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it decomposes the blood; the body becomes more susceptible of fever and epidemic diseases; and when you have any slight attack even of cold, you are exposed to greater dangers than persons who never take inflammatory beverages."

"Oh, oh, doctor! you must not exaggerate," said I; "what you have stated may be the case with drunkards."

"I do not exaggerate, friend," replied he, "it is already your case. May it in mercy happen, that the cholera come not near you, for you would in all probability fall a victim to it. In London seven-eighths of the cholera patients died, all of whom,-in the higher as well as in the lower classes,were in the habit of drinking intoxicating liquors. You may be sure, for experience has proved it, that out of ten young men who, from their twentieth to their thirtieth year, drank every day no more than one or two glasses of spirits, more than half died at the end of ten years, and the others impaired their health before the expiration of that time."

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But, dear doctor," said I, "there are not only drinkers, but even drunkards, who become old and gray, in spite of their drinking."

"True," replied the impenetrable doctor, "but how often do we see those old transgressors, who have lost not only their best bodily strength, but also their intellectual powers. Observe their confused, staring look, and the trembling of their hands! Such persons may form an exception from those who die early, but no exception from the consequences of their vice. Their children, even, pay the penalty from which the drunken father perhaps escapes. Observe the drunkard's children! They are weak, pale, and paralytic; they are affected with glandular swellings, and have other bodily infirmities. They imitate their fathers in brandy-drinking, and die even on the very verge of manhood.

sinners!"

"Yes, yes," said I, "you are certainly right, I know such persons; but you must distinguish between use and abuse." "Certainly, friend," answered he; "the use of spirits is more frequent than what you are pleased to call the abuse; nevertheless, both exercise their noxious effect on the human body, as you may observe already with yourself. Brandy is poison under any circumstances! Remember that! It is no beverage for quenching, but, on the contrary, increases thirst. It affords no nourishment, for it possesses no nutritious qualities; but, on the contrary, it weakens the stomach. Therefore, brandy, which is of no use for preserv ing health, always undermines it. The faces even of the brandy-drinkers betray their habit. Those of the lower classes, who drink nothing but brandy made from corn, potatoes, or rice, have a pale, disagreeable, weak countenance. Wealthier persons, who use cherry brandy, French brandy, foreign liquors, strong wines, and spirits, have a reddish, swollen, copper-coloured face. God marks the "Doctor," said I, "you put me in pain. I think it is only the abuse of wine and spirits which is hurtful.” Sir," exclaimed the doctor, "alcohol is a slow poison, whatever may be the disguise in which it is conveyed into the system. With one or two glasses of pure alcohol one may kill a healthy man, who has never tasted spirits in his life. Mixed with other ingredients, the alcohol produces diseases in the body. Wine and beer, drunk moderately, are less hurtful than brandy, because they contain less alcohol. In a hundred gallons of beer there are only one or two gallons of alcohol; in a hundred gallons of the common fruit-wines, there are from four to eight gallons of alcohol; in good French wines, from ten to nineteen; in Spanish and Portuguese, from nineteen to twenty-five; in brandy, cherry-brandy, and rum, there are from twentyfour to fifty-three gallons of alcohol! Such is the difference." "You really believe then, doctor, the alcohol to be the mischievous thing, the poison? But is it not used as a medicine?"

"Certainly; and so are mineral poisons; they are used as medicines, but not as nourishment, not for daily use. Alcohol is, and remains poison, like mercury; and is repelled and rejected from all the interior parts, which it affects like mercury."

"Don't tell me of alcohol and mercury," exclaimed I; "what do you advise me to do for my health? I must drink something; will you prescribe something for me."

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Nothing," said the unmerciful doctor; "you may drink wine and beer in moderation, but good pure water will be better for you. In order to establish your health, take every morning before breakfast two glasses of fresh water, and as much in the evening before you go to bed, and do

this every day. Drink no spirits; whatever be their name, all are artificial, not natural drinks. I promise you, friend, in six months, you will have again a healthy stomach, and you will feel the best effects arise from this habit. I entreat you to follow my advice. Our ancestors were stronger people than we are; they did not drink brandy, for they were not acquainted with it. In the apothecary's shop it was found under the name of aqua vito, that is, water of life. It was used as a cordial. The savages in America call it mad water, and the savages are right!"

I paid attention to what Doctor Walter truly said; and for the encouragement of all the thousands who complain of diseases like mine, I add, that from that day I followed the doctor's advice, took every morning and every evening two glasses of fresh water, and only at dinner a little beer or wine. In six months' time I felt, to my great delight, the good effect of this upon my health; have since banished spirits from my house, and entirely avoided them, and during the three years following wanted no doctor.

Two Sad Letters.

FRIDOLIN and I became daily more familiar with each other on our journey. He was a very good-hearted fellow. His sadness, however, remained unchanged; nothing could remove it, though he appeared to me too virtuous to be the acquired, in the fulness of health and the freshness of life, victim of a guilty conscience. With the wealth he had what could weigh so heavily upon his heart? No doubt, he has met with some disappointment in love in England. thought I, as I had already learned that he was unmarried,

One day, as we sat together in the carriage, and traversed a very beautiful country, I reproached him in a friendly manner for his melancholy. "You ought to be the happiest man beneath the sun," said I; "open your heart to me, perhaps I may in turn become your physician." sigh. "I'am unhappy! nobody can cure me. But I can "That you never will," answered he, with a suppressed make you acquainted with the cause of my grief. Perhaps it will relieve me, at least, to speak of misfortunes to a sympathizing friend. There, read for yourself the circumstances that call me home so quickly." He took out a pocket-book and gave me two papers from it. One of them was a letter from his mother, in the following words:

"When you receive this letter, my dear Fridolin, you will know that I am a bereaved widow. Come back, dear father is no more. son, to be the support of your unhappy mother. Your A fit of apoplexy has snatched him away from this earth. He had been attacked previously, in the autumn of last year, but I did not write to you anything about it, lest you might be in anxiety. In vain the physician recommended to him moderation in drinking. Unfor

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tunately he had addicted himself too much to the drinking of wine and spirits. It became his and our bane. But God's will be done! I have had great domestic troubles these two years, for I have seen how our fortune has been diminishing more and more. Our small property is deeply mortgaged; probably nothing can be saved except my dowry. I fear our house must be sold. Therefore, come back immediately; you are my only consolation. dreadful event took place six weeks ago in the house of our "Prepare yourself for another hard stroke of fate. neighbour Thaly-more dreadful even than our own misHis daughter Justine, whom fortune. Thaly is no more. you loved so much, has disappeared; nobody knows whither she has gone. All inquiries have been fruitless. Old Thaly has acted shamefully; he has deceived many people-ourselves among the number. His property is not sufficient to pay his debts. I pity the poor girl. Dear Fridolin, come immediately; leave everything in order to comfort

"Your much afflicted MOTHER."

It

The other letter was also written in a female hand, but without date and place. The contents of it were as follow: "Be not frightened, my ever-beloved Fridolin, if I tell you, that this is the last letter you will receive from me. is true, I am still attached to you with all my heart, but I can never be your bride, though it will break my heart to lose you. I am glad that your parents opposed our union, for I have experienced the most horrible blow that can be conceived: I cannot write it to you. You will learn it but too soon. Forget me! I discharge you from all your promises. I shall return into the hand of your mother the ring you gave me. Give it to some happier being who is more worthy of you. I live and suffer, far from your and my home. Brought up in wealth, I am now a servant,

For me the world has no more joy-all is gloom and death

for me.

"Farewell, dear, beloved Fridolin! forget me! I have now accomplished the most difficult thing, I have now bid you farewell for ever and ever. Do forget me! Do not inquire for my residence. I have a great desire to die; perhaps death may soon relieve me. Farewell! Farewell! JUSTINE."

An Unhappy Man.

WHEN I had read these letters, I was for a long time in great emotion. I felt deeply that two such communications were sufficient to drive to madness a young man who had a heart like that of my friend. Now I understood his horror of strong liquors; they had killed his father, and ruined a great part of his fortune. The letter of Justine Thaly, however, made the greatest impression on me; it indicated a terrible secret, which the unhappy creature had not even the courage to avow.

"Poor Fridolin!" said I, as I pressed his hand, "I can give you no consolation in this matter. Only time and

religion can heal such a wound."

He wiped the tears from his eyes, pressed my hand convulsively, and exclaimed, " Oh! I am made miserable for many years, perhaps for ever! The sudden death of my father, the debts he has left behind him, hard as all this is, I could bear it with manly courage. Death is the common lot of all men: nobody is immortal here below. The ruin of our fortune would not be a lasting grief for my mother. She does not know that the liberal gratitude of my noble patron will relieve her from all cares for our support. But my poor mother! She writes that she has had domestic troubles during several years. Sad forebodings terment me. Who occasioned these troubles to the good, gentle woman? Alas! and the unhappy Justine! What has become of her? Why was she obliged to leave her home? Why does she renounce me?" Here he paused and sobbed violently. "Friend," said I, either she is innocent of the unlucky affair, or "Hush! no or," cried Fridolin. "She is innocent, she is matchless. I have known her from my earliest childhood. We were neighbours, inseparable play-fellows. When I returned from the university, we promised each other fidelity and love, although our fathers were always quarrelling and going to law, and threatened our union with their malediction. Trusting that time might make a favourable change, and placing our hopes upon a kind Providence, I accepted the nobleman's offer to accompany him for some years in his travels: and now that no obstacles forbid our union, now, for some causes yet unknown to me, she renounces me! In the letter I received from her a few weeks before this last terrible one, she entreated me still, with tender solicitation, to return soon to my home. She was always virtuous, faithful, full of courage and resolution, and now she sinks under her misfortunes. Why does she conceal from me the dark secret, which severs us for ever? she never before concealed anything from me. Oh! what has become of the poor girl!"

He spoke in this strain for a long time. I could not restrain my tears while listening to him. The contents of Justine's letter were so mysterious and ambiguous, that all our conjectures were fruitless.

An unexpected accident interrupted our conversation.

ON ROPES AND ROPE-MAKING.

I.

THE NATURE AND CULTIVATION OF HEMP. AMONG the many useful forms which fibrous substances may be made to assume, few are more important than that of cordage. By this term we imply all the various kinds of rope, string, line, twine, cord, &c., with which

every one is so familiar.

The art of twisting into line and ropes various mateHals, such as thongs of animal hide, the hair of animals, tough grasses, and vegetable fibres, is of remote antiquity, and has existed even among the ridest people. The tarabita, or rope-bridge of the Peruvians, and the lasso of the Chilian hunter, are formed by twisting together thongs of ox-hide. In car own country, at the present time, ropes for particular purposes are made of horse-hair. The coir ropes

of Ceylon and the Maldive Isıands are made from the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut; the Manilla rope from the fibres of a species of the wild banana; ropes used by other Eastern nations are made from the fibres of the Crotolaria juncea. But of all the various kinds of vegetable fibre employed for this purpose, none are so important as the Cannabis sativa, or cultivated hemp, and the Linum usitatissimum, or flax. We shall devote the present article to a notice of hemp and its cultivation; the next to a similar notice of flax; and shall then describe the process of manufacturing the fibres thence obtained, into cordage.

The Cannabis sativa is a plant having a stem six or eight feet in height, upright, somewhat quadrangular, hairy at the surface. An oil is extracted from the seeds, and the seeds themselves are given to birds as food; but the fibrous substance of which the stem is composed is that which renders the plant most valuable, as a material for ropes. The hemp plant was mentioned by Herodotus as a native of Scythia. According to Linnæus it grows in the East Indies. Thunberg says Tartary; and Hennepin met with it among the Illinois, it is occasionally found in Japan. Gmelin found it in cultivated, it has become now one of the products of in North America. But wherever the plant was first several European countries.

The soil best adapted for hemp crops is of a deep, black, vegetable texture, in a low situation, and somewhat exposed to moisture. But a deep mellow, loamy, or sandy soil will produce good hemp, though rather less in quantity. In preparing the ground, the plough and harrow are much in requisition, to bring it to a fine mellow condition, and to free it from weeds. Where hemp immediately succeeds a corn crop, there are usually three ploughings, and an equal number of harrowings; the first being performed as soon as possible after the preceding crop is removed; the second as early before the seed is sown. as it can be done in the spring; and the last, immediately A large quantity of good manure or compost is added at the time of the last harrowing.

The seed is sown in quantities varying under different circumstances, and in two different manners. Some cultivators adopt the broadcast mode, that is, disperse the seed over the surface of the prepared ground as evenly as possible, and then cover it in by means of light harrowing. Others effect it by drilling, or sowing the seed in parallel drills or shallow trenches. The proper time for sowing is when the danger of early spring frosts is over, for instance, in the month of April; and the sooner it is effected after the commencement of favourable weather the better, as it gives a superior vigour to the early growth, and enables the plant to stand better the subsequent operations. This is a kind of crop which is capable of being grown after most other sorts, and even on land broken up from the state of sward. It has been grown on the same spot of ground for a great number of years, without the intervention of any other crop; indeed this has been the case in some parts of Suffolk for seventy successive but with the almost constant use of manure to years, prevent the exhaustion which would otherwise result. It is necessary, when the seed of the hemp plant has been sown, to use much caution in keeping the birds from the ground, as they otherwise soon devour a large proportion of the seed.

When the seed has once been deposited in the ground, a little attention from the cultivator is all that is neces

sary; the tall growth and thick shade of the plants, from the nature of the foliage, soon covering the surface, so as to prevent the rising of every sort of field weed.

When the crop has become perfectly ripe, which is known by its assuming a whitish yellow colour, and by the stems beginning to shed their leaves, it is ready to be pulled or taken up. The pulling is effected by forcing the plant up by the roots from the ground in

small portions at a time, with the hand, shaking off the mould from them before the parcels are deposited upon the surface. The business is commonly executed in a little more than three months from the time of putting in the crop. As soon as the labour of pulling is finished, the hemp is tied up into small bundles, or what are commonly termed barts.

After this process, the stems are prepared for the separation of the fibres, by an operation called retting, of which there are two kinds, dew-retting and waterretting; both of which are effected more favourably when the weather is rather showery.

In dew-retting, the hemp stalks, immediately after being pulled, are spread out in a thin, even, and regular way, so as to keep exact rows on a fine piece of close, old sward land, which is pretty even on the surface, for the space of three, six, or even eight weeks, according to circumstances, being turned as often as may be necessary in the time. In showery seasons, this is mostly done three times a week. As soon as the rind or bark of the hemp plant becomes easily separable from the firm part of the stem, it is taken up from the ground, and tied up into rather large bundles, in order to be carried home and stalked up, or placed in some covered building till it is wanted for being formed into hemp. This process requires great nicety and attention, in order to prevent the texture of the hemp from being deteriorated by too long a continuance on the sward; or by removing it at too early a period, before the hempy substance has been rendered sufficiently separable.

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In water-retting, which is much more common than the method just described, the hemp, after being wholly taken up, and bound into rather small bundles, by means of bands at each end, is carried to a pond or pit of standing water. It is there deposited, bundle upon bundle; and when it has been piled to such a thickness as the depth of the water will admit, usually about five or six feet, the whole mass, now called a bed of hemp, is loaded with large pieces of heavy wood, until it is completely immersed. When it has remained in this state for five or six days, it is taken out and conve ed to a piece of mown grass or other sward land, that is perfectly clean and free from the access of animals. There the bundles are untied, and the hemp stalks are spread out, one by one. While in this state, especially in moist weather, it must be carefully turned every second day. It is continued in this way for five or six weeks; after which it is gathered up, tied in large bundles, and kept perfectly dry in a house or small stack, until wanted for usc.

In some parts of Scotland, after the hemp is pulled, and the leaves, seeds, and branches removed by means of an instrument called a ripple, it is formed into bundles of twelve handsfull each, and steeped in water for six or eight days. It is known when it has had sufficient steeping by the reed being readily capable of parting from the bark. The most slender hemp stands in need of the greatest amount of steeping. After being taken out of the water, the hemp is not spread out upon grass-ground in the manner spoken of above, but is dried as quickly as possible, by setting it in an inclined position against cords fastened up for the purpose, or in any other way that will afford it the full benefit of the air, until it is completely dry, and the bark blisters up from the reed.

A method was introduced into France some years ago, by M. Brealle, of steeping hemp and loosening the bark in a much shorter time than as commonly practised. The process consists in heating water in a vessel or vat to the temperature of 73° or 74°, Reaumur, and dissolving in it a quantity of green soap, in the proportion of 1 to 48 of the hemp. The quantity of water made use of in this process should be about forty times the weight of the hemp. When the liquid is prepared, the hemp is thrown into it, and made to float on the surface, the

vessel being immediately covered, and the fire put out. In the course of two hours' steeping under these circumstances, the hemp is said to have attained the desired state. The superiority of this method is supposed to consist in a great saving of time and expense, and in the production of a larger quantity of tow from a given amount of hemp: but from this calculation is to be deducted the value of the fuel expended in heating the water. It would appear, that if this speedy method is really found so effective as is stated, it would promote the cultivation of hemp crops, by the facility which it affords to the subsequent processes, even in such situations as are not contiguous to rivers, streams, or ponds, and would also obviate any ill consequences that might originate from the putrid effluvia sent into the atmosphere, and prevent the corruption of the waters which, during the steeping of the hemp, are known to destroy the fish contained in them, as well as to prove hurtful to cattle that drink therefrom.

Among various improvements suggested in the mode of steeping hemp, one by Mr. Rainbeard has been re commended, as a means of effecting it without exposing the persons employed to be wetted. The pond is an old marl-pit, with a regular slope from one side, (where the hemp is prepared,) to the depth of eight feet on the other side. On the slope, above the water, the hemp is built into a square stack, upon a frame of timber of such a height as will float and bear a man without wetting his feet. The frame, with its load of hemp, is slid down into the water, a person on the opposite bank drawing it forward. When the stack floats, the frame is drawn away, and the load of hemp sinks to the bottom; after which another load is lowered in a similar manner.

There are a few details relating to the statistics of the Russian hemp trade, and the cultivation of the hemp plant, in Russia, in our 308th number*. We shall not enter, therefore, into any further details in this place.

The subsequent processes, by which the fibres are obtained from the stalks of hemp and prepared for the use of the rope-maker, bear so close a resemblance to the analogous processes in the preparation of flax, that one description will be found available for both. We shall therefore, in the next paper, after giving a description of the flax plant and of its cultivation, briefly notice the processes here alluded to, preparatory to a sketch of the operations of rope-making.

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SIR FRANCIS CHANTREY AND HIS
WORKS.
I.

We have been anxious to present to our readers some
notice of the life and works of the great sculptor whose
recent sudden death has caused so much grief to the
lovers of British art.

In collecting from various sources the materials necessary for our purpose, we have found some trifling discrepancies in the details respecting his early life, and we cannot vouch for having in every case chosen those which are the most consistent with truth, though it has been our endeavour to do so*.

It will be seen that the individual who has been so long and so justly celebrated as the most eminent sculptor that the English nation has produced, was not exempted in his early years from the difficulties and discouragements which so often beset the path of genius. Let the example of his persevering diligence stimulate those who are labouring unheeded and unknown in a path which they feel to be one that leads to real excellence.

FRANCIS LEGGITT CHANTREY+ was born on the 7th of April, 1781, at Norton, a pleasant village on the borders of Derbyshire, and about four miles south of Sheffield. Within the last forty years there stood on the lawn of Norton House, the ruins of an ancient chantry, from which it has been assumed that the surname of the sculptor's family had been originally derived. This may be only a mere fancy, but it is certain that his ancestors had been long settled in and about Norton, the name being of early and frequent occurrence in the church register. Their rank in life was humble; the father of Chantrey was a carpenter, who also rented and cultivated a few fields; besides which he owned some land at a distance, the old tenants of which used to make favourable mention of the goose-pie which Dame Chantrey was wont to produce on the rent-day.

The farm-cottage, in which Chantrey was born, still exists in a modified state, as does also the villageschool at which he acquired the rudiments of knowledge. He was deprived of his father very early in life, and being an only child, was educated by his mother with much tenderness and solicitude. Education and agriculture occupied him till his seventeenth year. During his leisure hours his favourite amusement was to make

resemblances of various objects in clay, and on churningdays to mould his mother's butter into various forms, to the great admiration of the dairy-maid. But his affection thus early shown for art, was but a matter of amusement-he calculated as little on the scope it presented to the ambition of genius, as he was unconscious that it was the path which nature had prepared for his fame.

About this time, according to one authority, he be came weary of the pursuits of his forefathers, and resolved to study the law, under a respectable solicitor at Sheffield. Whether this was his own choice, or that of his relations, we do not know; or whether, according to another authority, he was placed with Mr. Ebenezer Birks, in Sheffield, in order that he might become a grocer, is

also uncertain; but it matters not, for another destiny

awaited him. To unforeseen circumstances, we owe

much of what we are willing to attribute to our wisdom; and certainly, to such circumstances in the life of Chantrey, do we owe whatever delight we have received from the productions of that artist.

The day named for commencing his new profession arrived, and, with the usual eagerness of youth for novelty,

he reached Sheffield a full hour sooner than his friends

• For the early passages in the life of the sculptor, and for several judicions remarks, we have to acknowledge our obligations chiefly to a well-considered and well-written critical notice which appeared many years ago in Blackwood's Magazine.

From a copy of the register of Chantrey's baptism, given in the Gentuman's Magazine, it appears that Leggitt was not his baptismal name, and that the house at Norton where he was born was called Jordanthorpe.

had appointed to meet him. As he walked up and down,
the street, expecting their coming his attention was
attracted by some figures in the window of one Ramsay,
a carver and gilder. He stopped to examine them, and
was not without those emotions which original minds feel
He resolved at once to
in seeing something congenial.
become an artist, and, perhaps, even then associated his
determination with those ideas and creations of beauty
from which his name is now inseparable. What his
friends thought of his sudden resolution it is useless to
inquire, they listened to his request, and bound him for
the usual term of years as an apprentice to Ramsay.

The labours in which Ramsay employed him were too
limited for his powers: his hours of leisure were there-
fore dedicated to modelling and drawing, and he always
He had no other idea of
preferred copying nature.
style but that which nature supplied; he had his own
notions of art and of excellence to rough hew for
himself, and the style and character he then formed he
afterwards pursued with success. These speculations
were much more pleasant to him than to Ramsay, who,
incensed either at the enthusiasm with which they were
followed, or the success with which they were executed,
defaced them, and ordered all such labours to be discon-
tinued in future. For this conduct it was difficult to
find either an excuse or a parallel.

During the intervals of his ordinary labour, Chantrey was not found amusing himself like other young men: he retired to a lonely room in the neighbourhood, which he hired at the rate of a few pence weekly, and a light was always to be seen in his window at midnight, and frequently far in the morning; for there was he employed in working at groups and figures, with unabated diligence and enthusiasm. Of these early efforts little is now visible, except the effect they wrought. His mother took great delight and interest in the secret labours of her son, and lived long enough to see him rising to the reputation he deserved. Chantrey had passed nearly three years with Ramsay, when his clandestine labours began to attain notice. Judicious counsellors seldom fall to the lot of early genius, and many of Chantrey's friends, in the warmth of misjudging zeal, wished to obtrude him on the world before his talents were natured, or his mind disciplined. Others of more discernment confirmed him in his natural and correct notions of art, and directed his enthusiasm. Among these was Mr John Raphael Smith, mezzotint engraver and portrait painter, who, being himself a man of talent, soon discovered the young artist's powers, and took pleasure in directing the efforts of his genius. To perpetuate the memory of this kind instructor, Chantrey subsequently executed one of the finest busts that ever came from his hands. From a statuary of some talent, (the same who executed the two small figures that stand in the niches on either side of the doors of the Sheffield Infirmary,) he also obtained some instruction in the manual and technical arts of modelling and carving in stone.

in order to give the full notice it deserves to the monuWe must here interrupt the course of our narrative, mental figures which appear in our frontispiece; and which were executed at a time when Chantrey had surmounted his early difficulties, and was newly made an Associate of the Royal Academy.

The monument was executed in memory of the two infant children of the late Rev. William Robinson; and was exhibited in the Royal Academy, in the year 1817. Were we to detail the notices of the effects produced by this affecting group, upon some of the female visitors especially, they would appear greatly exaggerated; those, however, who have seen the figures will readily imagine from their own emotions, how affectingly they must appeal to the tenderest sympathies of parents, and especially of bereaved parents.

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