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DO >'OT ALL PEOPLE BUILD THEIR OMN MONUMENTS BY D. C. A. For Tht HartvtU Sun. In our article week before lust under the head of “ For Strange People to Read,” we said in conclusion that “ all people build their own statues and mon uments.” We now take the privilege of manifesting what wc said. The merchant that buys goods and fails to meet his payments and makes no amends has already commenced the work that lays the foundation for his monument to rest. upon. The consumer that buys goods from the merchant and when called upon to respond in com pliance to his promises takes the home stead, schedules, or acts in some other way to avoid the payment of his debts, is certainly building his monument. The mechanic who contracts to build an fails to comply w ith the ■requirements of the specification is also laying the corner-stone of his monu ment that will call to memory his deeds done during life. And we do not know that we would be in error if we were tq say that even some church members (so-called) fail to comply with their promises in paying their dues to the Church when it is left entirely discre tionary with them. Have such people not commenced the work that will leave a dark spot on memory’s record after they are gone to their destination ? You never hear or read of a verj’ great monument being erected to the mem ory of a person that has lived out a life of cheating, swindling, defrauding or lying. Occasionally there are monu ments erected over the graves of the rich because of their extreme wealth, but if all the marble of Carrara were fashioned by the sculptor’s chisel intp the mimicry of breathing life it could not convey to the senses of the people a likeness so perfect of themselves as that which they left upon the minds of tiie people during life. Consequently it is perceptible that all people carve their own statues and build their own monuments. Would there ever have been a monument to mark the memory of that noble patriot Lee, had it not been for his acts during life ? Nay ! Had George Washington not lived the life he did the gentleman that passed the eulogy upon him would not have said : “ We will construct a monument to mark the spot where repose the re mains of that frail tenement which once held his fiery soul. Lay the cor ner-stone of a inonumeut which shall adequately bespeak the gratitude of the whole American people to the illustri ous Father of his Country! Build it to the skies, you cannot outreach the loftiness of his principles. Found it upon the massive and eternal rock, you cannot make it more enduring than his fame. Construct it upon tho peerless marble, yon cannot make it purer than bis life. Exhaust upon it the rules and principles of ancient and modern art, you cannot make it more proportionate than his character.” Just honor to Washington can only ba rendered by observing his precepts and imitating bis example, lie built a monument during life that will stand on memory's record forever. Without a proper sub ject, pedestals of granite and polished columns of marble might be erected t ill they pierced the skies, and the mar ble pillars might be covered over witli the blazonry of his deeds and trophies of Iris triumphant genius, and sur mounted with images of his form wrought by the cunningest hand, and unless the subject merited all this it will soon die and his name soon be for gotten. Notwithstanding a great mon ument has been erected to his memory the deeds he committed will last longer than the polished marble. This is the kind of monument we are speaking of —the lnniuimont or principle, anil hoc the monument of marble. Mr. Davis’ Misfortune. Baltimore Gazette. Mr. Jefferson Davis lost his only son by yellow fever recently. The young man bore his father's name and was his chief stay and comfort. lie was a youth of noble character and univer sally beloved. This leaves Mr. Davis childless. Ilis little son “Joe” died in Richmond, during the war, of a fall from tiie porch of the president's house, lie was a brilliant and lovable child, and his death caused his mother and father the deepest anguish. Since the war closed Mr. Davis lost another son, a youth full of promise. The hand of God seems heavy upon this noble hearted man and his devoted wife. Misfortunes have followed them. Law suits have swept away their property ; disaster has attended Mr. Davis’ busi ness enterprises, and the business suc cesses of the young man who has just <1 ied stood between them and poverty. Those who hitherto have hated Mr. Davis most, who have put upon his simplest words forced constructions and who singled him out for a vicarious sac rifice, ought now to feel their malice turned at last into tender respect and sympathy. Near Felchville village, Vermont, the following inscriptions appear on two tombstones: “On the 31st of August, 1724. C'apt. James Johnson had a Daughter born on this spot of Ground, being Captivated with his whole Fami ly by the Indians.” “ This is near the ■spot that the Indians Encamped the A ight after they took Mr. Johnson & Family, Mr. Labareeand Farnsworth, August 30th, 1724. And Mrs. John was Delivered of her Child Half a mile up this Brook.” VOL. Ill—NO. 10. “The tViist Boy.” Detroit Free Free*. All the old women for blocks up and down Sixth street called him “ the wust boy,” and Jim did much to win the title and keep it. lie fought everything ami everybody, harassed cats and abused dogs, and various attempts have been made during the last year to get him set tled in the Reform School. “The wust boy” has made anew departure, and though it may not be lasting, as it is for the better, it will probably furnish op portunity for some other boy to step in and claim the unenviable title. “The wust boy” eared nothing for the sight of crape on the knob, and a funeral procession was as good as a pa rade to him. Surprise was therefore manifest on every countenance when he softly knocked at the door the other week and said: “ I hain't got no good clothes to go to the funeral, but I'd like to see the old lady's face agin afore she’s covered up in the ground.” A motherly' old lady in his neighbor hood had passed away- So far as the public knew he hated {jer, as he seemed to hate all the rest, but the public didn’t know. If Jim had condescended to ex plain he would have said : “ Well, yer see one night when that big Tom Skip laid for me and had me as good as mashed, this ’ere woman rush ed out and pulled him off and slammed him agin the fence till his elbows echo ed. Then agin, she let me play with her children, and axed me in to dinner, and more’n once she’s took up fur me and said the neighbors didn't g:*"’ me a fair show.” They' let him in to see her dead face, half suspecting to see some ghastly trick on his part and never dreaming that he would lean over and kiss the cold cheek, and that tears would come to his eyes. “ Where’s the children?” lie asked as lie turned from the coffin. “Up stairs, poor things.” “ It's going to be tuff on 'em isn't it?” “ Yes ; they wi|l see hard times, poor darlings.” “ There’s a little bit of a feller ’mong ’em what’s named Pete,” continued the “ wust hoy,” “ what’ll it cost a week to pay his way?” The women smiled at die idea, but seeing how earnest Jim was, one of the women replied: “ Oh, about fifty cents, I guess.” The boy went out without a word, and in the course of half an hour an other lad handed in a piece of wrapping paper in which was enclosed a silver quarter. On the paper was scrawled the words (the work of two or three boys) : “ I hoap she’s gon to bevvins; an’ I’ll taik car’ of little pete at fifty sents a weak. Hears the fust ’stalment. “ Gim.” The next day he sent in the balance, and last week the “installment” was promptly forthcoming. Jim has a boot black's kit and lias gone to work, and the old women who cal led him the “ wust boy,” now look after him and exclaim : “ Well, now, wlio’d a thought that boy had a soul in him?” An Affecting Scene. We called at Mr. Brown’s a few days ago on business, and, to our astonish ment, found him pacing the floor and weeping as though his heart would break. We approached him very rev erently, took his trembling hand in ours and held it in silence for a few minutes, while great tears of sympathy swelled out in our eyes, for we knew that some great sorrow had come upon him. As soon as we could get our feelings under control sufficiently to enable us to do so, we asked : “ What means this great anguish of spirit, this deep, this dark despair? Why these tears and wherefore these groans?” He raised his bleered and bloodshot eyes to ours and exclaimed: “My wife—” Another fit of weeping choked his ut terance, but we knew that she was dead. We endeavored to comfort him by tel ling him that he would meet her ere long in another and better world ; that it was wrong for us to grieve after our depart ed friends when we knew it was for their good and ours that they were taken away, “She’s not dead !” he exclaimed, as he turned his swollen eyes upon us with a look of unutterable woe. “The old fool put cayenne pepper in my eyes be cause I wouldn’t buy her anew bon net !” Then he went off into another terrible; spasmodical fit of weeping and we went home. Jewish religious papers have been publishing reports of cruelties perpe trated by Bulgarian peasants, some of which are almost too much for belief. One story is that the President of the synagogue in Kasanlyk having been killed, his blood was caught in a bowl and mixed with the blood of a number of dogs. This liquor the Jews of the town, who were driven together with thrusts and blows, were forced to drink ; and it is said that only the arrival of a body of Russian troops saved them from death. s .. . HARTWELL, GA., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER RO, 1878. Dr. Tauler and the Beggar. From Hubert* Brother' Book of Selection*. There was once a learned man who longed and prayed full eight years that God would show him someone to teach him the way of truth. And, on a time, as he was in great longing, it was said unto him, “ Go to such a church porch, and there wilt thou find a man that shall show thee tlio way to blessedness.” So thither lie went, and found there a poor man, whose feet were torn and covered with dust and diit, and all his apparel scarcely three hellers’ worth. He greeted him, saying, “God give thee good-morrow.” Thereat made lie answer, “ I never had an ill-morrow.” Again said lie, “God prosper thee.” The other answered, never had I ought but prosperity.” “God bless thee,” snid*tlie doctor, “ how answerest thou me so?” “I was never other than blessed.” “Explain tome this, for I under stand not.” “ Willingly,” quoth the poor man. “ Thou wishes me good-morrow. I nev er had an ill-morrow ; for, am 1 an hun gered, I praise God ; am I freezing, doth it hail, snow, rain, is fair weather or foul, I praise God; and therefore had I never an ill-morrow. Thou didst say, ‘ God prosper thee.’ I have never been unprosperous, for I know how to live with God ; I know that what lie dost is best, and what God givctli or ordaineth for me, bo it pain or pleasure, that I take cheerfully from his as the host of all, and so I had never adversity. Thou wishest God to bless me. I was never unblessed, for I desire to be only in the will of God, and I have so given up my will to the will of God, that what God willetli, 1 will.” Then said the doctor, “ But what if his will should be to cast thee into hell? What wouldst thou do then?” “Cast me into hell? His goodness holds him back. And even so, I would sooner be in hell, and have God than in Heaven, and not have Him.” “Then understand this, master, that a true resignation to the divine will, with utter humility, is the nearest way to God.” Moreover the master asked, “ From wlienst comest thou !” The poor man answered, “ From God.” “ Where hast thou found God?” “ I found him when I had renounced all creatures.” “ But who art thou ?” asked the doc tor. “ I am a king,” said the beggar. “ My kingdom is my soul. All my powers, within and without, do homage to my soul. This kingdom is greater than any kingdom on (he earth.” “ Wliat hath brought thee to this per fection ?” “ My silence, my heavenward thoughts my union with God. For I could rest in nothing less than God. Now I have found my God, and have everlasting rest and joy-in Him. How a IJird Lined ils Nest. Petersburg (Fir.) Index. Some time last week Mr. Wm. H. Walton, a farmer of Greenville county, was seated on a fence near a stack of 1 oats, watching the operations of his field hands, who were at work. While seat ed a small bird alighted on his shoulder, and remained there until frightened away by a blow aimed at it by Mr. Wal ton. It flew off but a little way, and re turned to be treated as before, and re peated this operation until the gentle man concluded to allow it to remain on his shoulder in order to ascertain, if pos sible, what induced it to act as describ ed. The bird moved closer up to Mr. Walton’s face, and deliberately com menced to pluck a mouthful of gray hair from his beard, after which it flew away to the oat stack, and disappeared in the crevices between the sheaves of oats. Examination of the stack dis closed the fact that the bird was build ing its nest and had used the beard for the purpose of making a lining for the same. The bird is said to have been of the wren species. Milk as a Vehicle for (Quinine. R. L. Batterbury, M. D., London, Berkhamstead, Eng., writing to the British Medical Journal, observes : “ it is not, I believe, generally known that milk is an elegant and convenient sol vent for quinine, and that it disguises to a great extent its bitterness. If one grain of sulphate of quinine be dis solved in an ounce of milk, we shall find that the bitterness of the draught is hardly perceptible ; with two grains there is rather more bitterness, but it is not at all marked. A dose of five grains may be taken in two ounces of milk without an unpleasantly bitter taste ; and if the same quantity be put into a tumblerful of milk the bitterness is all but lost. This method of admin istering quinine must in some cases be preferable to the ordinary way of dis solving it in acid or spirits, especially where the bitter taste is objected to— as in the case of children—or where the required dose is large; and it will doubtless be found to possess other ad vantages.” Morse than Bad Weather. Dr.Swicksley was passingnlong Front street, one of the hottest days of the week, when lie noticed a 1 irge crowd gathered in front of a tenement house a short distance ahead. The doctor hur ried forward, and elbowing his way through the crowd, found a man lying prostrate on the sidewalk. “ I‘rcss back,good people, press hack.” said the kind hearted doctor, “ and give the man air. I am a physician, and will bring him around presently. 1 see how it is, the man is sunstruok. This heat is terrific, and people will soon die like sheep, if the weather doesn’t change. Somebody run for a piece of icc.” A blear-eyed woman, with a gaunt, hardened face, edged forward and said : “ Do vou say that man is sunstruok, Doc?” “ Certainly, madam, certainly; the symptoms are clear and well defined.” “ Well, then, all that I’ve got to say, is, that the symptoms lies like nil blazes.” said the woman putting her hands on her hips, and winking at the crowd. “My dear madam, what do you mean? .Would you contradict the opin ion of a professional man, hacked up by all the truths of science?” said the doc tor, squeezing his ear down tight against the man’s chest. “ If you say that man is sunstruok, you don’t know nothin’ about it,” said she doggedly. “ The sun never touched him, not once. The good-for-nothiu’lazy whelp, takes mighty good care not to give it a chance at him. About all he does is to fill his hide with slop an’ set round in the shade, while his poor, hard workin’ wife has to drudge her life out to keep the children from starvin’.” “ What’s the matter with him, then ?” asked a fatherly old gentleman on the inner edge of the crowd. “ Well, sir, I struck him myself, and I’d do it again ; that’s what’s the matter with him. The bloat was two-thirds drunk, and pitched on to his wife—that pale little boy crying over him —an’ be gan pouudin’ her out of all mercy, an’ so I jest waltzed in with a bag o’ sand that I kept for scourin’, an’straightened him offi, ifiSt as vou find him. I I’ve kind o stunned him a little, for you see he’s rousin’ up already, hut the pity is that I didn’t finish him altogether the mean, ornery, trifling loafer.” “Sunstruek! —well, now, Doc, you was sold, but then I am a regular old crusher, an' it ain’t to be wondered at. If I’d a went at him with my bare fist, you’d a swore he’d been struck by light niu’. I’m worse than a bad spell o’ weather, I am.” A Woman Mho Has Had 44 Children. Neic York Time*. Some persons have given themselves considerable uneasiness lent from the paucity of children born to American parents of late years, the race should die out. Certainly, the size of families, from whatever cause, has been greatly reduced i:i this country during the pres ent generation. Where there used to be eight, nine and ten children, there are not more than two, three, or four at most, two being what may lie called the regular number. There are many ex ceptions, however to this rule. A con spicuous exception is Mary, wife of Wm. Austin, now a resident of Wash ington. who lias had 44 children, only II of them born alive. She had twins thirteen times and triplets six times. Her sister, Mrs. Carrie Kinney, aged forty-three, has had twenty-six chil dren, and her husband’s sister has had forty-one children, making a total of 111 for three women. This seems almost incredible, though the figures are vouched for. Mrs. Austin, a na tive of South Carolina, and reared in Tennessee, is the daughter of John G. Klind, a printer. She was extremely loyal during the civil war, and rendered excellent service to the cause by nurs ing and administering to the sick and wounded in the army of the Cumber land, often going on the field and tak ing wounded soldiers from the front where they had fallen. She is a regu lar physician, and has practiced for 25 years, having been one of the first women doctors in the country. She studied medicine in New Orleans under the well known Dr. Stone. She lost an eye ■while with the army' in the val ley of Virginia, received medals for the able and fearless manner in which she had discharged her duty, and was granted likewise a regular commission. She is fifty-four, of good proportions and appearance, and, as may be infer red, of vigorous constitution. Her husband was also in the union army, and must have been a gallant soldier, for he bears the marks of a score of serious wounds, which would have kill ed any man lesstough. The Klind and Austin blood is so prolific that a few members of the families would be wel come immigrants;to anew and thinly settled country. Where they were, progenity would be assured. Mrs. Austin, judging by Napoleon’s stand ard as revealed by Mme. D. Stael, is unquestionably the greatest woman in America. Christmas will soon be here. WHOLE NO. 114. Work ami Pray. Asa and Ira wore two brothers, whose farms lay side by side in a fertile vale. When the young corn, the oats and the barley were springing up, the weeds ook advantage of the rich soil, and came up with them. “Do you see,” said Asa, “what a hold the weeds are taking! There is danger of their choking out the crops entirely.” " Well, well, we must be resigned,” said Ira. *• Weeds as well as grain were a part of the Creator’s plan.” And ha lay down for a part of his afternoon doze. “ I can only be resigned to wliat I cannot help,” said Asa. So he went to work, and plowed and lioed until the fields were clear of weeds. “ The army worm is in the neighbor hood,” said Asa to Ira one day. “It has eaten its way through the neighbor ing meadows, and is fast moving to ward us.” “Ah,” exclaimed Ira, “ it will surely destroy what the woods have not choked out. I will immediately retire to pray that its course may be stopped or turn ed aside.” But Asa replied : “ 1 pray betimes every' morning for strength to do the work of the day'.” And he hastened to dig a trench around his land which the army worm could not pass ; while Ira returned from his prayers only in season to save a portion of his crops from its ravages. • “Do you sec. Ira," said Asa another morning, “the river is rising, and there is hut a small chance of .preventing our farms from being overflowed.” “Alas ! it is a judgment upon us for our sins ; and what can we do !” said Ira, throwing himself down upon the ground in despair. “ There arc no judgments so severe as those which our own sloth brings upon us,” said Asa. And he went quickly, and hired workmen with whose help Le raised an embankment that withstood the flood ; while Ira witness ed with blank looks the destruction of all his wealth. 44 l ltoro ig film oonoolftiion,’ 1 oaUl In . “my children are left me.” But while Asa’s sons grew up strong and vigorous men, among Ira’s there, was a drunkard, a gambler and a suicide. “The ways of the Lord are not equal,” said Ira to Ids brother. “Why have you always prospered while I am afflicted, and my old age is disgraced ?” “I only know this,” replied Asa, “ that Heaven always helps me to meet my children's faults as I met the weeds, the caterpillars and the flood ; and that I never presumed to send a petit ion up ward without making toil mv righthand servant, the messenger of my prayer.” Out in Bellville they started a hotel the other day, and, as a matter of course, it was necessary to number the rooms. There was not a painter in the town and not so much as a piece of chalk could he found around the house. At last a happy idea possessed the landlord. Tak ing a pack of cards and a paper of tucks he began with the ace and continued up to the king, numbering the rooms in a novel and entirely orijwnal manner. If it evcrbecomcß necessary to make addi tional numbers for extra rooms the suit may he changed, and s<>, continued up to fifty-two, by which time a painter may he imported for the purpose of ex tending the figures. Until then the clerk will he compelled to speak “ the man in No. tray of hearts,” or “the lady in No. deuce of clubs.” Necessity is the mother of invention. “Yes, fellow citizens.” said a wild Western orator, “ with gold at par, green backs at a premium, the tax taken off raw whisky, our debts all paid, and lib : erty —dear old gal! has anew dress and the American eagle an additional arrow and a fresh olive branch, I ask what is to prevent us from being the greatest people on earth? I pause for a reply.” Just at this point a mellow old egg ex ploded right on the bridge of his nose, and he added : “The pause will con tinue until I can bust the stuffin' out o' the lop-cared leper that slung that c Whoope ! let me at him.” —Cincinnati Breakfast Table. Calhoun was a Virginia infidel. He wrote a book against Christianity and peddled it throughout the State. When ever a camp-meeting was in progress, there he was to be found selling his book and making speeches. Recently be fell among the encamped negro Methodists of Crab Bottom. They set about con verting him. They surrounded him, drowned bis voice with prayers and singing, got him on his knees, and final ly brought him to repentance. lie burned his books, and has taken the agency for a Christian publication. Savannah News: It i3 said that Hon. Alexander H. Stephens has made $35,. QUO by the sale of his “ Constitutional View of the War.” While we hope this is true, we nevertheless very much doubt the correctness of the statement. Farmers in Gonzales County, Texas, give half of their cotton to pickers, the I crop is so abundant. MRS. HARIIILL'S PINNER. BY KOI.ANTING. Chicago Lnlgrr. It is not always that the same cir cumstances have the same effect on two different persons. Our friend Mrs. Barhili is still pon dering upon that fact —and “ thereby hangs a tale.” You sec it happened in this wise. Mrs. 11. one day read about the woman whose husband was too slack to provide wood, so she set a pot of vegetables in the sun to be boiled. When the farmer came in to dinner, the sun not having performed the cooking to suit his taste, he immediately went forth and gathered the required wood. Now that story amused Mrs. Barhili. She fairly shook with laughter and de light. Such a splendid joke ! Sud denly a thought struck her. Why not play the same joke on Mr. Barhili ? But, then, she had no excuse, for there was plenty of wood In the box. Mr. Barhili was a model husband, albeit he was just a little flashy-tem pered sometimes. But he always pre ! vided everything necessary for his wife's 1 comfort, and wliat excuse could she | have ? But Mrs. Barhili was a deep woman ! Never was there a difficulty she could not master ! An hour of solemn medi tation solved this one. There was no lire in the cook-stove! Building fires was a dirty, uncomfortable job. Clearly, it was a man’s work to build a fire. If lie could not do so he did not de serve any dinner. For fifteen years she had slaved herself to build fires for dinner. She would do it no longer. I lor husband should suffer the eonse quences of his neglect. Having ar rived at this conclusion, she set cheer fully to work, and the fresh vegetables which Mr. Barhili had just managed to secure for a boiled dinner were soon carefully prepared for cooking. When dinner-time came, Mrs. Bar hill prepared the table with smiles of | anticipation dancing all over her face | —laid the snowy cloth, arranged the plates and knives, and, last of all, t lie unboiled dinner (in covered dishes) graced the board. Mr. Barhili was very particular about having covered dishes to keep the edibles hot. She heard his step, and was obliged to bury her face in her handkerchief be fore meeting him at the door, as usual, with a pleasant smile. It is thought her smile was unusually pleasant that day, but Mr. Barhili did not observe it. lie himself was feeling particular i ly good. It was not entirely the thought of ! the bargain he had just made with poor nidwrr lj.unes, nor entirely the dinner lie was to enjoy, but the two combined. His face was lighted with pleasure as seated himself at the table; so was .Mrs. Barhill's. •• Wliat a pleasure it is.” lie began, in his most cheerful tones ; “ wiiat a pleasure it is to come home and find such a neat, happy-look ing wife, and such a nicely-cooked din ner—” Just at this point lie attempt ed to take a potato on liis fork ; it re sisted his efforts ; he tried again, and - if rolled from the dish and landed upon the floor. “Maria.” he ejaculated, i•• what ails these potatoes?” Maria assumed a highly-injured air, and ex plained to Mr. Barhili the reason of the uncooked eatables. He listened with a look of amazement. For a mo ment he stood at the table with an idi ot ie expression. When she had finish ed, and sat waiting for him to declare lie was n brute and won id build nil the fires thereafter, lie rose from the table. He seemed much moved. He softly I took Maria’s head under one arm, and j between intervals of stuffing raw pota toes and beets into her mouth was heard to ejaculate: "l did think, when I married you, that you had some sense ! Since— you —like—victuals—cooked— in this way — you — shall—eat 'em I” Then Mr. Barhili seized his hat, and wont down town and dined at a restaurant. Mrs. Barhili did not speak for two hours—she was engaged in extracting the aforesaid potatoes from her throat. When she had fished up the last one, she drew a deep sigh, and murmured in a plaintive tone, “ Well, now, did you ever ! 'There's no accounting for that man's freaks!” A Paris journalist notes anew way of whipping the devil around a stump : The defendant, having been proved guilty of the offense of calling the com plainant opprobious names, as “thief,” “robber,” Ac., is duly fined. He pays his fine and asks the judge: “ Your honor, there is, I understand, a law against calling an honest man a thief; does the law forbid a man to call a thief an honest man ?” “Of course not,” re plies the magistrate. “ Then, sir,” snvs the defendant, turning to the prosecu tor, with a triumphant air, “you are the most honest man I have ever met.” On November sth Congressional elec tions will beheld in the following States: Alabama, Arkansas, Connecticut, Dela ware, Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maryland, Mas sachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missis sippi. Missouri,Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina. Pennsylvania, Rhode Island. South Carolina, Tennessee, Vir ginia, Wisconsin. Perry Mills and Frank Griffith met in Visalia, Cal., after long separation. They were very glad indeed to see each other. “ I’ve been looking for you more'n two years,” said one. “ This is what I’ve been longin' for,” said the other. Then each drew a revolver and began to fire. The wounds were nu merous, but not mortal.