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bourhood of M. to act as clerk and overseer at a lime-quarry. Whether it was the result of his former irregular life, I cannot say; but about the time of his settling here, he was seized with a gouty disorder in his arms and legs, which gradually unfitted him for walking, gave him at times much pain, and, by attacking the vitals, at last put a period to his life. Under this painful disorder, it heightened his misery that he was a stranger to the sublime consolations real religion can afford. As yet he beheld not that glorious Being, whose perfections, to the enlightened mind, appear engraven on all his works; as yet he knew not that Saviour, whose blood applies a healing balm to the wounded soul; nor had he any thoughts or hopes of that bright world, where the blessed inhabitant is never sick, and the tears of sorrow are shed no more. On the contrary, he walked in darkness, and in the gloomy shadow of spiritual death. His chief amusement consisted in his employment; in the company of a friend with whom he staid, or of the workmen; or in the reading of books of history, for which he had a very strong attachment. So great was his dislike to spiritual things, that he seldom or never attended the house of God. The Word of God, that precious book, was entirely over looked by him. He treated the Sabbath as any other day, spending it either in vain or worldly conversation, or in carrying forward the accounts relating to his employment; all which things were very grievous to him after he turned truly serious. Though he possessed strong natural powers, and was abundantly intelligent as to worldly matters, yet I am told that, previous to his conversion, his ignorance of religious truths was truly astonishing. "The god of this world had blinded his mind, lest the light of the glorious Gospel of Christ should shine unto him." 2 Cor. iv. 4. These things I have mentioned, not from any pleasure I take in raking up the ashes of the dead, but to illustrate the almighty power and sovereign grace of God in the conversion of so great a sinner. "For on account of the great love wherewith he loved him, even when he was dead in sins, he quickened him together with Christ." Eph. ii. 4, 5.

The manner of his conversion is too singular not to deserve to be particularly narrated. A cousin of Hugh Ross's, who lodged with him, intending on a certain Sabbath to go to F- to see a female relation, whose husband was lately dead, and who had left several books behind him, he gave him a commission to select some entertaining book, and fetch it along with him. His friend being but little versed in books, pitched upon the very first that occurred, and this, as Providence ordered, was Ambrose's Looking to Jesus. When he looked at the book his friend had brought he was very much chagrined; for it was not a serious, but some historical book that he wanted. But the disappointment was in mercy, and in the end afforded ample matter for gratitude and praise. Though, from what he saw of it, he very much disliked it at first; yet a secret influence of heaven excited him now and then to peruse certain parts of it. And it was when he was reading some passage relating to the sufferings of our blessed Lord that his conversion was instantaneously effected. The divine glories of Christ, the wonders of his dying love, and his own vile ingratitude, rushed at once on his astonished mind. From this time he was totally an altered man. All old things were done away, and every thing became new. I am sorry that I did not write down immediately when he first told them to me, or cause him write down the full particulars of his change; but as far as I remember, or can learn from others who were intimately acquainted with him, it seems very much to have resembled Colonel Gardiner's, as described by Dr Doddridge. The conversion of this excellent Christian and brave man was certainly wonderful; but there are, I believe, many conversions in

the Christian world not less surprising. They are, however, known in this world only to a few, and soon consigned to oblivion, owing to the want of such a biographer as Gardiner's to transmit them to posterity. But they will be all known one day. Glorious and innumerable will be the instances of the power and grace of God which the light of eternity will disclose to the view. And the knowledge of these will form no small part of the happiness of the saints in glory.

For some time after his conversion the mind of Hugh Ross was very comfortable. He saw himself, indeed, to be a great sinner, and that he deserved the heaviest indignation of the Almighty; but he was not immoderately dejected; for by faith he was enabled to perceive and rest upon the perfect righteousness of the great Immanuel. After having believed, he was sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise, which is the earnest of the Christian's inheritance, until the redemption of the purchased possession. The Lord graciously lifted up upon him the light of his countenance; and this made him both holy and happy. His views of religion were bright and accurate, and very enlarged, considering the late gross darkness which covered his understanding. His naturally strong mind, when irradiated by the divine Spirit, travelled with infinite satisfaction over the perfections of God, displayed in creation and providence, but particularly in redemption.

In consequence of the high measures of grace bestowed upon him, his feet were like the hind's, swift in all the ways of the divine commandments. The law of God being written on his heart, and engraved on his inward parts, he cheerfully observed the Lord's statutes and judgments to do them. Good books, but especially the Bible, which was so long despised, and so little understood by him, were now the favourite companions of his leisure hours and retired moments. The Lord's day, which he once profaned, and which he spent either in worldly business or vain conversation, he observed with all the strictness of an old Puritan. He honoured it highly himself, and by his precept and example taught others also to respect it. Though his increasing bodily infirmities had disabled him from attending upon public worship, yet was his heart in God's sanctuary. And much, no doubt, would he have given for wonted bodily vigour, in order to his having had it in his power to have mingled there with other godly persons in the solemn services of religion. But this Infinite Wisdom saw it not proper to grant. What was said of one in a different case, might be applied to him with a little variation of circumstances, that when God gave him ability to go to church he would not go, and when he gave him the inclination, the ability was, in the just judgment of heaven, denied. But, above all, secret prayer was his peculiar delight, and, as it were, his proper element. He was much with God in his closet; and as of Paul, the great convert of the primitive age of Christianity, so of him it might be said, "Behold he prayeth!" Often, when unknown to him, have his companions listened with rapture and edification to the humble and ardent prayers which he addressed to his God and Saviour. His sublime views of the purity of God, and his deep sense of the evil and danger of sin, led him to condemn sin severely in himself; and these, joined to his natural intrepidity of mind, rendered him a resolute reprover of vice, when observed in others. His zeal to do good was strong and ardent. Not only did he wish to go to heaven himself, but to carry as many as possible along with him. When in company with his neighbours, he embraced every opportunity for dropping some favourable word in honour of his blessed Lord and Saviour, who had done so much for him. But his benevolent labours were chiefly confined to those who resided in the same house with himself; and on some of these there is

reason to hope that he was the mean of effecting somewhat more than a mere external reformation.

Thus for some time did he bask in the sunshine of divine favour, and walk with pleasure in the ways of the divine commandments. But this heaven upon earth was not always to last. The Sun of Righteousness set upon him, and, in an unbelieving hour, he concluded he should never arise again to gild his horizon. Like his divine Master, he was led into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil. His views of divine truth were much obscured, and he was tempted to doubt of many things he had lately so firmly believed. It was at this time that my acquaintance with him commenced. Upon unbosoming himself to me, I told him that, though his case was distressing, it was not singular; that the same afflictions were accomplished in his brethren in the world; and that the Lord would work a deliverance for him in his good time and way. All this, however difficult to credit, was afterwards verified in his experience. After a while, the God of peace bruised Satan under his feet. He again exulted in his Saviour, and went on his way rejoicing.

Calling upon him some time after this, he expressed to me an earnest desire to partake of the sacrament of our Lord's Supper. As he had large measures of that spirit bestowed upon the first Christians, so, like them, he felt a great attachment to this sacred institution. And while he beheld with regret the several sinful transactions of his past life, he was penetrated with more than common sorrow for having so long slighted the Lord's Supper. Viewing things now in the light of God's Word and Spirit, he evidently laid a very great, though not an improper, stress upon this ordinance. For his earnest desire to communicate proceeded not from any ignorant or superstitious notion, as if this could obliterate all his guilt, or confer a right to eternal life; he was too well acquainted with evangelical doctrine to entertain such an opinion; but from the high views he had of the glory of his Saviour, and the infinite obligations he was brought under to honour and glorify him. As he was unable to walk to the house of God, I attempted to dissuade him from his design. The wish was indeed very commendable; but, in his circumstances, I told him it would not be expected by any of his fellow-Christians, and that absence from the sacrainent would never be imputed as a sin to him by his merciful Lord, who required mercy and not sacrifice. But as his heart was much set upon it, he was not to be dissuaded by any thing I could urge. Though he was unable to walk, he said he had laid by some money, and that it could not be better bestowed than in hiring a chaise to carry him to the place of public worship; and that he was determined on communicating, provided his health permitted, and his minister had no objections to admit him. On this latter score there could be no impediment. His clear views of the Gospel, and his marvellous change, left no ground to doubt the fitness of his qualifications as a Christian communicant. On the contrary, the minister was ready to form the earnest wish that all the Lord's professing people were such as he was, his infirmities alone excepted. As his health permitted, he came to church in a chaise on the sacramental Sabbath forenoon, and was carried by the elders to a convenient place at the tables. The sight of a lame person availing himself of the kindness and strength of others to help him to the altar of God was truly novel and striking, and to those who knew all the circumstances wonderfully animating, as it served to remind many of them of their youthful ardour, when with such ecstacy they attended communion occasions in the places of their nativity. Sublime, surely, were those views of the Saviour's glory, and ardent was that love that prompted him to make this appearance! Having asked him the first time I saw him, after the communion, how he had felt, he told me he had not all the

elevation he had expected, or had experienced on or dinary occasions in his closet. This was, no doubt designed to show him that it was not mere attendance on solemn ordinances, but the divine presence, that car make us truly blessed, and to reconcile him to a stat of entire seclusion from public worship in future. Fo this was the last time he ever was at the Lord's table or indeed in the house of God.

Some time after this he fell into some errors respect ing doctrines, which is not to be wondered at, secluded as he was from mingling much with Christian society and prevented by his disorder from attending upon the means of public instruction, where he might have had access to hear the truths of religion explained and defended. These were, however, few and trifling in their nature, and not affecting the essentials of religion. He did not pertinaciously adhere to them, but was oper to conviction, and at last renounced them upon better information. In the general, his notions were highly Calvinistic, and these he had imbibed, I am persuade before he knew who Calvin was, or any one of the sentiments of that eminent reformer. He learned them not from man, or public ordinances, for these he could not attend, but from the Word of God, and the teaching of that Spirit who leads and guides into al truth.

About five years after his conversion his disorder increased to such a degree as to baffle the power of medicine. He was sensible of his approaching dissoletion, and endeavoured to prepare himself for it. That Lord and Saviour in whom he trusted did not now desert him, when his assistance was most needed, but vouchsafed to him such measures of his grace, as to enable him to support his painful and tedious illness with Christian resignation and fortitude. He ardently desired, and was very grateful for, the visits of ministers and private Christians, and was uneasy and dissatisfied if they were long delayed. At such times his discourse was such as became a dying believer, serious, edifying, and heavenly. He delighted to talk of the blessed country to which he was soon to be translated, and relished chiefly such conversation in others. He now learned, from his own experience, the infinite advantages of being truly religious, and how wretched beyond conception his condition must have been had death overtaken him while in a state of unbelief and impeni tence. He possessed not any uncommon joys, which was, perhaps, in part owing to the nature of his disorder, but his soul was supported by the pleasing hope of a blessed immortality; and this was founded, not on a retrospect of that part of his life that was sincerely spent in the ways of virtue, but on the perfect righteousness of the divine Redeemer. He wished to die in the faith of Him who is the way,-the only way to the Father.

Such was the strikingly diversified life of Hugh Ross. Important are the lessons it teaches us co cerning the evils of vice, the sovereignty and power of the grace of God, the strong hopes which the greatest sinner may entertain of pardon through faith and repentance, and the great advantages resulting from a truly religious line of conduct. In the first part of bis life he was a formal professor, in the middle he was an open and abandoned sinner, and in the latter a sincere and firm believer. The latter, which may be called the Christian part of his life, was short, but illustrious, being eminently distinguished for zeal, piety, and use fulness.

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THE

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CONDUCTED UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF MINISTERS AND MEMBERS OF THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH.

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THE YOUNG PASTOR'S APPEAL TO HIS PEOPLE. *

BY THE REV. JOHN M'EWEN,
Minister of the Parish of Milton of Balgonie, Fifeshire.

THE sacred office constitutes an essential part of that vast system of means which the goodness of God has furnished for training up the soul in holiness, and preparing it for the enjoyment of the celestial inheritance. We mingle our efforts with those of angels to effect this grand result, and, as we advance on the battle-field to grapple with the mighty and malignant foes that maintain a keen struggle for ascendancy in the spiritual conflict, and employ all their dark resources to arrest the progress, and cloud the splendour, of the triumphs of the Redeemer's reign, we are cheered onward, our exertions are invigorated, our courage is fortified, the infant arm has a giant-strength imparted to it, by the consoling, animating, and kindling thought, that these ministering spirits are eye-witnesses of our struggles, are bending upon us looks full of encouragement and beaming with hope, alluring us unrelaxing efforts, by beckoning to the home of bliss, and whispering in the ear of the soul that "our light afflictions, which are but for a moment, are destined to work out for us a far more exceeding, even an eternal weight of glory."

But in this warfare which we are commissioned to wage against the powers of darkness, other and higher sources of strength are opened up, and from these we are invited to draw refreshment and vigour to recreate and reanimate our fainting energies. God has promised to be our refuge and strength, shielding us by his Almighty arm, and clothing us with the helmet of salvation to quench the fiery darts of the evil one. The Holy Spirit has promised to make our hearts a bright sanctuary where he will dwell with his enlightening, and cheering, and consoling, and sanctifying presence. Christ has promised to become our benefactor and friend, to bless us with his salvation, to sympathise with us in the dark hour of trial, to heal the This earnest appeal formed the concluding part of the author's

Introductory discourse on entering on the charge of the parish of Milton.-ED.

No. 38. SEPTEMBER 21, 1839.-1{d.]

wounded spirit, to whisper peace to the agonized bosom, and sustain the sinking soul when bowed to the dust by the load of its own felt guilt or distressed by the sights and the sounds of sin and woe around, by pouring on the unscaled eye of the soul-gladdening views of that land of everlasting joy, where no storm rages to disturb its peaceful serenity, where no cloud intervenes to obscure its living splendour, where its scenes are unpolluted by the dark footsteps of sin, where the piercing wail of sorrow is unheard, and where every heart will remain for ever fixed on the centre of all good, and full of adoring wonder, love, and praise.

Sustained by such great and gracious promises, and cheered by such glowing and thrilling prospects, we will not shrink from the conflict to which we are summoned; pillowed on the bosom of Omnipotence, and reposing beneath the shield. of his might, we will not fear though the earth be removed, and the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea, though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swellings thereof. And yet, deeply penetrated though I be with these promises of strength and aid, and earnestly desirous, as I am, that they may always cast a guiding and controlling influence on

my

heart and life, and stimulate me to untiring efforts, having this day entered the public theatre of this spiritual warfare, and enlisted under the banner of the great Captain of salvation to be the guide and instructor of others,-to apprise them of the approaches of the enemy that lurks for their eternal ruin,-of the ten thousand artifices he employs to allure them from their allegiance, and hold them in the dark grasp of his destroying sway, and make them his degraded vassals,-to tell them of the pressing dangers by which they are encompassed, which can only be avoided by unsleeping vigilance and unrelaxing efforts, that they must part, resolutely and utterly part, with [SECOND SERIES. VOL. I.

withering look, as if it said, Behold the fruits of your carelessness; you saw me wandering in the ways of sin, you saw my heart wholly centred on the world, you knew that the thought of eternity never flashed on my mind, that I felt no need of the cleansing blood of the Saviour being applied to my diseased and sin-stained soul, no earnest aspirations for the life-giving and sanctifying influences of the Holy Spirit, and yet you never lifted up a voice of warning and remonstrance, you never fearlessly rebuked me in my career of thoughtless pleasure, you never armed yourself with the thunders of a broken law, and poured its terrors in startling accents on my charmed ear,

every besetting sin, though dear to them as the light of heaven or the love of earth,-that they must strive and struggle with undivided energy to enter in at the strait gate,-that they must fight the good fight of faith with the fearless life-spurning heroism of a soldier on the forlorn hope, that they must lay hold on eternal life with a grasp which no allurements, no pains, no perils, no pleasures, no trials, no afflictions, no powers of earth or hell can relax or weaken. Having this day, I say, undertaken a task so momentous and heartthrilling, are you surprised, will you not rather pity and sympathize with me, when I tell you that I tremble on the threshold of this great and difficult enterprise, that I feel a sinking of the you preached peace, peace, and rivetted the spirits on surveying the vast field of toil that opens chain of delusion which held my soul in its deathon my view? To me there has always appeared bearing power, even when the wrath of God was something overpoweringly appalling in the idea of muttering over my head, and mustering its enerundertaking the spiritual inspection of a congre- gies to grasp and destroy me; behold the fruits gation of immortal beings. When I consider the of your carelessness, an eternity of hopeless qualifications which an accomplished and efficient anguish, of torturing remorse, of consuming deminister requires; the vast stores of knowledge-spair, is my portion,-the blood of my soul lies embracing the treasures of literature sacred and at your door! and then the doomed spirit, with a profane he must possess; the unceasing assiduity heart-rending shriek, sinks into the wailings of he must maintain, the uncooling ardour he must everlasting woe. And oh! what heart not steeled evince, the fearless resolution he must display in in insensibility, not dead to every generous, to clinging to the path of duty, undismayed by the every Christian feeling, will not melt into tears at frowns, and unallured by the false and flattering the prospect of such a possible scene as the one smiles of the world; above all, when I reflect that now pictured? And, in this view, I again ask, his soul must be invigorated by that strength from are you surprised that I tremble on the threshold above, without which human power is but weak- of the mighty enterprize in which I have this day ness, and illumined by that celestial light, in the embarked, that I feel a painful, a crushing conabsence of which all the rays that ever beamed viction, that all my resources and energies, were from the shrine of human science is at best but a these tenfold more extensive and vigorous than gorgeous twilight pouring its shaded splendours on they are, and however resolutely and unceasingly the soul without being able to guide it to the true they may be exerted, are utterly inadequate to the fountain of heavenly light, I ask again, are you task I have undertaken? Pray for me. Bear surprised that the contemplation nearly over- me daily on your spirits to a throne of grace, and, whelms me, and that I almost shrink from en- in answer to your supplications, the blessing of countering a task which would seem to prostrate God will descend like dew on the parched land to in the dust the most vigorous efforts of the loftiest refresh my drooping spirits when bowed down by human intellect? the pressure of professional duties, to invigorate Besides, when I look around me, and behold so my exertions, and blunt the edge of distress, and many mortal and immortal beings, with bodies sustain my sinking energies amid the sore trials soon to sink into the grave, and become a prey to which the servant of Christ is doomed to undergo corruption, and mingle with the dust of the val- in this vale of tears. You may entertain the ley, with souls destined to survive the dissolution opinion, for it is a very prevailing one, that the of the majestic framework of nature, and live duties of a minister of the Gospel are few, simple, through the circling ages of eternity, either bathed and of easy performance, and that the motives in bliss more pure and lofty than the imagination which prompt most men to undertake the sacred can conceive, or tossed and tortured on the fiery office are the hope of enjoying a bed of roses on rack of unmingled woe,-when I look forward to which indolence may repose in dreamy indulgence, that awe-inspiring day when the assembled mil- and close its heavy eye in undisturbed tranquillions of the human race will stand around the bar lity. Such was not the opinion of Paul, whose of judgment, hushed in the profound calm of authority on this point will possess unquestioned dread expectation, to listen to the voice of Him weight. After taking a calm and dispassionate who fills the throne of justice, and wears the view of the toilsome efforts which the triumphant diadem of eternity, and wields the sceptre of the prosecution of this office demanded, and looking universe, and when I figure to myself that one, at the amazing magnitude of the interests it ineven one of those committed to my spiritual care, volved-embracing the eternal destiny of the may be found on the left hand of the Judge, and immortal soul-though he enjoyed a more unimagine that as he retires from the scene, clouded clouded intercourse with heaven than the unin in the doom of woe, with a piercing shriek of spired mind can participate, and although he was agony, he may cast on me a despairing, heart-gifted, beyond all his compeers, with a resolution

of mind, an intrepidity of character, which perils | with sickness, and with no relish for earthly enjoyment, could not shake, an ardour which nothing could disposes us for a while to forsake present things, and damp, a spirit that rose with difficulties, and luxuriate amid the recollections of the past. To him remained unmoved in the midst of the most whose sole enjoyments are limited to the round of dismaying objects, he pronounced the due per-worldly pleasures, and who connects the idea of solitude formance of the duties of the sacred office as transcending the most sustained efforts of created might, exclaiming, "Who is sufficient for these things?" Well, then, may he who now addresses you tremble at the portal of the sacred temple. But with an unfaltering reliance on that fountain of divine strength from which we are invited to draw refreshment, and vigour, and holy resolve in the dark hour of trial, I go forth in hope, faint yet pursuing, resolved to spend and be spent in the service of my divine Master, to consecrate all the energies of my head and heart to the great and glorious enterprize of fixing the attention of those who place themselves under my ministry on the high realities of eternity, and of winning them to that Saviour who wooes the sinner, in tones of melting tenderness, to embrace his offered mercy, and share the unmingled bliss which beams on the soul when it takes shelter from the storm beneath the wings of a Saviour's love.

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The east, the west, and every clime
Their treasures poured, both bright and rare,
But brooding still, in ire sublime,

The curse, the awful curse was there.
And what the pomp, the pride, the show,
The silk and silver, gold and glare?
Emblems of wrath and weeds of woe,
For ah! the curse of God is there.
Then thought I of the heaven-set throne!
The red right arm of judgment bare!
The shriek of hell-the endless groan,
Alas! alas! the curse is there.

ON THE RECOLLECTION OF DEPARTED
FRIENDS.

BY CHARLES MOIR, ESQ.

Friend after friend departs:

Who hath not lost a friend?

There is no union here of hearts

That finds not here an end.

Were this frail world our final rest,
Living or dying none were blest.
MONTGOMERY,

THERE are certain seasons in the experience of every
nan when the mind turns aside from present objects
and pursuits, and looks back over the past for consola-
tion and relief. Such times generally occur when,
wearied out with repeated disappointments, and sick
with hope deferred, when bereaved of some dear ob-
ect of earthly love, or when the body, broken down

and quiet meditation with the gloomy seclusion of the eremite's cell, such periods of calm reflection must be looked forward to with pain and loathing, but to the man of sober contemplative mind they come with all the welcome relief that a pleasant morning drean brings to him who has passed a night of feverish restlessness. They temper and subdue the mind, and lead it back from brooding over the acquisition of worldly gain, from the unsubstantial dream of worldly pleasure, to that quiet and healthy state fitted for the reception of the best and most lasting impressions. It is after such hours of reflection, when we have carefully sifted the hidden motives of actions, and minutely examined the secret springs by which the different actors in these have effected their purpose, and seen how much of dissimulation is mixed up even in the ordinary intercourse of society, and how we have ourselves been deceived, that we begin to place less and less dependence on our own strength, and to trust more and more to the guidance of Him who is a great defence, and a "sure rock of refuge."

It is at such seasons, too, occupied as they are more peculiarly with the events of the past, that the recollection of departed friends, of those who have gone before us, comes back with double pressure upon the mind. The severe grief with which we had mourned their departure may have been long since sobered down. This life with its bustling anxieties, its many and oft recurring hours of trial and trouble, its seasons of cheerfulness and pleasure, allows but a brief period for the remembrance of great events whether of joy or affliction. We return again into the world, and the mind, burdened with the weight of present sorrows, soon regains its wonted elasticity. The pressure of worldly pursuits, the interchange of friendly offices, and the many new connections we are daily forming, soon heal up our wounded affections, and draw a temporary veil of oblivion over the recollection of departed worth. This curtain, the hand of friendship in the hour of quiet reflection draws aside, and with the relish of the exile who visits once more the home of his youth after years of estrangement, do we welcome back to our hearts the remembrance of the virtues and love of those dear friends "who have gone up before us into heaven."

At such moments, no less pleasing is the remembrance that it comes unaccompanied with those more painful auxiliaries, the severe bodily suffering that shook the manly frame, and the struggle of the parting hour, with which those who have suffered a recent bereavement necessarily associate the recollection of a departed friend. The death-bed is now stripped of its more repulsive features, and while we look back and admire the heroism that sustained the Christian in the last hour, when he looked forward with the eye of faith to the inheritance promised to the true believer, and patiently bore his load of earthly suffering, those heavenly truths that were his great consolation remain imbedded in our hearts, when the bodily throes of anguish over which they triumphed are forgotten.

Were no more powerful incentive held out to us than

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