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REVIEWS OF NEW PULI ACATIONS;

ORIGINAL ESSAYS ON POLITE LITERATURE, THE ARTS AND SCIENCES;
CRITICISMS ON THE FINE ARTS, THE DRAMA, &c.;

POETRY;

BIOGRAPHY;

CORRESPONDENCE OF DISTINGUISHED PERSONS;

ANECDOTES, JEUX D'ESPRIT, &c.;

SKETCHES OF SOCIETY AND MANNERS;

PROCEEDINGS OF SCIENTIFIC AND LEARNED SOCIETIES;
ASTRONOMICAL REPORTS, METEOROLOGICAL TABLES, LITERARY INTELLIGENCE, &c. &c.

LONDON:

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PRINTED BY JAMES MOYES, TOOK'S COURT, CHANCERY LANE:

PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETORS, AT THE LITERARY GAZETTE OFFICE, WELLINGTON STREET, WATERLOO BRIDGE, STRAND:
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DUBLIN; SAUTELET AND CO., PLACE DE LA BOURSE, PARIS; AND ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS, NEWSMEN, &C.
AGENT FOR AMERICA, O. RICH, 12, RED LION SQUARE, London.

1830.

AND

Journal of Belles Lettres, Arts, Sciences, &c.

This Journal is supplied Weekly, or Monthly, by the principal Booksellers and Newsmen, throughout the Kingdom; but to those who may desire its immediate transmission, by post, we recommend the LITERARY GAZETTE, printed on stamped paper, price One Shilling.

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REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. Satan; a Poem. By Robert Montgomery, author of "the Omnipresence of the Deity,' &c. 12mo. pp. 391. London, 1830. Maunder. WE must begin our new year with an inauspicious name, Satan, and a not very recommendatory confession, namely, that we have not had leisure to give to Mr. Montgomery's poem the attention which its elevated character and importance demands. But such is the truth, and we are bound to state it; both as an excuse for ourselves in the critical chair, and an apology to the author for the scanty justice we can render to an epic in three books during the teeming week of annual publications, and an unusual press of other novelties. The design we may, however, remark, is one of great daring for any man, and especially for a young one. To aim at the highest honours of literature and the highest flight of genius, is an attempt in which even to fail would be a proud distinction. But Mr. Montgomery has displayed wonderful powers; and if he has sunk at all, it has been beneath the overwhelming magnitude and sublimity of his subject. Satan, the mighty archangel fallen, is placed on an eminence, whence, as in Holy Wit, he throws his glance over the outspread world, on which he descants in the language assigned to him by the Bard. We are not prepared to say whether the idea of making the Devil moralise against infidelity and the vanities of life, as well as believe and tremble, is altogether well judged: we must take the matter as it has pleased the author to offer it, and try it by that standard. It opens

thus:

"Awake, ye thunders! let your living roar Exult around me, and a darkness shroud

The air, as once again the world I greet,

Here on this haughty mountain-head, where He
Of old, now palaced in the heaven of heavens,
The virgin-born, by prophets vision'd forth,
Was tempted, and withstood me!
Is the earth

Appall'd, or agonising in the wreck
Of elements?-like spirits that are lost,
Wailing and howling, sweep the orphan winds,
While Nature trembles with prophetic fear,
As though a chaos were to crown the storm!
Lo! how it glooms, and what a fiery gash
Deal the red lightnings through yon darken'd sky,-
All echo with the chorus of her clouds!

And well earth answers to the voice of heaven.
Hark to the crash of riven forest-boughs
In yonder waste, the home of hurricanes,
That catch the howlings of the cavern'd brutes,
And wing them onwards to Arabia's wild,
Cercanopied with flying waves of sand,
Like a dread ocean whirling through the skies!
But thou, alone eternally sublime,
Thou rolling mystery of might and power!
Rocking the tempest on thy breast of waves,
Or spread in breezy rapture to the sun,-
Thou daring Ocean! that couldst deluge worlds,
And yet rush on,-I hear thy swell of wrath
In liquid thunder laughing at the winds
Resoundingly, and from afar behold
Thine amed billows, heaving as they roar,
And the wing'd sea-foam shiver on the gales.
Swell on, ye waves and whirlwinds, sweep along,
Like the full breathing of Almighty ire,
Whose sound is desolation!-where the sail
Of yon lone vessel, as a shatter'd cloud,
Is moving, let the surges mount on high
Their huge magnificence, and lift their heads,
And, like Titanic creatures, tempest-born,

In life and fury march upon the main !-
Rave on, thou tempest, on thy reckless wings;
To me thy warring mood is fearful joy,
A faint memento of that mighty day

When proud rebellion shook the walls of heaven,-
Till, charioted by thunder, forth He came,
The lightning of the Lord, and blazed revenge,
Hurling us downward to the deep of hell,

That madden'd wild as billows in the storm,
When rushingly we met her roaring flames!

The tempest dies, the winds have tamed their ire,
The sea-birds hover on enchanted wing;
And, save a throb of thunder, faintly heard,
And ebbing, knell-like, o'er yon western deep,
That now lies panting with a weary swell,
Like a worn monster at his giant length
Gasping, with foam upon his troubled mane,
No sound of elemental wrath is heard:
The sun is up! look, where he proudly comes,
In blazing triumph wheeling o'er the earth,
A victor in full glory! At his gaze
The heavens magnificently smile, and beam
With many a sailing cloud-isle sprinkled o'er,
In sumptuous array. Yes, land, and air
Whose winged fulness freshens tree and flower,
Own thee, thou shining monarch of the skies!
Now hills are glaring, rich the mountains glow,
The streams run gladness, yellow meads appear,
And palm-woods glitter on Judea's plain;
Beauty and brightness shed their soul abroad;-
Then waken, Spirit, whom no space can bound,
And with thy vision let me span the world."
The imagery of the subjoined coup-d'œil
over the eastern clime is very rich :-

"Another gaze, bright Hindostanic clime!
How beautifully wild, with horn-wreath'd heads,
Thy antelopes abound; and, thick as clouds
Paving the pathway of the western heaven,
On wings enamell'd with a radiant dye,
Thy birds expand their plumage to the breeze,
And glitter into air! Primeval woods,
And chieftain wonder-trees, and forest-haunts,
Where frequent rolls the stormy lion roar;
And deserts, spotted with their verdant isles,
And fruits, with showers of sunbeams on their heads,-
Are mingled there in magical excess;

The gi nd and beautiful their glowing spell
Combined; creation makes one mighty charm!"

Of the writer's strong feelings against
slavery, our next quotation affords fine poetic
proof:-

"And some are Britons who enslave the free;

Then boast not, England! while a Briton links
The chain of thraldom, glory can be thine.
Vain are thy vows, thy temples, and thy truths
That hallow them, while yet a slave exists
Who curses thee: each curse in heaven is heard;
'Tis seal'd, and answer'd in the depths below!

From dungeon and from den there comes a voice
That supplicates for freedom; from the tomb
Of martyrs her transcendency is told,
And dimm'd she may, but cannot be destroy'd.
Who bends the spirit from its high domain,
On God himself a sacrilege commits-
For soul doth share in His supremacy;
To crush it is to violate His power,
And grasp the sceptre an Almighty wields!"
Mount Ararat is nobly described in a few
lines:-

"How gloriously diluvian Ararat

Hath pinnacled his rocky peak in clouds!
He thrones a winter on his awful head,
And lays the summer laughing at his feet.
Time cannot mar his glory; grand he swells,
As when the ark was balanced on his brow
That saw the flashing of the far-off flood
Beneath, and heard the Deluge die away."

The following reflections on the happiness of
monarchs is also very characteristic of the
author's train of thought :-

"Sceptres are mighty wands, and few there be

With strength to wield them; yet how many dare!
And kingdoms are the agonies of thrones;
Yet men will die to face them!-thus the heart
Exceeds itself, nor calls the madness vain.
But were it mine from kingliness to take

PRICE 8d.

The tyrant witchery, I'd bid the young
Idolater of throne-exalted power,

In the deep midnight, when the world lies hush'd
In her humility of sleep, to stand and gaze
Upon a prince's couch. The glow and pomp
Of palace-chambers round him mingling lie;
But on his cheek the royal spirit marks
A weariness that mocks this outward shew
Of kings,-a prison would have graced it more!
A sad rehearsal of unhonour'd youth,
When years went reckless as the rolling waves,
Till passion grew satiety; a proud

Regret for trait'rous hearts, and that keen sense
Untold, which monarchs more than subjects feel
Of slavery; for servile is the pomp

Of kings, though gorgeously it dare the eye;
With a dim haunting of the dreary tomb,
That often through the banquet-splendour gapes,-

A darkness that defies a sun!-such dream
From out his slumber that calm Beauty steals,
That Innocence delights to wear. Then watch
His features, till a deep'ning flush of soul
Array them with a spirit eloquence,
That speaks of Judgment in her cloudy blaze
Of terror; monarchs cited, and the vast
Accompt of scepter'd kingdoms render'd up;-
Did envy listen to his waking groan,

How poor, how perilous, the state of kings!"

The metaphysics of the long extract which we proceed to copy is as fair a specimen of the whole poem as we could select; and we insert it to enable our readers to form their own esti

mate:

"To the vast silence of primeval gloom

On wings of mystery may spirit roam,
And meditate on worldless things, whence comes
A glorious panting for a purer state.-
True sadness is the soul of holy joy:
And such feel they who fashion brighter worlds:
But martyrs to diseased thought abound,
Who out of earthly elements have sought
To reap a happiness whose home is heaven,
And failing, sunk to profitless despair.
Thus Learning, Luxury, and Fame,-these three
Vain phantoms, what a worship have they won!
The first, a shallow excellence; the next,
A malady of brutish growth, debased
And most debasing, turning soul to sense,
Till nature seems unspirited: the last
Magnificent betrayer! while afar
Beheld, the crown of heaven itself is thine;
When won, oft unavailingly enjoyed.
Oh! many an eye, that in the glow of youth
Hath brighten'd as it gazed on pictured worth,
Or linger'd in the lone and princely fanes
Where tombs have tongues, by monumental piles
Where great inheritors of glory sleep,-
Hath wept the laurels that it once adored!

The atmosphere that circleth gifted minds
Is from a deep intensity derived,-
An element of thought, where feelings shape
Themselves to fancies, an electric world,
Too exquisitely toned for common life,
Which they of coarser metal cannot dream:
And hence those beautifying powers of soul
That arch the heavens more glorious, and create
An Eden wheresoe'er their magic light
Upon the rack of quick excitement lives;
Their joy, the essence of an agony,

And that, the throbbing of the fires within!

And thus, while Fame's heart-echoing clarions ring

For glory, all the rapture of renown

In one vile whisper may lie hush'd and dead;
Made mighty by its littleness, a word
Of envy drowns the thunder which delight
Hath voiced; as oft the phantom of a cloud
In single darkness cowering on the air
Looks fiercer for the frownless heaven around!
So Fame is murder'd, that the dull may live,
Or to herself grows false; then hideous dreams,
And tomb-like shadows, thicken round the mind,
Till, plunging into dread infinity,

It rides upon the billows which despair
Hath lash'd from out the stormy gloom of thought!-
Dark victim, thus so ruinously famed,
What misery in thy smile of happiness!
Beneath the mountain of thy vast renown
There blooms a mortal, unendow'd by aught
That learning, luxury, or fame, can yield.

And yet a Croesus in his store of joy

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Compared with thine, -the man whom earth
Enslaves not, on whose soul the truth hath smiled!"

"Northward of Greece, behold renowned Gaul,
Britannia's rival, gaily doth outspread
Her scenery, and blooming flush of life.

She too hath beauty; and her sun-warm h Ils
That bare their bosoms to the mellowing sky,
With vine and fruitage bountifully glow,
While rivers of romance, by wood and vale,
And bord'ring town, their shining waters lead.
Young, fresh, and gay, elastic as the breeze,
All spring and sunshine, her full spirit bounds;
Here, vanity is virtue; out of hearts
That seem to echo but to woman's sigh,
Awaking valour, prompt to dare, and proud
To die. And yet, true nobleness of mind
Is faintly seen; sincerity, too harsh
To please, is polish'd into smoothing lies,-
The frothy incense of a faithless soul.

The far-off thrones
Of tyrants stagger'd, distant empires quail'd,
When like th' embodied spirit of thy wrongs
The Revolution darken'd on the world, -
Ringing a peal that echoed Europe round,
And died in thunder o'er the Atlantic deep!
But thou wert too unholy to be free,

Too grasping to be great; and when thy thirst
For havoc brutalised the scene of blood,-
As though re-action for all human wrong
Were centred in it for one dire revenge,

more mature.

nine volumes, are brought to a close; and our for which, amid all their simplicity, the peop very favourable opinion of Mr. Griffin's (the of his class and nation are most remarkable: In conclusion, we shall simply contrast some author's) talent has rather been increased than True for you, so it was, indeed. Drinki of his (Satan's) reflections on France and Eng-diminished by the perusal of his present pro- is a bad business for a poor man, or a rich o Y land, which, at all events, shew the poet to be no duction. Of these two stories, the Rivals is either, and fighting is a deal worse. But less a patriot. perhaps the most interesting; and Lacy's never spoke a truer word than that. Ambition the better arranged and written: tell you what helped to make the place as n when we say interesting, we mean for our as it is, besides. The man that owns th juvenile readers, as both contain much matter house is Palentin an' a Protestant; he has which must deeply engage the attention of the ground for five shillings an acre, on a lo The marked characteristics of lase; he has a kind landlord over him, th this author are unexaggerated good sense and will never distress him for a small arrear; rational views as applied to his native coun- isn't like a poor Catholic that has a mud cabi try, Ireland; and also a keen insight into an acre o' pratie ground, an' seven landlor the nature and modes of thinking of its natives, above him,tan' that has no feeling nor kindn whose peculiarities are brought forward with to look for, when times run hard, an' pover great tact and force. Another of his merits is strikes him between the cowld walls. A the power of describing scenery with much with submission to you, sir, that's the ve beauty; and in several instances he displays thing that causes all the drinking an' t still higher qualities as a novelist. For ex-fighting. When a poor man sells his corn ample, in Tracy, a country gentleman living market, an' feels his pocket full o' money, in all possible respectability and happiness, we tell you what he does, an' what he says have the picture of ambition, by holding out himself, an' he returning home of a cov the petty lures of place and profit, gradually night, sitting upon the corner of his thruc undermining his comforts and destroying his [cart], with the moon shining down upon hi good name, and ultimately even his good and the frosty wind blowing into his hea feelings. This is a finely touched moral lesson. an' the light streaming out o' the window If, with so much of praise to give, we have the public house on before him. any faults to find, we should observe, that it thirty shillings or a pound now,' he says might add to the effect of his narratives, if the himself, an' that's enough to pay my rent author would avoid interruptions, and, by con- this turn. Very well,' he says, an' when In have that paid, what good 'll it be to me? centrating, strengthen the dramatic effect. his anxiety to paint the Irish character, he don't know my landlord, nor my landl doesn't know me. I have no more howld occasionally goes too much into detail. We prefer quoting from the dialogues to my little cabin an' my bit o' ground, than breaking in upon the mysteries of the Tales; have o' that smoke that's goen' out o' my pi though we feel that we can by no means do I don't know the moment when I an' my lit justice to Mr. Griffin's abilities by the extracts craithurs 'll be wheeled out upon the hi to which we must confine ourselves. The road; an' the more pains I lay out upon following is peculiar,-no matter who the in-ground, the sooner, may be, 'twill be tak An' I'll go home now in the fro "The view now presented to the eye no- and pay this money to the masther, giving h Wis thing of a higher interest than a tract of uncut a wattle to break my own head! bog, or a sullen lough, half concealed by rushes then, indeed I won't. Let the masther, and weedy shallows, on the banks of which a the rent, an' the cabin go an' whistle toget wretched cabin, with mud walls propped and if they like; I'll go an' warm my sowl in roof falling in, sent up its thin and tremulous body with a glass o' spirits, an' have smoke into the sultry air above it, while the happy hour at any rate, if I never ha poor solitary, who housed his wretchedness in another!' In he goes, an' I need'nt tell y the state his pockets are in when he comes again. That's the way the drinking com Mr. Thracy, an' the fighting comes o' drinking just as nathural as a child is born his father.""

I heard Heaven curse thee, and exulting hail'd
The cry of freedom for the voice of hell!"
Not so England.

"Fronting the wave environed shore of France,
And bulwark'd with her everlasting main,
O'er which the cloud-white cliff's sublimely gaze
Like genii, rear'd for her defence, behold
The Isle-queen! -every billow sounds her fame!
The ocean is her proud triumphal car
Whereon she rideth, and the rolling waves
The vassals which secure her victory;
Alone, and matchless in her sceptred might,
She dares the world. The spirit of the brave
Burns in her; laws are liberty; and kings
Wear crowns that glitter with a people's love,
And, while undimin'd, their glory aye endures;
But once dishonoured, -and the sceptre falls,
The throne is shaken, patriot voices rise,
And like storm'd billows by the tyrant gale,
Awaken, loud and haughty is their roar !

Heaven-favour'd land; of grandeur, and of gloom,
Of mountain pomp, and majesty of hills,
Though other climates boast, in thee supreme
A beauty and a gentleness abound;

Here all that can soft worship claim, or tone
The sweet sobriety of tender thought,

Is thine: the sky of blue intensity,

Or charm'd by sunshine into picture clouds,

terlocutors are:

That make bright landscapes when they blush abroad, this lonely tenement, suspended his labour

The dingle gray, and wooded copse, with hut
And hamlet, nestling in the bosky vale,
And spires brown peeping o'er the ancient elms,
And steepled cities, faint and far away,
With all that bird and meadow, brook and gale
Impart, -are mingled for admiring eyes
That love to banquet on thy blissful scene.

But Ocean is thy glory; and methinks
Some musing wand'rer by the shore I see,
Weaving his island fancies.-Round him, rock
And cliff, whose gray trees mutter to the wind,
And streams down rushing with a torrent ire:
The sky seems craggy, with her cloud-piles hung,
Deep mass'd, as though embodied thunder lay
And darken'd in a dream of havoc there!
Before him, Ocean yelling in the blast,
Wild as the death-wail of a drowning host:
The surges,-be they tempests as they roll,
Lashing their fury into living foam,
Yon war-ship shall outbrave them all! her sails
Resent the winds, and their remorseless howl;
And when she ventures the abyss of waves,
Remounts, expands her wings, and then-away!
Proud as an eagle dashing through the clouds.
And well, brave scion of the empress isle,
Thy spirit mingles with the mighty scene,
Hailing thy country on her ocean throne."
Our illustrations are taken from the first
book alone: can we doubt that they will greatly
exalt the already high reputation of the youth-

ful author?

The Rivals. Tracy's Ambition. By the Author of the Collegians." 3 vols. London, 1829. Saunders and Otley.

WITH this publication, the series of Tales entitled those of the Munster Festivals, in all

from me.

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Our author draws a rather satirical pict of that affectation of religion which too of forgets its golden rule of charity. With yielding to opinions that would make Damer the representative of all those who l in the odour of sanctity, it must be confes that he is one of a class which is not v limited in point of numbers.

before the door-way, and leaned forward on his
spade, to speculate on the appearance and des-
tination of the travellers. At a long interval,
a farm-house of a more comfortable appearance
than was usual, might be discovered in a well-
chosen corner among the crags; and at a longer
yet, the apparition of a handsome cottage, with
its elegant pleasure-ground and neatly tended
shrubbery, started up before the astonished eye
of the wayfarer, and furnished a pleasing evi-
dence of a truth (on which, though long im-
pressed upon my mind, I had seldom acted),
that the magic of real life is industry. Feeling "About midnight, Mr. Damer, a low-siz
a desire to ascertain something more of my sleek, smooth-featured, elderly gentleman, v
companion's real character than he seemed seated in the dining-room of his own house,
willing to disclose, and curious, moreover, to a certain hilly and heathy county in the neig
know how far he participated in the natural bourhood of Dublin. Before him, on a ro
indolence which is so generally, and in point of wood table, varnished like the surface of a m
fact so falsely, attributed to the peasantry of ror, stood decanters of cote roti and hermita
his country, I directed his attention to one of the contents of which appeared to have be
the snug farm-houses above described. There brought somewhat low in the course of
is a proof,' said I, of what a little care and evening. The chair in which he sat was
industry can accomplish. The man who built of those splendid inventions by which the ch
that house, and reared the young timber about racter of our age has been immortalised, a
it, had little time to waste in fighting at fairs, which will enable us to divide the admirati
An' that's of posterity with the founders of the Part
or drinking in public houses.'
what built the house an' planted the timber non and the constructors of the Babyloni
for him, you're thinking, sir?' the mountaineer gardens. It was one of those elastic cushio
replied, taking up the inference I intended he
should deduce, with that rapidity of perception

*Palatines, descendants of German settlers. †This is no fiction.

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ad the tenants of the ar, but the of a manner and appearance very different from triot, and you have set been laid under tribute. The that of Mr. Damer. He was tall and well, t) warted you, and you hope to be a great to at #ind covers of a quarta edition proportioned, dressed very plainly, with a red, some day or another. lav on his right hand re. ̧ht of fear wat en les, which eves, which seemed to be always ran,bling in nature, what say y 4* laughing counter ance, and two large binen your own dark-g partor, the study of } And on the score of da siku m* and in cand est· ks of have vi. search of atausement. Well, Datier,' said to my von castet stidy with it wa Ai and ergatit de. Mr. Leonard, the gentleman just described, na re men von au m, tie n Ï's is a l vin anaded with all the sier dours of the * I totally disagree with you in every one o On a secretaire, at a your plans. their nature." from the tabe, were placed a I think you wil do no serie continua is wel whatever to the peasantry, I think you do not dissect at w,' ssd Franca, pada k Ta h, atd w. day, and understand them rer.tlv. ern with the im, cem if the striled ) I think though they are intrant (Mr. Damer over his heart. D: Jean Ja - of ( atan know. and naked (por tellows '), and Papists to boot, kutiv 18, jed, they have a fracce of goute to heaven to voerver must detesta as the best of ourselves; that is my ides, por." Well, well, he 3 sera, antred in but devil' even though they do break out now Veir title mis the and then; human nature is human nature: Te Daryman's and may idea 1, that all the fluids and sub, everen of 2ɔmiths De, seit ins in the world will not get hef a the Church of Rome,' dozen more sls into heaven than were on ¿'m, a fale,' 'Father their way before. Half a dozen is the out•No story and marry • de.* * A* ! would not the salvation of one, nd a sem af teens. There said Mr. Damer, lifting the cute roti to ha the air of the v hoe spart. line, be worth the wide cint, and all the caklarni to impress the he, exertion of the Now ety tage her ** mufa fatema emmy.etim of the sixty thisand a year ?' • Be word! e tedures, and the piety of Benges the bkerings and Levtaru •♫ Sixty w ! attle of mere fast, best that have broken up the frame of mox ety 11 vsen en of suture which, in our country, tre diy son of farthes, t'e et, and in Ire mindering of early attachments, the foments. t'e ai The ton of civil d win on, ad the diffus in of was entirely in tha ail uncharitablerest in private ife » My »dea ** money, in keep. 18, t'at for the me soul we save beisha. In har was short ness, we lone fifty,' as a let, n's face • For shame, Tom,' s. Mrs. Durer, even meek and sancti. worse every da 'I do't petend to * ec earthy fire great sanctity,' mud Lær atd. pem and ha’strial self. and fat and si * You, m* fa. ale thrin ch the * 19 * ster, ki væ ong time, and know me to be a l'int the Venus Erver a te., t'at ti is he does his dir were er sted, so takes care of os re„I wour's body, and ravee when, be fer of a 1. s mer] Tetween ku vd his Creator. hit is the é ference betwee3–179. Tren • at patetich. No hit est a fellow as any lufy, bit his fanta Damer 18 * t, oloured the evaporates in smke. It I find a pose frin starving on my estate, why (Heaven, fig ve me) i tek I do my duty when I se ditim a

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re an Darer, the owner wit' wit much latamır. But ger aid
ing estate of are the sorriest. Martexts in the world." **
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