Madison home journal. (Madison, Ga.) 1871-187?, November 23, 1878, Image 1

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Madison home journal., November 23, 1878, Image 1

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Newspaper Page TextB. M. BLACKBURN, Plblishek. YOL. YIII. LITERARY DEPARTMENT. MISS ANNA C. M. BLACKBURN Eihtor BEAUTIFUL THINGS. BY ELLEN P. ALLERTON. Beautiful faces are those that wear— It matters little if dark or fair— Whole-sauled honesty printed there. Beautiful eyes are those that show, Like crystal panes where hearth-fires glow, Beautiful thoughts that burn below. Beautiful lips are those whose words Leap from the heart like the songs of birds, Yet whose utterance prudence girds. Beautiful hands are those that do Work that is earnest and brave and true, Moment by moment the long day thro’. Beautiful (eet arc those that go On kindly ministries to and fro— Down lowliest ways, it God wills it so. Beautiful shoulders are those that bear Ceaseless burdens of homely care With patient grace and daily prayer. Beautiful lives are those that bless— Silent rivers of happiness. Whose hidden fountain but few may gness. Beautiful twilight, at set of sun, Beautiful goal, with race well won, Beautiful rest, with work well done. Beautiful graves, where grasses creep; Where brown leaves tall, where drifts lie deep Over worn out hands; oh,beautiful sleep. For the Madison Home Journal. Popping the Ques tion in the Dark BY P. C. *VG)ROBABLY every one knows the definition of the word "quiz.” If happy are the few who have been led along life’s rough path n blissful ignorance of the individual in question. They can never know the vexations and se cret heart burnings they have mi raculously escaped. My aunt Deborah Clarendon was my mother’s only sister. Her father died when she was but three years of age, and left her, with half his fortune, in the care of my mother, her only female rel ative. As aunt Debby, when she was eighteen, was a handsome girl, with a pleasant disposition, and known to be possessor of sev eral thousand dollars, of course lovers were not wanting. But the wayward girl turned a deaf car to all their entreaties and obstinate ly continued in a state of single blessedness until she reached the age of twenty-four, when there came a young, Horace Greenough by name, who completely won her heart by his affected indifference toward her, and she consented to become the mistress of his home as she had long been of bis heart. It is at this period that my narra tive commences. Aunt Debby was still engaged to Mr. Greenough, and the wed ding day looked not far distant when occurred the unfortunate adventure which so nearly wreck ed my happiness for life. My aunt, with all her good qual ities, was—must I say it—a quiz. With my earliest recollections I bear iu mind my constant fear of her witty and sarcastic tongue. It was she who caught me with my first cigar, and afterward ridi culed the sickness occasioned by my manly efforts. It was she who discovered my strenuous exertions to lead out the incipient mous tache, ar.d for days afterward rub bed her chin incessantly, directing wicked glances at me, and irnitat ing my manner with such perfec tion as to convulse every one pres ent with laughter. O, those were days of trial, in deed ! Being the only son of the village lawyer, with a fair prospect of the future before me, I am willing to own that I had no mean opinion of myself, besides which, I believe a young man of twenty is as wise, in his own estimation, as at any period in after life. My annt greatly delighted in mortifying my vanity, and if I ev er attempted retaliation, her im perturable good humor completely thwarted my schemes, while she continued to torment mo with per severing mischievousness, known only to the astute female mind. Of course it is understood that, having had twenty years experi ence iu the world, I had not been with my little affair* de arur. — Many, and violent (while they lasted) had been my attachments to bewitching but fickle damsels, who for a time entranced my senses. When I had arrivod at the ma- ture age of nineteen I put away all these boyish follies and fell deeply and irrevocably in love with a pretty village maiden nam ed Maggie Cleveland. Having walked, ridden and danced with her perseveringly for a whole year (a constancy heretofore unparal leled in the history of my flirta tions,) I resolied to propose to her the honor of becoming my wife, never for a momenting she would gladly consent to so delectable a scheme. Aunt Debby had first introduc ed me to my fair enchantress as a particular friend of her own, and as my affection for ‘the friend’ in creased, so did the intimacy be tween my aunt and little Maggie increase proportionally. After some time they discovered that their tastes assimilated to such a de gree that they often decided on the same article of dress ; and as they were very nearly of a height, were not unfrequently mistaken for each other when- walking ou the street. This, however, was never the case when their faces were visible, for Maggie was a slight, beautiful blonde of sixteen, while aunt Debby was a fully de veloped, noble-looking brunette of twenty-four. I remember particularly, they each wore a scarlet shawl, which as scarlet was not a favorite color with me, I should have disliked exceedingly, had it not been Mag gie’s choice; as it was, however, 1 followed the shawl and its owner assiduouslv, and it soon became beautiful to me. That shawl was the cause of all my trouble. It was late in October. All the bright summer days had passed, with their long, pleasant twilights, and I looked forward io winter, with its bright moonlight rides and merry parties, to afford me the wished-for opportunity of pro posing to Maggie the momentous question which lay so weightily upon my heart. The time to which I had so long looked forward at length arrived. Invitatious came, to a party which aubt Debby could not attend, Mr. Greenough being absent; and I rejoiced secretly that everything seemed to favor my wishes. The party proved delightful. Maggie seemed an angel to me, as she moved lightly around, her white lace dress falling like a cloud about her, and the snowy buds iu her hair, half hidden by the gold en curls. ‘The by with bright, glancing wings/ and I had resolved to defer, until our walk home, the great proposition which I was about to make to the fairy M iggie, who hud been unusually kiud to me throughout the even ing. But when we stood in the great hall, Maggie wrapped in her scarlet shawl, with her long hood drawn over her pretty face, I found that my overcoat needed more arranging than usual, for I wished to gain time before ap proaching the subject uppermost in my mind. As we commenced our walk homeward, which was but a short one, my courage slowly oozed out at my Augers’ ends, and we had arrived her father’s house before I had spoken a word. I remem ber now', what did not occur to me until some time afterward, that the walk passed in complete si lence. At last, as she bade me good night, and prepared to enter the house, I made a desperate ef fort, add summoning ali rny cour age, said— ‘Miss Cleveland, Maggie, excuse mo ; would it be too much trouble for you —that is to say, would it be agreeable for you to walk a short distance with me ?’ ‘Certainly, Mr. Mariow.’ The answer coming muffled through many wrappings, would have been inaudible to almost any but my expectant ear. We walk ed a short distance in silence, when, feeling the necessity of op ening the conversation, I observed: ‘lt seemed strange to see you in companv this evening without my aunt, Miss Cleveland. I be lieve yon are almost inseparable.’ ‘Yes, Debby is a very dear friend ; but it was a pleasant com pony, even without her,’ replied my fair companion ; and conceiv ing instantly that she referred to the pleasure my preseuco, during the evening, had bestowed upon her, I felt exceedingly flattered, and observed: ‘Ah, Miss Cleveland, if we might always live in the society we would choose.’ I had long suspected that annt Debby made merry iu secret with Maggie Cleveland over wliat she called my intense vanity ; and al though Mr. Charles Reads tells us that every man is a puppy while he is young, that is before some great event in his life has either turned him into a placid A Nation may toe Governed, and yet To© Free. Newfoundland or a snapping bull dog for the remainder of his days, it is highly probable that the young fellows themselves are not aware of the fact; but change, as we are told, ‘with circumstances, and without difficulty.’ I am aware that during the year I had knowm Maggie Clovelaud, since I had ‘taken to my bosom this great and tender feeling that never yet failed to ennoble and enlarge the heart and double the understand ing,’ I had thought less of myself and almost entirely of bor. But now as I remembered my aunt’s keen shafts of ridicule directed so pointedly at me, I resolved to re venge myself ou her, and said — ‘Annt Debby’s society was no great loss to me this evening, Miss Cleveland, for to tell you the truth although her disposition seems to be naturally a kiud one, her habit of constantly holding the faults of others up to ridicule is very trying to her friends, and’ —I continued, forgetting myself as I warmed with my subject —‘she will indeed mako her friends feel most un pleasantly if she sees any sport can accrue from it. Horace Gree nough deserves a kiader-hoarted wife. She is an incorrigible quiz.’ As soon as I had uttered the mean slander, I regretted it, for the recollection of my aunt’s un failing kindness in times of sick ness and sorrow, came into mj mind, and I thought of her never failing cheerfulness and gentle submission to whatever would pro mote the pleasure of those about her ; but she had tried me sorely that day, and I was still smarting under the recollection of her de served sarcasm, when the ungene rous speech escaped me. My com panion replied, as well as her many wrappings would allow— ‘lt is well that Debby did not hear your last remark, Mr. Mar low, for although we are told that some women like to be beaten, there is not one who likes to be called by titles reflecting on her discretion.’ Anxious to smooth over my speech, which had been much stronger than I had intended, I said— ‘Aunt Debby is one of the kind est and best of friends when she lays aside this unfortunate pench ant.’ I now remembered that it was not to discuss the merits of my aunt, that I had proposed this walk. The night was quite dark, the moon not being visible, and under some circumstances the walk would not have been an agreeable one. But love bright ens all things, and on the present occasion served us for moon and stars b< th. After a lew moments’ pause, I remarked: ‘What a delightful evening, Miss Cleveland,’ but I observed, glanc ing around and noticing for the first time that it was dark and lowering. ‘I find it is the compa ny which I at present enjoy, that causes me to forget whether na ture smiles or weeps.’ Having delivered this eloquent speech, I was rewarded by feeling my companion lean more heavily and trustingly on my arm, and I thought I observed a slight pres sure from the little hand resting there. The very thought embold ened me to such a degree that I found courage to say what had so long been trembling on my lips ; ‘Dearest Maggie, may I call you so? and will you grant me the privilege of walking thus through life with you ? O,’ I continued, my voice trembling with loving words, for my affection for the young girl had been the purest emotion my heart had ever known —‘give me one little word of hope Maggie darling.’ ‘Mr. Marlow,’ said a voice from the wrappers, ‘don’t let us be fool ish ; it is very damp and cold walking in the night air; I am glad we are so near home, and— ’ she continued, approachiug the door and opening it with her night key, ‘for heaven’s sake do not 'id dress such silly nonsense to me again ; I certainly esteem you as a friend, sir, but do not wish to marry you!’ With these words she entered and closed the door, leaving me staring after her in mingled disappointment, grief and mortification. Four weeks passed away Aunt Deborah was married, from our house, aud had a brilliant wed ding. Maggie Cleveland officiat ed as bridesmaid and I as grooms man. During the weeks that had intervened since the walk aud the wedding morning I had not od'- seen Maggie, having carefully avoided all places in which there was a prospect of my meeting with her. I thought, as I stole a glance at her this morning that she was paler, and not so happy i looking as when 1 had last seen MADISON, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1878. her. My conscience chided me for the austere bow with I had re turned her smile of salutation; but then I called to mind her harsh, mocking words, and wondered how such a fair, gentle creature could have addressed them to any one. My heart melted with over flowing love, but I succeeded in maintaining outwardly an unbend ing frigidity, underneath which I felt very miserable. Wheu the ceremony was ended and I had lingered among the company, exchanging pleasant lit tle nothings which usually fill such a time, someone tapped my shoul der and informed me that my aunt (now Mrs. Greenough) wished to see mo a few moments in her own room before setting out ou a long Southern tour. Supposing she wished to bid me farewell in private, I proceed ed thither aud found her awaiting me, already dressed for her jour ney. Her first words addressed to me on my entrance surprised me ex ceedingly. ‘Come here, George ; sit down by me and tell me what is the trouble between you and Maggie Cleveland. Do not -hesitate; I have only ten minutes to spare and shall not see you again for a long time, possibly never.’ I hesitated a moment. I could not own to her the mortifying truth, yet there she sat looking more earnestly at me than I had ever seen in my life before; and something in her face drew the truth from me, and I replied— ‘l asked Maggie to become my wife, and she did more than re fuse me—she scorned me, aunt Deborah.’ ‘Then why not ask her again, George. Do you not know that above all mortal things, women despise faint-hearted men ? They are on the look out for something stronger than a woman. A wo man hates to make ihe advances. She likes to be always retreating, yet never be off. She is not con tent to take what she wants and thank God for it, and that is a man. She must play with it like a cat with a mouse. She must make difficulties. The mau must trample upon them. She made them to no other end. If he is such a fool as to let them trample upon him, lie&ven have mercy on him, for she won’t! Her two de lights are, saying ‘no,’ half a doz en times, and saying ‘yes’ at last. If you take her at her first ‘no’ you cause her six bitter disap pointments; for then she can’t get to say the other ‘no’s,’ and worst of all, she can’t get to say the ‘yes’ that she was looking forward to, and that was in her heart all along, and besides we are told that a wife is essential to vast lon gevity ; she is the receptacle of half a man’s cares aud two-thirds of his ill humor.’ ‘So,’ I burst in indignantly, ‘you would have me insult Maggie Cleveland’s common sense by sup posing her incapable of deciding for herself whom she loves or wishes to marry. Or you would have me take her as a convenience to vent my ill humor on. Thank you for the advice, aunt, but I would have you understand, that in spite of a!l that has passed be tween us, I love Maggie Cleveland too well to submit as yet to any such degrading proposal.’ ‘George, calm yourself. For once my dear boy, I have been mistaken iu your character. You havo truly a noble heart, although the goodness is continually chok ed by that pernicious weed, vani ty. I have done you a great wrong, although unintentionally. I have watched you from your in fancy, and have loved you dearly —my sister’s only child, I have noted your virtues, but the faults have uot escaped my notice, Ev erything iu your education has conspired to render you vain aud selfish, but I thiuk I speak truly when I say vanity is your princi pal fault. I have seen how heart lessly you have flirted witli your little female friends, even from boyhood, aud have left them when the novelty was worn off aud they no longer afforded you any amuse ment I loved my sweet frieud Maggie too well to submit her to any such cruel treatment. So I formed a plau for tryiug your love. On the evening of the Sanborn party, I procured Maggie’s night key, telling her that I would spend the night with her, and then learn ing that she had worn her scarlet shawl, at about twelve o’clock I arrayed myself in my own, which is precisely like it, and went over to Mr. Sanborn sand stood in the hall a few moments before Mag gie was ready to go home. As 1 had intended, you mistook me for J her. It was to your aunt Debor lah that you offered your heart 1 uni hand, an i* tb hdi face that you poured out all those delight ful compliments. lam now satis fied that yon love Maggio truly. She knows nothing of the decoit I have practiced on you both, and believing that your affection is not unrequited, I know that she will make you a noble, tender and lov ing wife.’ Then a voice was heard at the door loudly demanding admit tance, and opening the door aunt Deborah found her newly married husband impatiently awaiting her. A week afterward, with the broad noon-day’s sun pouring down upon us, so that it was im possible for me to again mistake the individual, I looked into Mag gie Cleveland’s sweet face and asked her to become iny w ife. We have now been married two years and I have long since ceased to regret the trouble which ensued upon ray first “Popping tho Ques tion iu the Dark ” We take great pleasure in com mending the following essay to our readers. It glistens with gems of yarest hue, with thoughts that ennoble the mind, with sentiments that sparkle like dew drops in the sun. We clip it from the Bunker Hill (Ills.) Gazette the best local paper we ever read.—[A. C. M. B. THE IMPORTANCE OF EAR LY CULTIVATING THE AFFECTIONS. (Read before the Women’s Club of Uunker Uilj by Mrs, Lizzie English. Published by request of the Club.) First it is our duty as parents anti guardiaus to teach children to be affectionate, as by love we attain all good desired iu this hfo and the life to come. Humamity, morality and Christianity require it, to attain maturity of true wo manhood and true manhood : na ture teaches it in all her laws, physical and moral; and wo must be affectionate to be true, loving, kind and gentle, to bo true to our selves, and to the world in its de mands upon us, and all our duty in this life, and to fulfill our duty to our Creator. And if not taught iu our youth, having all our affec tions cultivated, taught the right uses of them, by the kind, loving and true, whom wo look up to for love, care aud guidance, we are deficient in our mental power of being happy, and imparting hap piness to tiioso around us. ’Tis the first law of mental existence. Does the babe not first show lovo for the mother long before it "can realize what she is to it? And God has planted it within the human heart to love. Hence it is beyond a doubt not only necessary but a duty, to cultivate and nourish and protect the affec tions of the young placed in cur keeping. By affection all good is attained; the mother could scarce expect obedience from the child did she not exercise her love in governing and devisrag ways aud means for the obedience, and interesting the child aud making if happy in complying with her behests. Through the affections, and affections alone, is true obe dience gained. Ah! yes and all true happiness in this world of ours; and even on, and on, into the world of God’s love—the home of our souls. By love are we saved aud redeemed from our sins ; by lovo does all peace come to our tired souls, when torn by temptations and woe! Aud if wo teach tho child to be loving, will he not be gentle and kind, forgiving, unselfish and true to his better self? Teach the child first, to obey because you love it, and it you ; and then, that God requires obedience of it through love. A child who is taught to lovo its paronts, brothers, sisters and playmates, will he lovable, pure, highmiuded, gentle and trusting iu womanhood or man hood. Children so taught in their youth will love with a truo, sin cere, abiding, self-sacrificing love! Not a mere weak fancy or foolish folly at all, iu maturity ; and when they make new ties and take unto themselves new vows they will be in truth and sincerity, and will be kept by the love they boar tho object of them. There would not be so many unhappy homes if this was prac -1 tised more in our homes. Teach ing the children the .beauty and - real grandeur of this Heavenly gift; teaching them when and how to place their affections. A boy that is taught to love his sis ters, aud be gentle aud kiud, aud forgiving little offences; taught that love must surmount all oth er things iu his nature—love, aud lovo alone, must rule m him, be sole monarch. All other passions and impulses must be sul ordinate to lure- will uuho a gland, true man, true to himself, to his family and to liis God. Nothing else can be the result of such training ; teach the child that God gives all the beauties of nature, all the pleasures, physical and mental, through lore for it, and only re quires love in leturu for 'these blessings. Then the child will love and honor God ; and loving, will obey and be happy. This must be tho result of correct teach ing: When we lock into our hearts wo find more lovo and affection than aught else, the door may be closed, locked and barred against the idle world’s intrusion, but deep down iu the recesses of our hearts is love, love, that we scarce understand. It is so vast a vol ume in the human heart. The king is there, though he may have had his crown toru off by the rude and ruthless hand of the invader, and a usurper wear tho getnmed and jewelled crown. Though bound and broken in spirit, and no longer able to wield his scep ter, by long captivity made weak, and though his own realm a pris on-house, and never again his voice will be obeyed ; never again to be set free, until the soul is released from its prison-house of clay, and wings its flight to its God, who is loyb, yet it is there in each human heart, and has been from the birth of the soul; and it is lack of love or affection if you would rather hear it by that name, ’tis for loss of its require meuts that it is so desolate. It may have been robbed by some unjust or ruthless hand of a love less one, or it may have sold its birthright for gold, and thence its utter desolation, and it has barr ed iis doors against all invaders. Ah ! would we only care for the tender plant, cherish it by the warm fires of our heart’s love, shield it from the cold blast of doubt aud mistrust when young, it would grow, bud and bloom a flower of sweetest perfume, well tit to be transplanted by j*ngel’s hand on the banks of the river that flows hv the throne of our God to bloom in Paradise. We could bedew them with tears of sympathy—could we not givq showers of happiness that their hearts long for, and would seem required iu the heats of life’s la bors. Give the sunshiue of our smiles of lovo after the dark clouds of advetsity, if we could, and thoreby make all the world better and brighter. Teach children to love ali that Christ loved and even as lie lov<?d, putting all self aside for good and pure love, and we should have a world of more beauty, with more love and truth in it, aud this to me seems the greater part of women’s mission given her by the Creator. ELOQUENT EULOGY ON gen. McPherson. Mayor Craven, of Indianapolis, in his speech of welcome to the Society of the Army of tho Tenn essee, on Wednesday last, pro nounced the following magnificent eulogy on God. McPherson ; McPherson! Brave among the bravest, true among the truest! When be fell, oh, my country, what a grand libation then was ou thy altar poured !—McPher son’s blood! blood from a heart as bravo as ever thrilled to bugle’s blast! rich as battle triumph ever drank ! Sleeping now where glo ry’s path hath led, his tomb is a shrine ; and when iu futuro times, in danger’s hour, the republic her braves to arms is calling, her young warriors, leaping to the call will gather at that shrine to drink new inspiration for the fight—a shrine so long as chival ry girds a sword—a shrine where patriotic knees wili bend and pa triotic eyes will woep so long as freedom has a worshipper. Sol diers, thore is one sad thought mingling with your presence here to-night. One is absent whom i yon would have rejoiced to see, : and whose heart would have swell ied with great emotions as he greeted you. That mau of giant intellect and mighty will and soul, aflame with love of oounuy, al though his name was not upon your muster-rolls, was in truth a comrade of the Army of the Tenn essee, for tiie army in the field stood upon the moral support of the people, and that support he was, one of the firmest, grandest pillars. Soldiers, what a majestic welcome wou’d be yours if stood i iidLina's great war Governor here this hour. The clarion voice, alas! is hushed forever. The grand form of the soldier’s friend is slumbering in the dust. His memory will live forever.—Hoi fliers of tho Army of the Tennes see, from the highest chieftains whose names and fames are riug -1 ing through the world, to the Two Dollar./ humblest private that marched io ragged blue, Indianapolis always has for you a welcome, a welcome from the heart. The above beautiful tribute to the gallant McPherson, will been* dorsed by every Confederate sol dier of the land. His fame be longs to both sections. He nev er tarnished the fair name of sol dier with any disgraceful act, and such was his gallantry, chivalry, and moral bearing that the Sonth in common with the North is proud to claim him an American. —[Editor. WIT AND HUMOR. *‘A little nonueuse now and then, in relished Ay ClY* vYine*** m en.” Why are teeth like verbs? Be cause they are regular, irregular and defective. A young stock-broker having married a fat old widow witb £IOO,OOO, says it wasn’t his wife'* face that attracted him so much as the figure. Cash helps courting amazingly. It is astonishing what oysters, su burban rides and balls will do to wards expanding the feminine heart and getting inta the parson’s house. ‘Mr. S ’, is vour customer B a man to be trusted?’ ‘I know of no one more so. He is to be trusted forever—for he never pays.’ ‘You are a Yankee,' said a fel low tauntingly to his r eigbor. ‘Well, sir, I am no more responsi ble for being born a Yankee, than you aro for having been born an ass,’ was the cute retort. ‘O, dear, Mr. Tracy, you jest when you say that my baby is the handsomost one you ever saw ; you must be softsoaping it.’ t ‘Well, madam, 1 thought it nee la! soap of some kind !' An old gentleman, who dabbled .all bis life in statistics, says he never heard of more than one wo 'man who insured her life. He ac counts for this by the singular fact of one of the questions on every insuapee paper being, ‘What is your age?’ The spirit of Daniel Webster was called up lately, in a spiritual circle iu Northampton, Mass. He confessed he had made mauy mis takes iu his social and political life while on earth and in his dic tionary. ‘I thought you worn born on the first of April,’ said a ‘Benedict to bis lovely wife, who had mention ed the 21st as her birthday. ‘Most people would think so from the choice I made of a husband,’ she replied.’ “Well, Judge, how are youben efitted by the waters, sir? and what coarse is pursued, sir, at the White Sulphur?’ ‘Why, Kurnel,’ says the Judge, ‘you gets up, sir, in the morning, sir, aud you drinks baif-a-dozen tumblers; then you belches, sir, and has a taste of bad eggs in your mouth all day, sir.’ A mother was hugging and kiss ing a 'four year old,’ when she ex claimed— “ Charley, what does make yon so sweet?’ Charley thought a moment, and having been told that he was made out of tho ground, replied— ‘l think, mother, God must have put a lktle tbugar m tbe dost, don’t you?’ A correspondent of the Vicks burg Sun, writing from Boliver county, tells of a chap at Napole on, Ark., who was drinking at a counter, and withal being tolera bly tight, after several ineffectual attempts to raise tbe glass to hia lips, succeeded in getting it high enough to pour the contents dowta his shirt collar, set the glass down with the exclamation, 'that’s good, but a little too much ice Mr. Bar keeper.’ It is stated as a significant fact iu the experience of prison keep ers, that while wives constantly visit and condole wi'h their hus bands, when imprisoned, husbands seldom or never visit their erring wives in prison, but almost invari ably desert them iu their trouble. And yet how mauy of these poor women have suffoied biuUliiy at the haudß of their criminal hus bands. A young lady thus describee her feelings, aud courts sympa thy— By heart, is sick, my heart iicl, But O, the cause 1 dare wut tell ; 1 am not grieved, I m mil gtuii, lam rtot ill, lam tun well ! I’m net myself—las ws ti* **m* ; * i am Indeed, I kuum mil tul J I'm * h*)(**J in sii> < sue pt tow* O, when shall 1 he ehs' - _ a* NO. 47.