dollars in money ands no valuable papers, hid been taken. lie had gone there on the night of the fire to try and persuade them to give him back his money and papers —or at h ast to get what lie could. When lie got there, lie saw a man go in whom he did not wish to see, so lie had hung around, waiting for him to depart, lie was around by the back of the building once —and that was before the lire broke out. lie knew nothing—nothing. Ho clasp ed his hands, and with his tearless eyes raised toward heaven, he called on God to witness that ho was innocent! 1 have told you that 1 knew him well 1 knew him so well that from that mo ment I knew him to bo innocent. 1 know his very soul—l knew how free and open it was—ah, how sinfully so! 1 knew there was uo falsehood ill the story he told us. “My boy is innocent! My boy is in nocent!” I heard the cry—and I saw an old woman sink back into the arms of a male companion. It was his poor moth er. llor heart was well nigh brokt n Yet 1 siw that all ibis had but little ef fect up ui ti e mass of spectators. The prisoner’s course of dissipation; his ma ny threats against tho house, and the very fact of his having been robbed and abused there were heavy against him. The counsel for the prisoner made his speech, which was labored and haul. Ho was foolish enough to intimate that if It s client was around at the back ol the house more than once, he must have been intoxicated. In short his plea had betti i been left out. The evidence he c mid not shake, and he did all lie could to suppose evidence, some of it most ab surd and ridiculous. 1 afterwards learn ed tlial Moulton Warren engaged that lawyer for the youthful prisoue;! The government a torney made his plea. It was plain, straight-forward and very conclusive. The Judge finally gave his charge, lie was fair and candid, lie reviewed the evidence carefully, and pointed out sneli as boro heavily upon the case, lie told us if there was a lingering doubt in our minds wo must give the prisoner tlio benefit of it. But 1 could plainly see that there was no doubt in bis mind. We—the jury—were conducted to our room by an officer, and there locked up. A silence of some minutes ensued. Moulton Warren was the first to speak. “Well" he said, “I s’poso there’s no need of our bein’hero a great while.. Os course we must all know that the prisoner must have set fire to the house?’ There was something jin the manner of that man as he said this, which exci ted my curiosity—l wont say it was sus picion then—only curiosity. lie spoke with a forced effort at calmness which I at once perceived. The more I looked at him the more 1 became strongly ner vous and uneasy, wondered why he should he so anxious to get rid of the ease and have Ambold convicted. 1 knew that lie frequented that evil house, and that he had done much toward tempting Charley to dissipation. I knew that he was in lliat house on the night on which the prisoner was robbed; for Charley had told me so when I vis ited him in the cell. 1 had then asked the unfortunate youth if lie was sure Warren was his friend. 0, ho was sure of it. He should have hunted him up on the night of his robbery, only they told him that Warren had gone. By-and-by, the for man proposed that we should each take a piece of paper aod write down our opinion, arid then compare notes. I went to my lint, Umt I had placed upon the table with a num ber of others, and took out a sheet of paper. 1 had got half way hack to tin table when I noticed that I had made a sad mistake, for I found 1 had got part of a letter from another mans hat. 1 was about to run back, when the name j of the writer of the letter arrested my attention. I looked more closely, an I read—“ Stephen Grant.” Next I caught this sentence: “And now, and ar Charles, if not for your own sake, for your mother’s sake, let me hope you will do better.” I started as though a shot had struck me. I held in my hand the other half of the shoot that had been used to fire the burned house! I went to the table, and found that 1 had taken it fr* m War ren’s hat! I lo* ked to see if I had been observed—and I had not. I put tlie paper buck, and t! en took a piece from my own l at which was of the same pat tern as the other, and by its side. I returned to the table and sat down. Warren was by my side. He ha 1 writ ten his opinion, and took a knife to cut it from the laige sheet. “Let me take your knife a moment, if [you please,” I said to him. \\ ilhout he&italkm he did bo, t took it —it was Charles Arnbold’s knife!—the large blade was gone! With all the power I possesscJ J restrained my deep j emotions; and having cut my pa, or, hrindod back the knife. Why should ho have that, knife so | b *ld!y about him I afterwards learned. He I ad in t worn these pantaloons be fore since the night of the fir ’; and now he used the knife probably without the lea t remi'inberenoo ol the loss it had sustained during a very peculiar piece of work, to the execution ol which it was made subservient, We talked for some ten minutes, and 1 lon* and that eleven of the jury were bent on rendering a verdict * f guilty; recom m nding the prisoner to mercy. Moulton Warren was decided, lie had uo mer cy at all. Presently I started up, and pretending | to bo faint, 1 Bsid 1 o ust go out for a | few mom mts. 1 kicked at the door and the deputy slier.lT came. He heard my plan and lei me out. As soon as we had got a sale distance, I told him all. lie was astonished and went away; writer. ! lie came back he brought the district | attorney and the sheriff. I told him a ! gain what 1 had seen—l assured them j that 1 knew that it was no im re suspi cion. And 1 explained, ten, Warren’s i minin'rs in the jury imo-ii, and his for j nier connections with the prisoner, and hi* known cliara ter. i The officers weut away, arid at the end of ten minutes they returned, a emsta be added to ti e r number, and this con | stable had a freshly- written instrument lin In’s hand. The sheriff bade me to point out the hat to them as soon as lie enter'd the room. The sheriff took it and asked wlufte it was. Warren leap ed lo his feet and seized it, but was held back. Word was instantly sent to the judge that the jury could not agree. They I were discharged, and then Moulton War renjwas searched. The knife found up * e him and his behavior at once exposed his guilt. The presence of that letter was accounted for by him in a dozen dif ferent ways within an hour. Anew jury was impaunelled, and Chuiles Ambold was acquitted. Short ly afterward Warren was ti "and. It was plainly proved that the woman who kept | the house was to have been burned up in j it, as he contrived to lock her into her I room shortly after setting fire. She had | incurred his displeasure in several ways, ; ami this was his revenge. Not only she, but two of her girls had suspected him from the first, but they dared not corn plain, for fear lie would be sure to mur | dor them. Tie h irilen ‘d villain confessed Ids guilt after he had been condemned, and then it was that he told how lie happen ed to he so careless in legard to the pa per and the knife. It was he who had ro! hi and Ambold, and when he took the old letter in m Ids hat to use it for a torch in sett ng the fire, he did not no tice what it was, and even whin that partly burin and half had been exhibited in court, he had entirely forgotten that he had torn >ff the oilier half and put it hack into his hat, as he must to have done. The letter had been found in Ambold’s pocket-book, and lie had kept it because in it the youth was warned against his i fluenco. He c< nfessed l.e had a slight idea of calling the writer to an account wl en it should become con venient. Willi regard to the knife, it was as I have before stated. He took that also from Ambold's pocket, and pet it in his own; and on the night o! the fire he used it to pry np the sash, and when ho had broken it he put it back in his pocket, and lorgot it. Thus was Charley saved—and saved from more than ignominious death, too. lie was saved to be a noble, viitnous man; and his mother once rn re took ample delight and joy in the love and tender care of her only child.) When C:.aides Amb.dd knew that Moulton Warren had expatiated his crimes upon the gallows, he sat down and pondered upon his p si life. The thoughts ot Ids old eo:,:| ;o: : on being hangid rent a strange thrill through his frame. But lie was able to truce nut clearly and logically, this terrible re sult from the course of life the ill-fated man had pursued. He shuddered as he remembered how far he had gone in the same course hiupclf; and he was able to see the only safe path for any youth. Not only must lie shun temptation—not only keep clear of even the appearance of vice—hut, above all, must he shun e vil Oi mpanionsi.ip. A youth may make al! the good rcsolutio 8 thought can af ford, but if he c utilities one evil cotn panionship, he is not saf ! Live VViiiiin jour uiemts. We don’t like stinginess. We don’t like economy, when it comes d.w n to fags and siarvatii n . We have no sym pathy with a notion lliat a poor man should hitch himself fust to a post, and siand still while the ii'.-t of the world moves forward It i.; no man’s duty to d'-riy bine elf every amusement, etcry recreation, every comfoit, that he may get rich It is no man’s duty to make an iced of himself, to shut his eyes and ears to the sufferings of his fellows, and dey himself the enjoyment that re- Mills from generous actions, merely that lie may hoard wealth for his heirs to quarrel about. But tlieie is an econo my which is every man's duty, and which is especially commendable in the man who struggles with poverty—an c c 'tiomy which is consisient with happi ness, and must be practised if the poor man won and secure independence. It is almost every man’s privilege, and it he c im a liis duty, to live within his nv'ans not up to but within them. Wealth does not make the man, we admit, and should never be taken into account in our judgment of men; but competence should always be secured, when it can be, by the practise of economy and self d nial, to only a tolerable extent, ll should be secured, not so much for oth ers to look upon, or raise us in the esti mation of others, but to secure the con seioiism ss "f Independence, and the con stunt sat’slaetion which is derived from its acquirement and possestion. A Ricii Juke. A Parkersburg paper says that sever al m mb ts of the Legislature took the cars at Grafton late one evening for Wheeling, and among the number wa il Mr. G., ofs'.mewhal proportions phys iually, and a Air. I)., of proportions un dersize. These two—the stalwart Mr. 0. and the smooth faced little Mr. I).—took a b. rib together, it seems, in a sleeping car. The little man laid behind, and the good natured, wagish Mr. O. before. Mi. D. was soon sleeping and snoring furl titdy. Air. G., more restless under his legislative burdens, s ion rose, and was sitting by the stove, when an elder ly lady came aboard and desired a berth. “All right, madam,’said G., “I took a berth w ith my sou, and you can occupy my place in that berth where my little son is sleeping.” Taking Air. G. at his word, the lady disrobed and laid down with the boy. After a quiet repose for some time, the boy, Mr. I)., became restless from some cause, and began to kick around, to the annoyance of the old lady, so, in a moth erly in.inner, she patted him on the back, and said: “Liestill, sonny, pa said 1 might sleep along with you.’ “Thunder and lightning,” cried the 1 gis'atoi ; “who are you? lam no boy, I. am a member ol the West Virginia Legislature!’ It is said that the old lady swooned, and could not be brought to till 1). prom ised that G. should he impeached. I). swears that things shall not rest here. What action the Legislature will take for the purpose of protecting its own and ig nity remains to be seen. A Fihh Story. Nashville glories in a fishstory, which is a fish story and no mistake. A sports man coming down the Cumberland Riv er on a (iatboat, floating lazily with the current, shot a pair of shell bill ducks. They were large, and in such excellent condition that the slayer of them de termined to present them to a friend. They were received with many thanks/ but in dressing them the cook was fur nish'd with a surprise. In opening the inale, which weighed tour and a hall pounds before being dressed, Dinah stumbled upon a largo object, which proved to be a drumfUli “twelve inches in length, and big in proportion.” The discovery was C'-mmuiiicated to the master ot the house, wheat once sum moned his neigtd'ois to witness the anomaly with their own eyes. By actual measurement, the fish was two inches I ngt r than the duck, and yet the duck swallowed the fish, and not the fish the duck. It was a fine fish, and the indi cations were that it had been in the craw of the duck several days; when first swallowi and, eminent calculators es timate it innsi have weighed at least one pound and a half. How comforta ble that duck nmsl have felt with a din tier in him long* r than himself, and equal to mere than one third of his gross weight ! It w s a big fi.-l, to cwuilow. and some of our readers may fin I it hard to swa'low the slojv; nevertheless we are solemn'y assured that it is solemnly lrue. Field and Farm. The Cheap Elephant. At the public sale of a menagerie, lately held at Trenton, New Jersey, an elephant was nut up to tlm highest bid der, and, as no one ticoJcu him, was just about being “knocked down” by the aationcer lor a very small sum, w hen u by stander resolved to purchase the monster himself rather tlian lose sucti a baigain. ‘ Why. its the cheapest thing 1 ever heard o! ! he exclaimed gleefully when after adding ‘an ’al’ lo the few dol lies already ff-.-red, he was declared to lis the purchaser, ‘i’ll put tire creature in my barn fr a day irsi, and make a good thing "f it I’ So (hat night Alasler Elephant was tied in the barn—a pretty rlroug barn it was, too—and towards morning lie anins and lilms- If by trying to brake it to pieces. He sueceded so well in this little piece of playfulness that it was fuund necessary to put him in a [52.09 per Annum NO. 11 stronger building, That night he again became restless, broke his fastenings and dashed around at such a rate that the barn was Sion one of the most thorough* !y ventilated buildings in America. The total extent of the and image done in the two nights was five hundred dollars; and it is currently reported that somebody is extremely tired of Ins bargain, and advises all his friends never on any ac count, to be tempted to buy a cheap el ephant. The rule is a safe one to fol low ; never to buy aiiyttiing simply be cause it is cheap. I’a Ia 1 ism Ii 1 ust vat ed. A hardshell Baptist minister, living somewhere on the frontiers of Missouri, was in the habit of saying to his family and to his church : Friends, jou need not take any unusual cure about your lives; the moment of your death was writ before the foundation of the world/ and yon'ean not alter it. Ills wife observed when he left on Sat urday lo meet one off his frontier mis sionary engagements that ho dressed the flint of his riilo with unusual ear l , put in dry powder, tresli tow, and took eve ry pain to make sure that the gun would go "Iff in case became upon an Indian. It struck her one day as she saw hint ill the saddle, with his rifle on his shoul der, tl at his conduct contradicted hid teachings, and she said to him, Aly dear, why do you take this rifle with you? If it was writ before the foundation of the world that you were to he killed during this trip by an Indian, that rifle won’t provent it; and if you are not to be kill ed of course the rifle is unnecessary; fra why take it with you at all? Yes, he replied, to be sure, my dear, of con rse you are all rigid, and that is a very proper view; but see here, my dedr —to be sure—but then—suppose I should meet an Indian while I am gone, and his time had come, and I hadn’t my rifle with me what would he do? Yes my dear, we must all contribute our part toward the fulfillment of the decrees of Providence. ONLY A SHADOW. A story is told of a well known gcri-» tlem in, who sometimes imbibes toofioe ly of the ardent, going home at night recently, and mistaking his shadow/ out-'.iued outlie front d«or, for a man. lie paused a little in surprise, and then/ lifting his hat very graceiully hade him a good evening. “Avery pleasant evening,” said the gentleman. No reply. "This is my house, I believe,” he said, waving his hand. The hand of the shadow weut through the same graceful curio. “1 should like lo get in, sir, if you’ll stand aside,” but the bhadow made no movement tj let him pass. The gentleman was evidently surpris ed. lie repealed his desire to pass in, hut the shadow lemuined still. liis wife hearing her husband's voice/ looked through the window blind, ami seeing no one hut himself, asked why he didn’t come in. “So I would, my dear, but this gen tleman” (pointing to the shadow) “in sists on blocking up the door.” His wife quietly opened the door, re muiking, “that was your shadow.’’ “Indeed,’ said the puzzled citizcnj “well, now, I thought ho was a mighty fine-looking follow to be so impolite,” and went in. Whenever ho shows a disposition tuf remain out late at night his wife has only to remind him of the shadow oil the doorstep to insure a speedy re turn. A Urutul Ltiw. The New York Tribune says: Pliaro-* ah was always supposed to have found out a rather rough way of checking the | siipcfluons pauper populali m when he "rd-red the midwives to choke off every Hebrew male child that found its un lucky way into the world; but John Hull has taken the hint from him and iin’-- proved on it. It appears Umt tie low er class of women (British subjects) in Gibraltar are largely inter-irtarriel with Spaniards, and, to prevent the increase ol “aliens,” any such' Woman On being f.und oncicnte is driven by law off the' Rock, to take refuge in Spain, Alorocfio', or the sea, which she pleases; and us the women are, os a lule, wretchedly poor, one refuge is as short a road usually tef the grave as the other. In ease of disre gard of this statute, the husband and wives are instantly banished from the city, their homes broken up, and in hv.i ny cases starvation ensues. BisLopr Seamlel’a reports, during tli • last year, “many hundreds of families foully wrong ed by tins law,” and in cuftseqtn bee (it it, the m ini go ceremony bus come to ba ahn 'st given up among ibis class; aid. ; oil the other hand, idfaiits b ru in secret | are dosti ojed 1 y their parents to insure their own s J'ty.” We hate not y< t | l ea'd wb t‘ er the English Government means to tiy t is experiment, ifsnC l cesslul, on a liifgc scale at home ofi Us | pauper overplus/