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ourselves to discuss its doctrines more at length.

With the previous works of M. Sue, the public are so well acquainted, that it is almost needless for us to call attention to his great characteristic merits—namely, a vast power of creating and carrying on a strong interest; a vivid and gorgeous facility of description; and above all, an almost unrivalled power of working up single and isolated scenes or to his equally great characteristic defects, a constant straining for effect; a total neglect of the natural; a very slender capacity of elaborating individual character; and above all, a lamentable proneness to wiredraw his plots; to protract the interest of his narrative, until it ceases to be interest, and to spin out his scenes by the introduction of the most trivial and futile descriptions of the entrance of this valet or that soubrette, the style of his bow, or the fashion of her dress, and the like, until the reader is weary and exhausted with endless verbiage and repetition.

To all this criticism the Wandering Jew is especially liable; more so indeed than any of his former works. There is in it, moreover, a discursiveness, arising from the great number of different groups and underplots connected by the very slenderest thread of common union, which obliges the author constantly to repeat himself, recounting in elaborate summaries the facts and events related many chapters before, in order to enable the reader to understand what is going forward.

As a work of art, therefore, we rank it lower than any of the larger productions of our author; and, indeed, when we regard the many and extraordinary licenses taken to himself the introduction of a direct supernatural agency, allowing him to deal with all sorts of improbabilities and impossibilities at will, in the midst of the most artificial society and highest cultivation the world has hitherto witnessed; the fearful occurrence of the cholera with all its train of horrors; the rapid change of times and scenes, and the almost endless varieties of characters and persons-when we regard all this, and then observe how little is effected with her great means, we must esteem it, in an artistical view, as little better than a failure.

This may, we think, be attributed to two distinct causes; one, that the author has neglected the execution of the work, as a work of art, regarding it himself, merely as a vehicle for the doctrines of which he has recently become so strenuous a supporter. And here we would remark that no novelist or romancer has ever yet succeeded, to any great extent, in combining avowed didacticism with high literary excellence. Bulwer, himself, the most dazzling and popular writer of fiction who has flourished in latte: years, failed signally, from the instant in which he at

tempted to become a teacher of new doctrines under the form of entertaining romances; the same may be predicated of D'Israeli, whose Coningsby and Sibyl, however satisfactory and admirable in the eyes of the few, are yet caviave to the general-and the same is the case, in a yet greater degree, with Mr. Ward, whose Tremaine and other ethico-moral novels were tolerated and lauded only because less dull than might have been expected under the circumstances.

In this view of the case, therefore, it is in no wise wonderful that M. Sue should have failed as signally; but the other and perhaps principal cause to which we attri bute his failure, is the fatal form which he has adopted for the publication of his latter works-the contracts to furnish a chapter daily for a given, or even for an unlimited, time; rendering it the interest of the author and publisher alike to spin out usque ad nauseam anything, which the populace will tolerate, without regard to its intrinsic merit, or to the censure of the judicious, whom it makes to grieve.

We state it unhesitatingly, as our opinion, that this work, (the Wandering Jew,) would be improved ten-fold if three-fifths of its bulk were pruned away; which, we are bold to say, might be done without re trenching one iota from the machinery of the story, without abbreviating one striking scene, or losing

one luminous idea.

sistently with M. Sue's object, of receiving an enormous sum for ministering a daily dose of licetiousness and irreligion to the Vadauds of Paris ; or with M. Veron's scheme of obtaining an immense addition to the subscription lists of the Constitutionnel, and when obtained, of retaining them for yet a second year, by the indefinite protraction of the story.

It could not, however, have been effected con

Such things are to be regretted; but it has been, and probably ever will be, the case, that authors, ignorant of their true policy, will ruin their future, and destroy their reputation, by grasping at too much in the present.

This said, admitting always that there are very many scenes in the Wandering Jew, of neat force, of real pathos, requiring the genius of a master to conceive, and such as there is scarce any living writer capable of attempting, we take our leave of the Wandering Jew, as viewed in relation to its literary merits.

We shall proceed now to look at it as a political and social regenerator; in fact, as an actual and practical illustration of the good or evil which Fourierism would inflict upon the world.

The plot of the Wandering Jew is simple, singularly simple, when we reflect that the book itself consists of no less than 668 pages of the closest type, containing a bulk of printed matter not much inferior to one half of Hume's History of England, or the whole of Bancroft's History of the United States.

In brief, it is as follows:-in the year 1682 one

Count Marius de Rennepont, a Huguenot sentenced

to the galleys, under the iniquitous edicts which followed the revocation of the edict of Nantes, and es

pecially persecuted by the company of Jesuits, committed suicide, leaving 50,000 crowns in the hands of a Jewish family to be put out by father, son, and grandson, on interest and compound interest for 150 years; together with a will desiring that, at the expiration of that time, the product shall be divided, at a certain hour and a certain place, among such of his descendants as shall then and there present themselves, provided each with credentials and a mysterious medal.

This Count Marius de Rennepont proves to be a descendant of the Wandering Jew, who was, M. Sue tells us, a mechanic of Jerusalem, condemned, for brutal atrocity toward the Saviour while bearing his cross, to roam the world until his second coming. All the descendants, therefore, of the Count Marius de Rennepont are descendants likewise of the mysterious Jew; who, aided by an equally mysterious Wandering Jew ess, the daughter of Herodias, extends his aid to them often effectually for the moment, but always, fruitlessly as regards the main result.

This main result is the establishment of an order or association for benevolent and philanthropic purposes, of all of these descendants, possessed of almost unlimit. wealth, the product of the 50,000 crowns at 150 years of usance; who are destined to act forever as oppo ments to order or association of evil, in other words, to the Company of Jesuits immediately, and mediately to the whole existing order of things, social and moral, civil and religous.

As the story opens, these facts break upon us gradually; and we discover that the surviving descendants, at the expiration of 150 years, are seven in number-namely, Rose and Blanche Simon, twins of 15 years, the offspring of a marriage between Marechal Simon, a soldier of the grand army, and a Polish lady, surnamed the Pearl of Warsaw, for her virtues and beauty-Prince Djalma, a Hindu half breed, the offspring of a marriage between the King of Mundi, Kadja Sing, and a Fench lady of Batavia-Adrienne de Cardoville, daughter of the late Count of Cardoville, a patrician girl of exquisite beauty, worth, and accomplishment, the most benevolent and admirable of beings, and par excellence the heroine of the work -Jacques Rensepont, a drunken debauched mechanic, surnamed Go-to-bed-naked--Mr. Francis Hardy, a philanthropic manufacturer, the best of men, who has discovered the principles of association, and put them in force for the benefit of his workmen--and lastly, the

Abbe Gabriel, who has been entrapped into becoming a member of the order of Jesus; and through whom that order expects to gain possession of the whole legacy, which amounts, as we find further on in the narration, to the prodigious sum of two hundred and twelve millions of francs.

This premised, the whole interest of the plot lies in the mutual struggles of the Jesuits to acquire, and the descendants to retain their inheritance.

The Jesuits having the advantage of a thorough knowledge of all the facts, transmitted to them through their archives; and the descendants, aided by their supernatural, aud almost ubiquitous assistants, the Jew and Herodias.

The whole story is resolved, therefore, at once, into a contest, as M. Sue and the Fourierist party would have us believe, between the supporters of association and the faction of Jesuits; or, as we assert, between the principles of association and the principles of Christianity at large.

This contest, by the way, is carried on first, by physical means on the part of the Jesuits, in order to prevent any of the heirs, save Gabriel, from being present at the opening of the will; and secondly, by moral means, viz. the destroying of the whole family through the play of their own passions without any outward assault, or the commission of auy overt crime.

The first of these modes fails entirely; the second is entirely successful. The whole family is destroyed, with the exception of Gabriel only; and the Jesuits thus conquer the inheritance, which is rescued from their hands only by the artifice of the old Jew, its guardian, who consigns the assets to the flames, and thus cheats the cheaters.

In conclusion, the Jew and Jewess, their term of unearthly wanderings having arrived, with the extinction of their doomed race, perish, pardoned and happy.

ermin

able machinery, on the wide ramifications, or the infinite changes of scenes, characters, and persons, we have neither the space nor the inclination to descant; the rather as in them there is comparatively speaking little that bears on our purpose, the evolution of the true aims and objects of this dangerous and unchristian book. In the first place, we shall proceed to point out that, although the direct censure of this work is levelled at the Jesuits alone, no other christian sect or priesthood is alluded to at all; Jesuitism being held up as the religion, the sole religion, of that social order, which it is the writer's avowed object to put down.

Again, and still in this connection, we shall observe, that of all the persons represented in the Wandering Jew, as Christian believers, all are held up to view as utterly odious, atrocious, and infamous; criminals, hypocrites, liars, adulterers and assassins; with but two exceptions, the one of whom is an old doating woman, and the second a priest, the Abbe Gabriel, who, as we are rather profanely told, is the direct type of Christ on earth; concerning whose Christianity we have something more to observe anon.

As to the principles of association, we shall find out what these are, from observing the principles of the descendants, who are to be the propagandists thereof, every one of whom is represented as perfectly virtuous, good, and worthy of all imitation, with but a single exception, Jacques Rennepont, the mechanic, who is described as naturally good but misled to evil, still capable of great, good things, and by no means as an evil or depraved personage.

We shall now review these descendants oi the Jew, and founders, that are to be, of that divine order of association, which is to extinguish all the sorrows and all the sins of humanity, and to render all men happy, and because happy, therefore virtuous. Since, acit is misery alone that inakes men wicked. cording to the creed of M. Sue and his disciples,

First, then, we have Mademoiselle Blanche, and Rose Simon, educated to their fifteenth year by their mother, the Pearl of Warsaw, the best and most virtuous of women.

Of these young ladies, whose characters by the way are very exquisitely conceived and wrought out as types of simplicity and innocence, we are speedily told that they believed "that the gracious God, who is ever merciful to those poor mothers, who have left their children in this world, would permit her to listen to them from the height of heaven."

To counterbalance which, we are told that their guide, the excellent, faithful, and inimitable Dagobert, 'did not share in the least, this consolatory illusion."-p. 14, vol. 1.

We further glean, from the intermediate pages, that the extent of their simple and touching creed,' was a vague belief in the existence of a God, of the immortality of the soul, and of the ministry of archangels; but in the 186th page we find this all-sufficient passage.

"Yesterday morning I requested them to say their prayers; and I learned from them with as much alarm as regret, that they knew none of the mysteries of our faith, although they are fifteen years of age,”

And these children educated to that age by a most pious and virtuous mother, who, we learn, however, in another place, was an esprit fort, or in other words, a disbeliever in revealed religion.

422

The Wandering Jew.

Of Prince Djalma it is needless to speak; not a word from the beginning to the end of the book intimates that he has any creed or faith at all, unless the abandoning himself to all the sensual instincts and impulses of a naturally noble savage, never once refraining from any act of violence through any motive of reason, or doing any virtuous act save through kind impulse, can be called a faith.

Jacques Rennepont is a mere sot, a vulgar voluptuary and debauchee, giving no proof of knowledge that he has a soul at all, unless the proof lie in his sometimes swearing by it. M. Hardy, that best of men, that pure philanthropist; that benevolent, consistent, charitable being, is an habitual adulterer; is moreover one of those we quote from page 556, vol. ii. -who had adopted that generous, natural religion, which preaches a grateful adoration of God, a love for all humanity, a worship of all that is just and good, and which, disdain ful of all dogmas, professes the same veneration for Marcus Aurelius us for Confucius, for Plato as for Jesus Christ, for Moses as for Lycurgus."

contemplation of a bronze statue of the Indian
Bacchus, bearing, it seems, some resemblance
to the bronze beauty of the Hindu?

Hereafter we shall not so greatly marvel
that she resolves, with the full concurrence of
her best friend and relation, the Count de
Montbron, on marrying this yellow man!

To any mind, not purified by the regenerating influences of Fourierism, this in itself, we should suppose, would be sufficiently revolting, decked out, as it is, with all that is most voluptuous in words, most prurient in imagination, most sensual and lascivious in detail So true is this last censure, that the adventures of the Chevalier Faublas, and les liasons dangereuses, are pure and spotless, when compared with some scenes in this work.

Scenes, rendered doubly dangerous to innocence and truth, by the fact that they are held up to the admiration of the world as actions of the good, the noble, and the just; such as, to quote an old English poet:

"Smell sweet and blossom in the dust ;"

held up to the imitation of all men, as the part and parcel of that social regeneration, which For M. Sue, however, and his co-disciples. is to render the whole world good and happy. or co-propagandists rather, this is not half enough; and he has literally racked his brains deep; and, with a vengeance, he has found it. to find, even than this lowest depth a lower

We are not, therefore, astonished at discovering that in his association of workmen, though he has provided all means for their bodily comfort, even concert halls, and ball rooms, he has allowed no chapel to exist for prayer or thanksgiving-it being distinctly held up, throughout this atrocious work, thus "to labor is to pray," and "to indulge the divine instincts,"--in other words, the sensual passions, which are so termed, not once but fity times -the most fit adoration of the most high God. We now come to Adrienne de Cardoville, is who, up to the beginning of the second vol ume, in spite of her atheism, worship of heathen statues of ideal beauty, and vagaries as to the rights of women, is really a delightful, attractive, and charming creature; the picture of all tbat mere humanity can be, of delicacy, virtue, and highmindedness.

From an act of kindness and charity this lovely girl becomes the secret protectress of Prince Djalma, her cousin, a mulatto, or Hinnoble, du half breed, who is described as a very natural savage, and a very handsome yellow

man.

An accidental interview is brought about between these creatures; both virgin as we are repeatedly told; both in the highest degree sensual, as we are repeatedly told; and one, Adrienne, in the highest degree delicate.

During this first interview, the following scene occurs-p. 377 :

"Djalma, at the first movement of Adrienne, made a vast bound toward her, like that of a tiger on the prey, which an enemy would sua.ch from him. The young girl, terrified by the expression of ferocious ardor, which inflamed all the features of the Indian, cast herself back, uttering a loud outery of dismay-"

And well she might; for we can imagine nothing more inconceivably disgusting to any woman, even had she no refinement, than such an exhibition of brutal, goatish passion. But what is our wonder, when we find-see pp. 429 and seq.-that the adorable Adrienne is impressed by no disgust; but, on the contrary, imbibes equal passion, equally animal, equally disgusting, from this interview; and that she has her own paroxysms of voluptuons fury, in her own chamber, on the mere

In the 632, and following pages, we there fore discover the adorable, refined, delicate, the following language; and arguing, to the and virtuous Adrienne de Cardoville, holding astonishment, even, of her Hindu half-breed, too conscientious to undergo; and the subagainst the ordinance of marriage, which she stitution for it of concubinage, dissoluble on weariness, which she is very anxious to unmeans of reconciling her peculiar views to the dertake, as soon as she can discover some prejudices of the world.

In corroboration of our views, we bere quote, on the ordinance of matrimony, as we have what we conceive to be as distinct an attack ever read, rendered doubly dangerous, and mouth of a pure and virtuous woman. doubly disgusting, by being placed in the

Adrienne de Cardoville loquitur:

"But to this love there is yet wanting a consecration; and to the eyes of the world in which we are called upon to live, there is but one-marriage, and that chains up the whole life."

Djalma gazed at the young girl in astonishment. "Yes! the whole life; and yet, who is he that can be auswerable for ever for the sentiments of his whole life?" resumed the young girl. "A God who should know the futurity of the heart's history, should alone link together certain beings indissolu bly, so as to insure their happiness. But, alas to the eyes of humanity the future is impenetrable. ty of a present sentiment, is he not committag a Therefore, when one can only answer with certain mad, a selfish, an impious action, who takes on himself an indissoluble tie ?"

The bo

"It is sad to think so," replied Djalma, after a moment's reflection, but it is just." looked at the young girl with an expression of sur · prise, that still grew greater every moment.

Adrienne, therefore, hastened to say in a voice expressive of infinite tenderness:

"Do not misunderstand what I intend to say, my dearest friend; the love of two beings, who, like after a thousand experiments of heart, of soul, and of intellect, have found in each other all the assrances of that happiness which we desire-love, I say, like ours, is so noble, so grand, so divine, that

it cannot resolve to set aside a divine consecration. I have not the religion which believes in masses, like my venerable aunt, but I have the religion which believes in God. From him has come our

burning love, and in that love he should be piously glorified. It is, therefore, by invoking him with pious and deep gratitude that we ought-not to swear to love one another for ever-not to belong to each other for ever."

"What do you say?" cried Djalma.

"No," resumed Adrienne, "for no person can pronounce such an oath, without falsehood, or without folly. But we may in the sincerity of our souls, swear to do all that we are able, one toward the other, in all loyalty and good faith; all that is pessible, in short, to humanity to render our love everlasting, and to be forever as we now are to one another. But we ought not to accept indissoluble bonds, for if we should love one another for ever, to what purpose are these bonds? If our love should cease, to what purpose are these chains, which would then constitute only the most horrible tyranny I ask you this, my beloved?"

Djalma did not reply, but signed the young girl to proceed, with a gesture that was almost reverential.

"Moreover," she continued, with a mixture of tenderness and pride, "through respect for your dignity and my own, my beloved, I will never take an oath to observe a law made by man against woman, with a scornful and brutal selfishness; a law which seems to deny the soul, the heart, the intelfect of a woman; a law which she cannot accept, without being either perjured er a slave; a law which as a maiden, withdraws from her her name; a law, which declares her as a wife, to be in a state of hopeless imbecilty, by imposing on her a disgraceful guardianship; a law, which as a mother, denies her all right, all power over her children; which, as a human being, enslaves her and subjects her to the good pleasures of another human being, her like and her equal in the eyes of God! You know, my beloved," added the young girl, with a burst of passionate enthusiasm, "you know how much I honor you, you whose father was named from you, the Father of the Generous;' I fear not, therefore, vailant and noble heart, to see you use these tyrannical rights against me. But in all my life, I have never lied, and our love is too holy, and of a nature too celestial, to be subjected to a consecration purchased by double perjury. No, never will I take an oath to observe a law, which my dignity, which my reason, reject. Were the rights of woman recognized to-morrow, I would observe these usages, because they would be in accordance with the dictates of my intellect, with my heart, with all that is just, that is possible, that is becoming to humanity;" then interrupting herself, Adrienne exclaimed, with emotion so deep, and so sweet, that a tear of affection dimmed her fine oyes: "Oh! if you could but know, my beloved, what your love is to me; if you could but know how precious is your happiness, and how sacred in my eyes, you would excuse, you would understand these generous superstitions of my loving and loyal heart, which sees an ill-omered presage in a lying and perjured consecration. That which I desire, is to rivet you by attraction, to enchain you by happiness, and yet to leave you free-to owe you, in a word, to yourself alone."

After this, the reader will be little surprised at discovering that Djalma very naturally concludes, that, with a young lady so squeamishly unsqueamish, all dogmas and forms whatever may be summarily dispensed with; and that the chaste Adrienne's personal chastity is preserved only by an accident.

Nay! that even only for a while! But, not to anticipate, we soon learn that the divine Abbe Gabriel, the only Christian of the work, who is not a scoundrel, the type of Christ upon earth, is the person destined to consecrate this union, or temporary concubinage rather, and reconcile it to the eyes of the world.

The mode of consecration we also learn with some amazement-It is no other than placing a sum of money in the priest's hands, for the without any promise, form, or ceremonial relief of the poor-which duty performed, whatever-after Djalma in a fit of blind and senseless jealousy has committed two atrocious murders, and taken polson himself, the lady following his example as to the poison-the Fourierist-bride and bridegroom retire to what M. Sue is pleased to call-p. 652,

"That nuptial-that funereal couch. Funereal, for, within two hours, Adrienne and Djalma had breathed forth their latest sigh in an agony of volup. tuous bliss."

It must, once more, be understood, that this is no episode, no chance tale casually introduced, but the mainspring and object of the story. As such it needs no comment.

If the above passages, taken in connexion with the whole spirit, the whole letter of the work, do not show that, by social regeneration, M. Sue means the abolition of all christian worship, the abolition of the matrimonial link, and the substitution, therefore, of what is in socialist slang termed natural religion,-which is atheism, and honorable divorce,-which is promiscuous concubinage, then we are ignorant alike of the force of reasoning, and of the meaning of the English language.

M. Sue is the avowed supporter and admitted organ of the French Fourierites, with whom we presume these doctrines to be matters of course.

The leaders of the American Fourierites have hitherto upheld and abided by M. Sue, though avoiding, denying, and blinking, what men perceived to be the inevitable consequences of their system.

In this country, thank God, such doctrines cannot be openly avowed. That they are openly avowed in this work as the doctrines of the Fourierites, we have clearly proved; and that they are so avowed, we think fortunate; for we believe it will open the eyes of many who have hitherto perceived nothing of the fatal result, into which they were blindly rushing.

That M. Sue has been excommunicated in France we do not wonder. Where the power of excommunication exists, we can imagine no clergyman who should hesitate to exert such power to suppress such doctrines.

Whether such a power tends to suppress such doctrines, is a different question, and one which we shall not now discuss; but we shall not hesitate to add, that we conceive it, at this crisis, the duty of every father of a family, of every head of a congregation, to point out the desperate errors held up as truths, and the deplorable vices painted as virtues, in the pages of this most dangerous, and unhappily too dazzling work.

To prevent it, or any book, from being read, in this land of general reading, is of course impossible; perhaps it is scarcely desirable; for it is the quality of error to shrink like Satan, and stand revealed at the touch of the Ithurial spear of truth.

And we both firmly believe, and sincerely hope, that this work, once fairly tried and tested, will prove in itself the best antidote, and the strongest enemy to the horrible and destructive fallacies, which its disciples hope to propagate, by the aid of its meretricious pages.

RULIF VAN PELT.

A LEGEND OF WESTCHESTER COUNTY.

BY JOHN QUOD.

On one of those high ridges of land which overlook the Hudson, between Spuyten Devil Creek and Tarrytown, there stood, shortly before the Revolutionary war, a stone house, perched like an ealge's nest upon the very crest of the hill, so as to command a wide view of the river. Two or three gigantic elms flung their heavy branches over the roof, and sheltered it from the rays of the sun; and in front of the house, a lawn, here and there dotted with luxuriant trees, stretched off toward the river. On one side of it, a small brook stole through the grass, until it reached a piece of broken woodland, when it took a sudden shoot downward, scampering and brawling through bush and briar, and dashing headlong over rock and tree trunk, until it made its way to the shore and buried itself in the river.

But rich and verdant as were the grounds, the house itself was decayed and ruinous, shattered by time and storm, and bearing marks of neglect as well as of age. The fences were out of repair, and the garden over-run with weeds. Nor were the outhouses in better condition; for the large stone barn which stood at a short distance, surrounded by sheds and granaries, and which in former days had doubtless teemed with the produce of the farm, showed that time and neglect had done their work with it. Corn cribs and hay lofts were empty; doors and windows were unhung, or flapped to and fro in the wind, screeching like evil spirits; and everything bore the appearance of utter neglect.

The owner of this spot was such as might have been expected from its appearance. He was a careless, thriftless young fellow, by the name of Rulif Van Pelt; as much noted through the country round for his reckless goodnatured character, as for the strength of his arm and his headlong courage.

His father, Dirk Van Pelt, had been a jovial old blade of the true Dutch school, thick in head and solid in fist,

slow at argument but ready at a blow; and it was remarked that as the stout, stalwart boy who had sprung from his loins, increased in years and stature, he began to prove the legitimacy of his descent, by the readiness with which, in all cases of emergency, he resorted to the latter of his two paternal peculiarities.

The

In process of time, however, Dirk Van Pelt had been gathered to his fathers, and Rulif reigned in his stead. The old man, notwithstanding his social habits, had been hard working and thrifty, had looked well to his worldly interests, and (to use the expression of his neighbors,) had kept matters and things as they should be; but his son inherited none of his sire's prudence or forecast. He succeeded to his farm and the contents of his strong box. latter he soon made way with, and the former went to wreck. The only members of his household were a vinegar tongued housekeeper, who was cook, dairy maid and factotum in doors, and a grizzled old negro named Jacob, or as the neighbors more usually called him "Cobe," who had grown gray and wrinkled and wise under the Van Pelts of three generations. He hated work as much as his master, slept in the sunshine, aided and abetted Rulif in all his mad pranks, and was a sore stumbling block in the path of the housekeeper.

It may well be imagined, between the virulence of the one, and the quiet encouragement of the other, that Rulif remained pretty much as nature had made him. But although matters were sadly mismanaged at home, there was such a fund of generous feeling at the bottom of his disposition, that let him but once get beyond his own domains, at every hearth he had a welcome, and every hand was ready to greet him. He was their leader in frolic, and in moments of effervescence, their champion. At times, too, when the general harmony seemed likely to suffer from private feuds among the younger mem

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