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vol. xvm. THE TEMPERANCE BANKER IS THK of the Sons of Temperance AND OF THE State Convention of Georgia: PUBLISHED WEEKLY, BY BEiYJAHIY BUASTLY. O’ Terms —One Dollar a year,in advance. Letters must be Post paid, to receive at tention. i Banner Almanack, for 1852. N J £ ” V.i v-l *-3 -| J-l &5 £ cr. SI SI T-\ \ i 1 Hilflf! 1 itWlil Igih t It: Is rt 7ill i s _ i 1111 If h ij] ii l.i?-iviiif a s%ja. • —l—l— l—l ii isTaiSiy--- -|-|-[ il 2| s v 2* 4ssi7si 9io 45 a y|m; j V II 12 13|lt 15[16 17 II 12 13 nils lli 17| f. 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IJ I A VJmv®- — ’ 12!3 li 5 D?c— ——!— ’ • - \ i O Gi 7 *! 9 ui! u; 12 1 5 o’ 7’ h. 11: J i sj IS] I ft wifi! 17 nil!) 112 13>U;i:>|K‘:l7 |S| C* I O 20 ! 21 i22 23:21 25 *2fi :l9 20,2 l ;22 2:5 21 25 J X |27 1 2S ! 2 < .I I 30 1 ‘I I 12G‘27 iV-N 30 31 | j Every m:tn i> iu danajvir of becoming & drunkard wit* ia in i the babit ofdriuking ivraunt spirits, & 1 H I. When he is warm. \ u. Wlien he is at work. I 2. When lie is cold. ( 12. When he is idle. i & 3. WhenhcN wet. / i3. Before mealX j 1. When lie is dry. ) 11. After meals. jT \ jvf 5. When be is dull. \ lWhen he gets up. V 6. When he is lively- ( 16. When he goe-* to bed. * 7- When h* travels. / 17. On holliday*. X W lieu ho is at home. \ liJ. On Public occasions , X y. When lie is in oampany v 19. Oh any day: or “s S &HT 1 Every friend to Temperance*? I Qaliould take the Temperance Banner: X If Temperance men will not support N| ?Jthe Temp ranee Press, who will M-i’K'.'ls.--: ‘X' f ,%K\Kf<SS,'< x: THE ORPHAN BOY. From the National li.telligcncor we tuke the following sketc h : The hurtle of 1 lie fiuhl was ovor, tlie prisoners had been secured, and the decks wrshed down ; ihe watch pip'd, and tlie schooner had once m ire rc- ! lapsed into midnight quiet an.; leposc. I sought my hammock and soon fell asleep. But my slumbers were dis turbed by wild dreams wlii-di like the visions of a fever, agitated and unnerved me; tiio late strife, the hardships of my eaily life, a thousand oilier things mingled together as figures in u phun tasmagoiia. Suddenly, a hand was laid on my shoulder, and starling up 1 beheld the surgeon’s mate. ‘•Little Dick, sir, is dying,” lie said. At once 1 sprang fioni my hammock, lie was a pale child, said to be an or. plian, and used to gentle nature; and from the first liourl joined th schoon er, my heart yearned towards him, for 1 too had once been friendless and alone in the world. He had often talked to me in confidence of his mother, whose memory he regarded with Indy rever ence, while to the other boys ot the ship lie had but little to say; for they were rude and coarse, lie delicate and sensitive. Often when they jeered him for iiis melancholy, he would go apart by himself and weep. He never com plained of his lot, though his eornpan. ions imposed on him continually. Poor lad ! his heart was in the grave with I.L lost parents. 1 took a strange interest in him, and! had lightened iiis task as much as pos sible. During the late fight l had owed my life to him, foi he rushed in just as! a sabre stroke was levellt and at me, and by interposing iiis feeble cutlass had averted the deadly blow. In the hur ry and confusion since, l had forgotten to inquire if ho was hurt, though at the time, I inwardly resolved to exert all my little influence to procure him a midshipman’s warrant in requittal for his service. 1‘ was with a pang of re proachful agony, therefore, that 1 leaped to my feet. “You don’t mean it ?” I exclaimed. “He is not dying ?” “I tear, sir,” said the messenger, shaking his head sadly, “that he cannot live till morning.” “And I have been lying idle here !” I exclaimed with remorse. “Lead me lo him.” “lie is delirious, but in tiie intervals of ids lunacy lie asks for you, sir, ’ and as the man spoke we stood beside the bed of the dying boy. The sufferer did not lie in his usual hammock, for it was hung in the very midst ot the crew, and the close air around il was too stifling; but he had been carried under the opening hatch way, and laid there in a little space about four feet square. From the sound of the ripples, 1 judged the school) er was in motion, while the clear, calm blue sky, seen through the opening ov erhead, arid dotted with myriads of’ Stars,. betokened that thn tog bad broken away.. How calm it smiled down on j the wan face of the dying hm . Occa. skwilly a light current f wind—■oh Jjju f iitfous cool ill Dial 1 -ei'l i! ‘ 1 —eddied down the hatchway, and lift ed the dark chesmit locks of tlie suffer er, as, with his head reposing in the lap of an old veteran, lie lay in an unquiet slumber. Hisshirt collar was unbut toned, and his childish bosom, as white as thatof a girl, was open und exposed. He breathed quick and heavy. The wound of which lit* wasdvinghad been intensely painful, but within the last half hour had somewhat lulled, though even now his fingers tightly grasped the bed clothes, us if he suffered tlie greatest agony. A battle stained and grey-haired sea man stood beside him, holding a dull lantern in liis hand, gazbig sorrowfully down upon the sufferer. The surgeon knelt with his fingers upon the boy’s pulse. As 1 approached they all looked up. The veteran who held him shook his head, and would have spoken, but the tears gathered too chokingly in his eyes. The surgeon said : “He is going fast, poor little fellow—do you see this ?” as ho spoks he lifted up a rich gold lock et, wiiicii had laitl upon the hoy’s breast, ‘•lie has seen liis better days.” 1 could not answer, for my heart was fuli—hero was the being to whom, hut a lew hours before, 1 had owed my life. <i poor, slight, unprotected child—lying before me with death already written upon his brow—and 1 had never known his danger, and never sought him out after the conflict. How bitterly my heart reproached ine that hour. They noticed my agitation, and liis old friend —the seaman who held his head—said sadly : “Poor little Dick—you’ll never see the shore you have wished for so long. But there’ll be more than one—when your log’s-flut”—he spoke with emo tion—“to mourn over you.” Suddenly the little lellow opened his eyes and looked vacantly around. “Has lie come yet 1” he asked in a low voice. “Why won’t he dome ?” ‘•I am here,” said I, taking the little fellow’s hand— -“D.ii’t you knew me, Dick ?” He smiled faintly in my face. He then said : “You have been kind to me sir— kinder tha most people are to a poor orphan boy. i have tin way to show my gratitude—unless y ;ti will take the Bible \ou will find my in trunk. It is a small offering l know, but it’s all 1 have.’ 1 burst into tears ; he resumed : “Doctor, l am dying, ain’t 1?” said the little fellow, “for iny sigh grows dim. God bless )ou, Mr. Danforth.” “Can I do nothing lor you, Dick?” I said ; “you saved iny life—l would coin my blood to buy yours.” ‘ 1 have nothing to ask— l don’t want to live ; only, if it’s possible, let me be buried by m} r mother—you will find the name of tlie place, and all about it in in}’ trunk.” “ Anything—everything, my poor lad.” I answered chokingly. The little fellow smiled faintly—it wu.s like an angel’s smile, but did not answer. liis eyes were fixed on tlie stars flickering in that patch of blue sky overhead. “It’s a long, long ways up there—but there are bright angels among them.— Mother used to say l would meet her there. How near they come, and I sec sweet faces smiling upon me from among them. Hark! is that music?” and lifiing his fingers, he seemed list ening for a moment. He fell back, and the old veteran burst into tears.— The child was dead. Did he indeed hear angels’ voices ? God grunt it. From the Alouiie Register. The License System-—No 7. The lowest estimate made of the dai ly expenditure (or liquor in the city of Mobile is SISOO. This is sustained by allowing S2O to each licensed house, and $2 to each unlicensed. That the most skeptical may be satisfied, I re duce the amount to SIOOO, as tlie ag gregate, daily receipts in drinking hou ses of every description; SIOOO pet day, $30,000 per month, $300,000 per annum contributed by the labor of the people, for what ? For liquor, for the excitement of a moment, which saps the energy of nature. It is for food to in vigorate, or clothing to protect the phy*. ical man ? Is it for intellectual devel opment, or the cultivation ol a refined and elegant taste, in the_ patronage of art? Not so. It is an exchange of la bor for the most prolific medium of pov erty, disease and crime—it is for that, uliicb no inan—not even the miserable drunkard, in his interval of soberness— w ill not denounce as bis enemy ; as a tiling that does no good. As a business, the traffic is not enti tied to commercial recognition, be cause destitute of reciprocity. Equali ty between buyer and seller, as recip ients of benefits, gives to trade its char acter. As money is simply the representa tive of labor, an investment of a dune , in adi ink is an exchange of physical ! or mental toil. If the golden visions of in’ k\ v it'"l), a- sumed tue palpable tonp., PENFIELD, GA. NOVEMBER G, 1852. I of realities—it'eaoh indulgence did not demand a shorter interval und a deeper draught—if nature acknowledged the I necessity of stimulance by retaining the impression, then the re would be j economy in the traffic. As it is, the bar-keeper is the beneficiary. By whom is this large amount of money expended ! By men, women and children. It is the deposit of eve ry species of labor from every grade in society. This immense contribution explains the poverty, complaint and destitution, attendant upon iutoinperauce. It is in bar-room that the money is paid. It is there, that the last dime is spent, and women und children robbed of their natural rights. This statement wears the sternness of a fact, not the coloring of fancy. Ordi nary observation will sustain its truth, and many a wretched, half-starved fam ily, in this refined and charitable city, indite their silent, withering commenta ries upon tho wisdom of our Legisla tion. It is said that competition is the life of trade, let us see if it gives vitality to morals or religion. In Mobile we find 12 established Churches dedicated to the worship of God, and open at least onoo a week for religious service—against which, over 3t)o liquor shops,—dedicated to Bac chus, —vending intoxicating drink, with out reservation of day, night or Sab bath. The Church inculcates Temper ance, brotherly kindness und cliurity, teaching man liis duty to society, and Ins relations to the future. The Bar room within reach of the preacher’s voice vomits forth its corruption, and profanity is the popular medinm of theught. The Church is the sign board |to another world; the bar-room is the j vestibule of the jaii and hospital. The Church saves one man, the bar-room i damns ten. I If liquor be neceisary to rivet relig ! ions impressions, if tiio bar-room iie ! requisite to complete what the Sunday School begins, then the legislative sanc tion by license, is a response to a higher call than mere social demands. The reference to the Church is made for the sole purpose of arresting the apathy ot a religious community. Theie is food foi rt flection in the facts here presented, and u solemn responsibility rests upon those who are enrolled in the service ot Him, who prayed ‘Lead us not into temptation.’ FRO BONO PUBLICO. Tho Lioonse System —No 8. Tho strength of republicanism is i,t the intelligence of the people. Igno rance may appreciate the mere animal gratification of unrestrained liberty, but il is inert in its defence. It is tlie moral influence of our religions tolerution-tiie freedom of intellectual elevation, arid the public appreciation of virtue, which invests our country with its political grandeur. The religious and cliolastic training of the child should therefore be with the parent 3 patriot virtue. Pa rental authority should be tigidly guar ded in the suppression of all popular in ducements to error, and if an evil exists be)end individual control, the law must perform its office. Do the fact before presented, warrant the assertion tfiat we have sueii an ene my in our midst ? Is there an individ ual of elevated sentiment, to whom r.a ----! ture has confided the training of a child, ! whose solicitude is not increased to a fearful anxiety, in view of the public introduction to dissipation and vice ? I appeal to any one of this class, if tlie present system of vending liquor at tlie corners of the streets—if the attachment of a bai-room to every place of recrea tion and amusement, fosters the devel opment of domestic teaching, or affords any guarantee of a manly and virtuous maturity ? It is expected of the man who sells a draught of liquor to temper his avarice, by sympathy for the buyer? Is friendly remonstrance or parental admonition expected ofhim,upon whose! every dollar, some personal sacrifice is engraved; wiio deals out the destruc tive pi rtion, though the band of death’ deposits the dime ? Is there any security for youth, when the road to every school house and church is marked by some attraction to profligacy ? There is a recklessness upon this subject which cannot be too harshly reprobated. Heads of families sustain by their patronage the medium of corruption to their children. The wonderful and unfortunate pre cocity of the rising generation—the sur prising transition from the nursey to the assertion of manly prerogative—the freedom of youth with r/g, is the result of outdoor, agencies. Where is this familiarity more practised or this hot germination more visible than in the bar-room ? The boy scarce let loose from his mother’s apron-strings, is as much a man in the bar-room, ns the veteran ofsixty. Onr system of education will never be perfect until the teaching of the *fciu>oD, the moral and religious impres sions of youth, are fostered by parental consistency and guarded by the law. Vice must be individualised and its avenues suppressed. The schoolmas ter must teach temperance —nay absti nence—witli the alphabet, und the church, unmask its greatest enemy.— The cold philosophy of Priest and Levite will not do, while tho wounded and dy ing poople, the road side. The times demand of this great leader of reform— the church —a more practical applica tion of its immense energies. Educa tion isoaralised while the Hydra-head ed monster stands ready to strangle ev ery manly impulse. Popular amuse ments, innocent iu themselves, are per verted by the liquor appendage. The scenic representation of life and character on the stage, is denounced as immoral, and the graceful evolution of a dance is interdicted, wiiils the hur room is licensed to stall the public vir tue, and boldy confront -nay, intrude upon the house of God itself. PRO BONO PUBLICO. Amusing cure ‘or Drunkenness. The late Emd of Pembroke, who had many good qualities, but always per sisted inflexibly in his own opinion, which, as well as his conduct, was often very singular—thought of an experi ment to prevent liie exhortations and importunities of those about him.— This was to feign himsenl deaf; and un. dtr pretence of hearing very imperfect ly, he would always firm his answer by what he desired to imve said. A mong other servants was one who had livod with him from a child, and served him with fidelity and affection, till at length he became his coachman.— This man by degrees got into a habit of drinking, for which his lady often de sired that he might be dismissed. My lord always answered, “Yes, in deed, John is an excellent servant.” “1 say,” replied the lady, “he is con tinually getting drunk, and 1 de.-,ire that he might he turned off” “Ay,” said his lordship, he has 1 iveil with me from a child, and as you say, a trifle should not, part us.” John, however, one evening, as he was driving lrom Kingston, overturned j liis lady in Hyde Park; she wus not i much hurt—but when she came home, i she began to rut tie to the Earl. “Here.” says she, “’tis that beast of a John, so drunk that lie can hardly J stand ; he has overturned the coach, and if he is not discharged, may break our nocks!” “Ay,” says rny lord, “is poor John sick ? Alas, lam sorry for him.” “I am complaining,” said my lady, “that he is drunk, and overturned me.” “Ay,” answered Ins lordship, “to be sure he has behaved well, and shall have proper advice.” My lady finding it hopeless to re monstrate, went away ina pet; and my lord, ordering John into liis presence, addressed him very cooly in these words : “John, you know 1 have a re gard for you, and as long as you be have well, you shall he taken care in my family; my ludy Kills me you are taken ill, and indeed I see that you can hardly stand; go to bed, and I will take care that you have proper advice.” John, being thus dismissed, was takpn to bed, where, by his lordship’s order, a large blister was put upon liis head, an ! other between his shoulders, and six ; teen ounces of blood tuken from his arm. John found himself next morn . ing in a woful plight, and was soon ac quainted with ths whole process, and the reason upon which it was com menced. He had no remedy, however but to submit; for he would ruther have incurred as many mote blisters, than to lose iiis place. My lord sent very formally twice a day to know how he was, and frequently congratulated my lady upon John’s recovery, whom ho directed to he fed with only water gruel, and to Imvo no company but an oli) nurse. In about a week, John hav ing constantly sent word that he was well, my lord thought fit to understand the messenger, and said, he was ex tremely glad die fever hud left Imn, und desired to see him. “Well, John,” says he, “I hope this is about ovar.” “Ay, my lord,” says John, “I hum bly ask your lordship’s pardon. I pro. rnise never to commit the same fault again,” “Ay, ay,” says my lord, “you are 1 right; nobody can prevent sickness, und if you should be sick again, John, 1 shall see to it, though perhaps you should not complain ; and I promise you shall always have the same advice, and the same attendance you have now.’ “God bless >our lordship,” says John, “I hope jhero will he rio need.” “So do I, too,” says his lordship, “but so long as you do your duty towards me, never feur, 1 shall do mine towards you.” The ancient Scandinavians used the antlers of stags for drinking cups. Tliis is evidently the origin of the, phrase, ‘'taking a her,i /” ) The Bachelor and the Laced Veil. The following vary good story is told by the Columbia & Great West : Not many days since, a gentleman, who lost a bet with u ludv, and who had heard her say that she had lost a lace veil which she prized much, thought he would pay liis debt hihl “do tho polite thing’’ by purchasing anew veil of fine quality, and present it to his fair creditor. it must lie stated, for a proper under standing of what followed, that the gen tleman was a bachelor of long standing, and a man of little information touch, iug the world of “fancy goods,” though a proficient in sugar, cotton, and pro visions speculations. He accordingly stepped into a fush io'iublo miller’s establishment, and ask ed to see a lace veil, office quality. j “Here is one, Monsieur,” said the amiable priestess at the nead of die temple. “How much is it V’ “It is only fiftee, suir.” “Whut! only fifty! Dear me! 1 thought these things were exceedingly dear. If that’s all they cost, I don’t wonder at the ladies being fond of wearing such flimsy knick-knacks.— Only fifty f Dear me! Show me something better.” The priestess stared ; the bachelor remained perfectly coo!. Here was a customer ! A man who wanted some thing better—dearer. More veils— lace ones—were displayed. “Dis is only sixtee, suir; nnd dis one seventee-five. ” “ Dear me! only savonty-five ? Well, that is wonderful to be sure.— It’s a very pretty article, I see—but— can’t you show me something better 1” “No, sair; dis is de fc most dear— tin plus cheer artiete in de eitiee.” “You don’t say so! Well, well. Who would have thought it ? Thes* women, these women! they always were a mystery, ever since the days of Adam. (Jive me the change for a dol lar—in quarters.” The milliner did so. “I’ll take this one,” said the simple minded bachelor, folding up the seven ty-five veil. “Give me u quarter, and keep the seventy.five for yourself.— Dear me, how cheap! Who would have thought it ?” “1 see no seventy-live, sair. You no hand them to me,” said the milli ner. “I beg you pardon, ma’am,” said the bachelor, amiably and smilingly, “there they are on the counter,” pointing to the throe quarters. “Dis?” exclaimed the milliner, with an astonished look. “That,” said the bachelor, more than ever, preparing to put the veil in his pocket. “Ah, de man Jou —crack-a-brain ! 1 tell you, Monsieur, dat article do most dear in tlie citee ! You onderstan me you no onderstan de lnglish ! De most dear, I tell you—seventee-fivo dollar.” “What!” said the bachelor, turning rather pale, and dropping the veil us if it had suddenly turned to a coal of fire in his hands, “Seventy-five dollars!” “Yes sair, arid very cheap at dat.” “Seventy-five dollars for that cobweb! 1 thought you meant seventy-five c*nfj!’ If over a bachelor walked fust, that bachelor did. He goes around, now, in a stew of indignation, relating his adventure, winding up his story with the words “Yes, sir, the femalo French woman ! actually asked me seventy-five dollars for the short end of a cobweb !” An inexperienced bachelor going in to a fancy milliner’s store is protiy much like an innocent (ly venturing into a spider’s nest. Irish Beggar Grace Greenwood, in one ot her letters to the National Era, gives a few j paragraphs to Irish heggurs : “In one of our drives, in Linerick, I we passed through a sort of rag fair, ’ which showed us whert) the beggars : obtained that marvellous variety of col lor and texture so remarkable in thrtr costume. Here we saw some strange I specimens of the lust dire extremit)’ of 1 tattered civilization—only to be distin guished from savage scaiitinefts of ap parel and embruted stupidity, by greut jer squalor and a sullen consciuwuess’, ’ which hus not the grace of shame.— ! We saw one lad whose whole attire did not boast of one ordinary garment, but who was literally hung with rags, by means of a cord wound about bis body, sustaining fragments of every conceiv. able shape and color—so his entire costume was a curious piece of festoon ing. Ah, there is little need for tlie ! tourist to pass t 1 rough this part of Ire land, ‘spying out the nakedness of the land’ —it is thrust upon him at every .turn. Yet you must not believe that all this out ward wretchedness is real, necessary and helpless. By far the larger number of tiiose who apply to the .traveller for charity are vagabondish in their instincts and indolent in their hab- its, and prefer to beg rather than to la-’ bor, either iu or out of the workhouse. Die professional beggur djeases, for his part, with as much care and skill as ny other actor; and the whine, the limp, the melancholy tale, blindness, palsy, widow’s tears, and orphan’e wails, are often the results of laborious practice and splendid triumphs of art. You must bear this in inind, and ‘set pour face as a Hint,’ if you would enjoy Ireland. 1 have heard here an anec dote ol u wealthy American gentleman r el large hearted and tender-hearted be> nevolenco, who, ul'tcr making a touf through some of the poorer parts of the island, und scattering pennies among crowds of ragged urchins, Wherever he went dropping a teur and a sixpence in to every blind beggar’s extended hat,. lor to every ‘poor widdv’s | turned to his hotel, in ‘Dublin, a saJ dened man, and shut himself in his room to muse on the sorrows and suf ferings ot the innumerable host of pere grinating paupers, infantile, maternal, jevenile, and ancient, which had throng ed his way through many duys. Sud denly lie heard, somewhere without his door, a sweet voice, and the plaintive notes of a harp. “Ah!” exclaimed the good man; “some poor creature, having heard of my benevolence, iias followed mo here, and is appealing to my sympa thies through one of the mournful an cient melodies of her native land.—•• VV hat a melting, heurt-breaking voice ? Heavens ! what a touching strain was that. 1 can endure it no longer,” and with tearful ugitation, ho rings violent* ■y “ Walter, I can’tstaud this—give that woman half u crown forme, and send her uwsiy.” “The waiter stood aghast, for the harpist and singer was a noble lady, in the next, room.” llkspeot for tm* Attßß.—Tliefe i* something venarable in uge. In all na tione he highest respect haa been paid to it. Th* hoary head, says Solomon, is a crown of glory, if it be found in tho way ot righteousness. The patriarehs wrre a kind of Lures among the tribes of their descendants. Among the Kgy p. tians, the young were obliged to rise up in the presence of the old, und on eve ry occasion, resign them the honorable seat. Tho Spartans borrowed this law from them, and rigidly enforced it among their youth. They never thought of its “breaking liter spirit’’ of their rising warriors to require this sub mission. Job sets it down as a deplo rable degenoracy among his people, that •hoy, who were younger than lie, held him in derision, ft stands imperisha bly recoided as one of Heaven’s high commands, that honor is to bo given to father and mother. This is to tho com mand “with promise,” a promised bless ing to those who obey, but an implied curse, yea a cutting otf from the land, to those who disregard it. It has been | supposed that our republican iuslitu j lions are tax favoruble to Ills growth of j this spirit. There is tho more need, then, that it be assiduously cultivated. The mind even in infancy should be deeply im. bued with it. And “venerate the aged” should he, with our whole | topis one of the fixed maxims of life, no one allow, ing himself any departure from It. Leaving) Hume.— I can conceive of no picture more interesting than one which might be drawn from u voung man leaving the home of his childhood, the scone of all his early associations, to try his fortune in a distant country, setting out alone for the “forest.” A father on the decline, tho downhill of life, gives his parting blessing, invoking the bpst gifts ofheaven to rest on his be i loved offspring, and to crown ull his es | forts with complete success. Tears’ gusli from his eyes, und words are for bid utterance. A kind, ufFectionate mo ther, calling after him us he isdeparting from the parental abode, and with all the dangers to which ho is aboflt to be exposed, rushing into and pressing up: on her mind, she says—“Go, my son, remember thut there is a right and* wrong way.” Her advice is brief.— Language is inadequate to the expres sion of the feelings that there ciftwd on the mind of a virtuous child. Rvery mailer has a case of this kind, and rrlny have been the subject of one in some respects similar. Here may be found eloquence more touching to him to whom it is delivered tharl the orations of Cicero and Drmostnenes. A Thought. —The irritation grain of sand, which by accident or incaution lias got wit Liu the shell of the oyster, incites the living inmate to secrete front its own resources the means coating the intrusive substance, and thus germin- Htes the pearl. And is it not, or may it not be even so with troubles and af flictions in our case? We, too, may turn ( veil sickness and sorrow into pearid of' j,.’ oriee.- NO. 45-