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REVIEW.-Words of Truth. 18mo. Simp-
kin and Marshall. London. 1833.
A Series of Tales and Conversations,
eighteen in number, each designed, as the
preface informs us, to illustrate some moral
truth, as evinced in the scenes of domestic
life. They are of unequal merit. "The
Stranger on Nantasket Beach;" "Charles
Herbert ;" and the "Orphan Girl;" are
well written and interesting, though some of
the minor pieces are puerile both in style
and subject. The scene of several of the tales
is laid in America, which renders it rather
strange to a young English reader; yet we
presume that by giving the following, (the
first in the book,) we shall not incur the
charge of having wasted the reader's time,
or exhausted his patience.

THE STRANGER ON NANTASKET BEACH.

"Some years since a man was seen repairing a little hut upon Nantasket beach. There was no owner to this miserable dwelling place; it had evidently been long deserted and was now actually falling to pieces. A little boat was drawn up in a small sheltered cove near the place, and seemed to belong to the person who was repairing the building.

"In a few days it was habitable, and it was evidently the intention of the stranger to live in it. The spot he had chosen was just at the entrance of the long beach that leads to the little town of Hull. The ocean waves at high tide came roaring almost up to the door, and in a storm it seemed to be in the midst of them. The curiosity of the inhabitants of Hull was excited, as they passed the little cabin on their way to the main land, by perceiving that it was inhabited; and they made various attempts to gratify it; but all were vain, for, before they could approach near enough to speak to the stranger, he would jump into his boat, and push off out of their reach, or else escape from them by hurrying into the hut, where he would fasten the door, and close the shutter to its only window. Once or twice he had been passed in his boat by fishermen, but they had not caught a glimpse of his face, for his hat was always slouched over it, and he never landed when any one was near enough to observe him.

"Many attempts had been made to find out something about this mysterious being, but all in vain, till one day, as a man was returning to his home at Hull, he observed that the stranger's boat was gone. He concluded that he had gone as usual to catch fish for his food; presently he saw it not far from shore, and tossing about upon the waves, and as if no one were in it. While he was looking, the wave sunk, and the little boat rocked, so that he could distinctly see the stranger in the bottom of it. He concluded that he must be asleep. The tide was rising, and there seemed to be great danger that the boat would be upset or dashed against some rocks not far distant. As soon as possible he got a boat and some one to assist him, and after a little effort they succeeded in bringing the object of their curiosity safely to the shore. He was, as they had supposed, lying on the bottom of the boat. He made no motion; his hat was pulled over his face; they lifted it up, and saw that he was dead. They started and shuddered when they first looked at him. His beard was long and grizzled ; he was

so emaciated that the skin seemed to cleave to the bones of his face; the hollows in his cheeks were frightful, and his yet unclosed eye was expressive of unutterable misery.

"The curiosity, which had mingled with the feeling of humanity, in prompting the men to rescue him from danger, was lost in awe, and compassion for the sufferings that had evidently been the portion of the being whose lifeless remains were before them. 2D. SERIES, NO, 29.-VOL. III.

"They carried the body of the stranger to his little cabin; the door was fastened with a padlock, and the key was tied to the belt of his great coat. Upon entering, they saw a clumsy table and bench, which he had probably made with his own hands; a sailor's chest stood in one corner, and in another was a little straw, which was all his bed. There were two or three utensils for cooking, but they did not appear to have been used for some days. In the mean time the news spread, and a number of people had collected, eager to allay the curiosity which the appearance of the strange man and his solitary mode of living had excited in them. Among them was their clergyman, who came as a true pastor to speak to his people at the moment when their minds were excited by the appearance and thought of death.

"The coroner's inquest was held over the body, and they then proceeded to examine the chest of the solitary man, to ascertain, if possible, his name or something of his story. They found in it a few clothes, a Bible, some paper, ink, and pens. A few written pages were laid inside the New Testament at the first epistle of John, third chapter, and this passage underlined, If thy heart condemn thee, God is greater than thy heart, and knoweth all things.' The clergyman carefully took out the papers, and then turned to the first page to look for a name, and read the following words; 'ThoRemas Brown; from his affectionate mother : member now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.'New York, 1770.'

assent.

"The minister then looked over the papers, and after a few moments asked the little group around him if they would like to hear what the manuscript contained; he was answered by a murmur of eager The bench which belonged to the unhappy man was handed to him by one of his parishioners, while the others seated themselves upon the ground around him. In a moment no sound was heard save the ceaseless roar of the restless ocean, as wave after wave rolled up and broke against the shore; when he commenced reading to them the following narrative:

"I feel as if it would be some alleviation to my misery to write down my melancholy story; to give an account, as if I were standing before the judgment seat of God, of my actions. May I thus do something to expiate the evil I have done in the world; for should any one read these pages who is in the habit of slighting the voice of conscience, he will learn from them, that unutterable anguish will be his portion if he continues in his course; that there is no punishment so terrible as the stings of a guilty conscience; that as a great writer has said, 'conscience is the pulse of the soul, and though it may beat faintly and not be noticed for a time, yet whilst the soul is alive it will surely beat again with a fearful and agonizing power.' I slighted the admonition in these words when I first read them, but now I remember them with a dreadful precision, and I have learned their truth from a frightful experience.

"I cannot endure the sight of a human being,, and yet I cannot bear being alone; I do not wish to live, and yet I am afraid to die. But I will try to tell my story.

"My mother was a pious, good woman; it was her constant prayer that I might be a good man. The recollection of her is now one of the causes of my misery, for I sometimes feel as if even in heaven she must suffer from the knowledge of my guilt and misery. She unhappily gave me an early disgust to the Bible from the manner in which she forced me to read it; she obliged me to read and commit to memory long chapters from the Old Testament, which I did not comprehend. Had my mother selected such parts of that holy book as I could understand; had she read them to me herself, and explained what was difficult for me to comprehend; had it only been made a pleasure instead of a task to me to read the word of God, I should never have felt the aversion to it that I did, and this means of virtue would not have been lost to me. As it was, I never looked into the Bible after I left my mother's roof until my crimes

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had at last roused my slumbering conscience; and then I read it in despair as a criminal would read his sentence; then, for the first time, I learnt from it the parental character of God; then, after I had broken all his laws, and slighted all his goodness, was my heart touched with this record of his mercy, this story of his boundless love. But I would not condemn my mother; it was the mistake of her understanding; and had I only been obedient to the lessons she taught me, and imitated her excellence, from what tortures would it not have saved me.

"My father died when I was only five years old; he left my mother but a small property, barely enough to support herself, and me her only child; by great economy she was able to obtain for me the simple rudiments of a common English education, but at the age of fourteen she felt obliged to apprentice me to a printer in the city. As our dwelling was at the most remote part of the city, it was necessary that I should have lodgings near the office. She gave me many cautions and directions, and shed many tears over me the morning she sent me away from her to my future master. I promised her I would not disgrace her, and this promise I really most solemnly meant to keep, for I had a great deal of pride of character, and thought a great deal of the punishment and shame of sin; but I had never thought of the misery of it. I had no evil intentions, but I had no fixed good principles; I had then no evil passions, but I had no holy purposes; I did not mean to do harm, but I had not resolved to do good. In short, I had no religion; I was like a mariner without a compass upon an unknown sea.

As I

"I went to the printing-office of Mr. was very lively and active, I was captivated with the busy and animated scene around me; all was enchantment to me, and I was delighted with my new life.

"It might be useful for me to relate all the separate steps I took in the ways of wickedness, but I cannot; my mind is absorbed in the contemplation of my final depravity. All I can recall is the recollection of an habitual carelessness, and forgetfulness of my mother and her instructions, and an entire neglect of my Bible, which she had entreated me to read daily.

"I never went to church, except to avoid being alone, and because I could do nothing more entertaining, but passed the day in frolicking, or reading bad novels.

"There were a thousand little contrivances by which I succeeded in deceiving my master, for I had a great desire for his good opinion; I wished to be thought well of, and took unwearied pains to please; this not only made me a general favourite, but gained for me his friendship. Sometimes for a moment something in my heart would whisper that I was doing wrong, and that misery would be my final portion, but I chased away this feeling as soon as possible. I ran away from it to some amusement; I tried to keep down my conscience, and I succeeded; but her day of vengeance has come, and the voice that I was once deaf to, is now the only one I hear. But I am getting before my story; it is a brief one, and I will go back to it.

"I went on in this way till I was seventeen, when one day some young men of my acquaintance invited me to join them in a frolic that they said they were to have in the evening. 'We shall have a grand time,' they said, 'and be sure you bring some money in your pocket.' I consented, and met them at the time appointed; they carried me to a gambling-house. The thought of my mother did come to my mind as I entered, but I soon drove it away. I happened to be rather fortunate. There was a great deal of laughing and low talk, that was called wit. We played till the day dawned, and just succeeded in reaching home, and appearing in our respective places in season to avoid discovery. I was at the office a little earlier than usual, and was praised for early rising. As I took unusual pains that day to please, in the course of it my master observed to me, that it was a great pleasure to him to see what a good fellow I was, and to think

what a comfort I should be to my mother. This was like a dagger to me, but I soon got over it.

"From this time I went frequently to the gambling-house. It was a sort of cellar. We went with great secrecy, and we were not found out by our masters, and we never thought of Him from whom we cannot hide ourselves for one instant.

"One evening I perceived a new-comer; one of the wickedest of my companions whispered in my ear, we have got a pigeon to pluck this evening; he is such a fiery spirit we can do any thing we please with him.' He soon became excited and lost what money he had of his own; but he had also a considerable sum of his master's; he had lost all his self-possession, and he ventured that also and lost it. Never shall I forget his shriek of anguish when we told him it was daylight, and that we must return home; he said that he was ruined, and threatened to kill himself. We led him in a state of distraction to his boarding-house. The weather was hot; he had drunk a great deal of punch; he was seized with an inflammatory fever, and a week afterwards, notice of his death was sent to our office to be put in our paper. It seems as if it were but yesterday when I opened that little slip of paper, and read the death of this young man, whom we had killed by our cruel wantonness. Then I felt for the first time the gnawing of the worm that dieth not, but it did not lead me to repentance. I was in high favour with my master; I stood well with the world; and I contrived to stifle my conscience.

"About a year from this time my mother died very suddenly. I was deeply grieved at losing her, for wicked as I was I loved my mother. I felt how unworthy I was of her. It had of late, been a very painful thing to me to think of her, and after a few months I began to feel it to be a relief to be freed from her troublesome questions, as they were apt to startle my conscience; for I occasionally learned that this witness of God in the soul cannot be entirely silenced, cannot be destroyed, and to tremble at its power. But I did not reform. On the contrary, I sought for amusement and excitement in the hope thus to conquer it.

"My wicked gains at the gaming-table, many perquisites at the office, and my mother's small property, all together amounted to a tolerable sum; and, if I had been so disposed, would have enabled me when I was free to enter into business upon good terms; but I had resolved to go to sea. My master consented to give up a year of my apprenticeship from a real regard he had for me, although my services were important to him; but I convinced him it would be a great advantage to me and I embarked as a sailor with my little fortune for the East Indies. I had been partly induced to take this step by the persuasions of two of my companions at the gaming-table. I had a passion for any thing new. I thought I should be happier at sea than anywhere else. I had some undefined notions of making a great fortune. I had grown very restless. There was no peace in my heart; and I thought change of place would be a relief to And indeed there was something in the wild reckless character of a sailor's life that suited my mind; the novelty of the scene, the very sight of the boundless ocean, did seem to take my thoughts off from myself, and I liked my change of life exceedingly.

me.

"I soon became a great favourite with the captain; for I took pains to please every one, and I always succeeded. This gave me a great power among my associates. I became shortly a good sailor, and every one seemed to like me and think well of me; and I tried to think better of myself.

"After we had been out about forty days, I observed my two old companions frequently talking together, and often look at me as if they wanted to speak with me alone. They soon found an opportunity. They told me that it was their intention to take possession of the vessel and cargo. would make our fortunes,' they said, and if you join us you shall be our captain; but if you think of betraying us, let it be at your peril; for we are

'It

all prepared, and we have only the captain and mate to fear.'

"But what will you do with them?' said I. "Heave them overboard,' he answered.

"I will have nothing to do with such a murder. ous deed,' I said.

"Then you must go too,' said this desperate villain; the moment I make a certain signal, all the men will be by my side and I shall be master. The sailors like you, and you are a better sailor than I am, so I give you your choice, life, or death; the captain's berth, or the salt sea for your bed.'

"Conscience whispered, death is better than crime; but I had never obeyed my conscience, and now I turned a deaf ear to its voice. I thought of my share of the property, but what decided me was cowardice; I was afraid to die. A bad man has no true courage. I consented. In a moment one long shrill whistle was heard, and all the men rallied round this wicked man. He pushed me towards them, and said, 'there is your captain.' The captain and mate made the best defence they could, but they were soon overpowered by numbers.

"Were I to live millions of years, I should never forget the sound when their bodies were thrown into the sea. The thunder has rolled over my head, the winds have howled around me, and the ocean has roared, all at the same time, but I still have heard that sound as distinctly as if all nature stood still for me to listen to it. They called me captain, they shouted and cheered and hallooed in my ears, but I heard nothing but the plash of their falling bodies, and the sullen waves dashing over them.

"It seemed as if the heavens were angry, and were determined to avenge the crime we had committed; for that very night there arose the most tremendous storm I had ever witnessed. It thundered and lightened, and the wind blew a hurricane. I was so distracted I could not direct the sailors; all was uproar and confusion; the vessel was soon a mere wreck; at last she sprung a leak. The men got out the long boat, and in their eagerness to save their lives overloaded her, and she sunk a few minutes after she left the vessel. The remainder of the crew jumped into the small boat, and pulled me after them more dead than alive. I had made no effort to save myself, and merely by a sort of instinct held on by the nearest thing that would keep me from being washed overboard.

"We had but just got out of the reach of the whirlpool made by the sinking vessel before she disappeared, and we were left, five of us, in the midst of the wide ocean with no food and no means of obtaining any. We threw ourselves down in the boat and gave up to despair. We had nothing to do but to wait for our fate; we had nothing to think of but our crime. We dreaded the future life, and the present was fast fading from our sight. Now did memory and conscience seem the same thing: I may say they do, for it is all present to me. Days, weeks, months, and years pass, but thoughts like these never pass away. Our sufferings from hunger and thirst were terrible the second and third day, but on the fourth three of the men died. On the fifth just at sunset a vessel came in sight. It came nearer; I waved my handkerchief. It was an American vessel bound to New York. They saw me and took us in. My companion could not be recovered, but by great care I was restored.

"The captain and the crew of the vessel were all very kind to me; they said they were rejoiced that they had saved my life. But I had no answering feeling; a deep unutterable misery had settled upon my soul; I could not bear a human eye; conscience was for ever repeating to me that I had consented to a murder. There was no living thing on the earth but myself that knew it; there was no way in which I could be discovered but by my own confession, and yet I was in continual fear.

"As soon as we arrived, and the story of the loss of our vessel and crew was known, my master came to see me, and to offer me assistance; my old friends and my mother's friends came to welcome me home, and to congratulate me upon my escape from death: but I could not rejoice. They made a subscription for me, as they knew I had all my property in the

lost vessel, and even the family of the captain gave something; but I could not be grateful. I never smiled again. My friends thought that my mind was injured by my sufferings in the boat. It seemed to me as if conscience was retracing in the records of memory, as if with a hot iron, all the bad actions of my life. Sometimes I thought I would confess and relieve myself of my hateful existence, but I I could not resolve to do it. It was because I feared to die, not because I dreaded the pain of death.

"I went to sea again, in the hope my mind might recover, for I began to think that it was derangement; and I thought that if I were only among strangers I should feel better. But it was all in vain; I carried the cause of my misery with me wherever I went. There was a voice in the wind, there was a voice in the ocean, for ever repeating my crime to me. The sun, the moon, and the stars, reproached me; every eye that rested upon me seemed to read my dreadful secret and to condemn me, for every thing around me appeared only the echo of the undying anguish within my bosom.

"The captain and the sailors thought that I had partially lost my reason, but as I did my duty and was inoffensive they left me to myself.

"After I had been two or three voyages I made the resolution to live the remainder of my life in solitude, and chose this spot, which in one of them I had become acquainted with, for my abode. The savings from my wages furnished me with more than enough to purchase a boat and what few things I should want, and here I shall remain till that great Being, whose laws I have violated, whose mercy I have slighted, releases me from the burthen of life.

"Although the ocean was the scene of my last crime, yet I have a sort of gloomy pleasure in being near it; its eternal sound, its unceasing motion seems like my own soul to me, and it is the only companion I can endure.

"Should any one read this narrative, he may wonder at a sailor's writing in such language. But I had a natural taste for reading, and read a great deal at my master's office, mostly bad books, so that my mind was really injured by them. But I read some good books; and what I then gave little attention to, now often returns to my mind.

I had

a great notion of writing, and my master often employed me to write for him; and he was always pleased with what I did, and often praised my talents; but these talents I have abused, and they have only added to my condemnation.

"The only book I have brought to my solitude, is the Bible that my mother gave me when I first went to apprentice, but which I have so much neglected. This blessed book I have now read over and over again, although it sets before me my own wickedness, and makes me feel the hatefulness of my ingratitude towards the good Being whose will it contains. Whoever reads these pages will learn from them that there is no rest for the wicked; that security from detection is no security from punishment to the criminal; that there are no tortures that can be inflicted upon the body comparable to the sufferings of a guilty conscience: and that when it is said to be the worm that dieth not, it is but a faint image of the reality.

"As the clergyman concluded, every face was raised to his with an expression of solemnity and deep compassion. The sun was just setting, its slanting beams as they struck upon the white crests of the waves gave such a glow and brilliancy to the ocean as to make you feel as if its waters were rejoicing; and the happy and glorious aspect of nature contrasted strongly and mournfully with the dark and gloomy scene within and around the little cabin.

"The countenance of every one was expressive of awe and pity as he contemplated the miserable being whose lifeless remains were stretched before them. The waves as they seemed to clap their hands, the farewell light of the western sky, the soft evening hour as it gently approached, the stars as they began faintly to appear; all seemed to utter a mild reproach to man, the lord of this world, for

his insensibility to the harmony of nature, and his ingratitude to its Creator.

"The clergyman improved the solemn hour to pray with his people, and to impress upon their hearts the affecting lesson which the unhappy man's confession had taught. He called their attention to the glories and touching beauties, the holy peace of the visible world, and he tried to elevate their hearts to grateful love towards the Creator of all things, the Father of the whole human family, the God of mercy as truly as the God of justice."

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On the subject of this poem, more extended observation and more study were required than Mr. Michell seems to have bestowed. To portray woman in all her amiable qualities, and all the lights and shadows which attach to her character, would demand the talents of a mind possessing exquisite and refined sensibility, judicious taste, much acquaintance with the world, and strong powers of description.

Yet while we consider that Mr. Michell has not done ample justice to his theme, we would not say he is entirely deficient in these requisites. His poetical abilities are not of a despicable order. Witness the opening of the poem :—

"The bird more sweetly hymn'd in Eden's bower;
Softlier the zephyr kissed the summer flower;
The new-born sun diffused a brighter beam ;
With gentler murmur rolled the amber stream;
The angel, crossing heaven on wings of light,
Stooped to admire, and paused upon his flight;
As Woman rose in beauty on the plain,
The last and loveliest link in being's chain."

Although, in proceeding along, we observe that Mr. Michell's muse is not strong enough, we nevertheless meet with some passages containing beauty of sentiment and expression; and others, which every one will recognize as true to nature. instance :

For

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Throughout the whole we find a smooth and harmonious flow of language, and our ears are pleased with easy and correct verse. It is certainly Mr. Michell's best performance. At the same time, we would recommend him to throw some strength and vigour of thought into his next, and by all means to avoid inserting such tales as that on page 50.

REVIEW.-The Original Glory of the Son of God; or a Treatise on the Universal Headship of Christ. By John Jefferson. 12mo. pp. 278. Westley and Davis. London. 1833.

THE author of this treatise, remarks in his introduction, that "Correct views of the personal glory of Jesus, are essential to all right apprehensions of his official character and claims. 'His name is Immanuel, God with us;' 'God manifest in the flesh.' The details of his history, as contained in the writings of the four evangelists, present such obvious proof of his humanity, that this has not for ages been questioned; and although his claims to Divinity are sometimes denied, the evidence of their validity is equally full and satisfactory. The sources of the proof are various, and the argument is cumulative, but the conclusion is irresistible."

He then makes good his assertion by shewing the attributes ascribed to Christ, the works peculiar to Deity said to be performed by him, and the names applied to him, in the Holy Scriptures; and brings various collateral proofs in confirmation of his conclusion. Having done this, he lays out his subject as follows:-The Lord Jesus Christ is to be viewed as -The ordained medium for making known the Divine Glory; The Head and Lord of the Elect Angels; The Conqueror and Ruler of Fallen Angels; The Mediator and Governor of Men; The Saviour and Head of the Church; and the Supreme Lord of Wicked Men.

Under each of the heads he adduces such strong and irrefragable evidences of the Supremacy and Godhead of Christ, from the Bible alone, that no Socinian, believing it to be the word of God, can peruse them with attention and deliberation, without confessing that Jesus Christ is "God over all blessed for ever."

We could not refrain from smiling to observe that Mr. Jefferson invests man with the strait-jacket of Calvinism, and yet tells us that he is a free agent. This endeavour to amalgamate these heterogeneous doctrines are by no means successful or satisfactory.

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THESE essays are fourteen in number: and embrace many subjects of anxiety and depression in Christian experience, and various circumstances of trial and affliction, which attend upon our mortal career.

The author does not assume a dictatorial tone, or seize with harsh and unfeeling grasp the sufferers to whom he intends to administer consolation, but with a soothing and sympathizing voice seems to say, "Come with us, and we will do thee good.' He then takes them by the hand, endeavours to lead them by the still waters of gospel peace which flow from the river of life, and opens to their view the merciful designs of God in the superintendence of the affairs of his creatures, teaching them, that though clouds and darkness may be round about the dispensations of his Providence, all things shall work together for their good.

To those who feel they stand in need of "Christian encouragement and consolation;" to those who are enduring the temporal chastisements of the Almighty; and to those who wish to be strengthened for the trials of a probationary existence, we recommend these essays as highly suitable.

REVIEW.-Poetic_Vigils, containing a Monody on the Death of Adam Clarke, LL. D. &c. and other Poems, by Wil liam Bennett Baker. 12mo. pp. 199. Simpkin and Marshall. London. 1833. Ir is a bold and daring hand that will attempt to paint the virtues and worth of the mighty and sainted dead-of those whose excellence has been felt, and whose memory is still venerated by a thousand hearts; and none but kindred spirits should grapple with the task, for none but such could succeed.

The monody before us does not come up to the standard we had fixed in our own mind for a poem to do honour to Dr. Clarke; and yet we must confess that if it does not rise very far above mediocrity, it comes into honourable competition with the greatest proportion of poetry at present issuing from the press.

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WE have been told "there is no royal road to learning ;" and this is certainly true. But if the celebrated man who uttered the sentiment had lived in these times, when the thorny brakes which obstructed the inquirer after knowledge have been removed, and when the rugged paths have been brought down to the level of the meanest capacity by divesting science and philosophy of their uninviting technicalities, he would have been obliged to confess, that at least there is a rail-road. It is not to be supposed, however, that we are to be carried along with an irresistible mechanical impulse in our pursuits after knowledge; but by the labours of talented and learned men, the way has been made so plain, so clear, and withal will find it easy and delightful. so direct, that those who enter upon it

Among the number to whom we are indebted for labours of this description, is the author of this work. He seems to have been a close and attentive observer of the laws and operations of nature; and to encourage those who wish to cultivate this delightful study, as well as to assist them in their inquiries and researches, he has laid down the simple and practical directions contained in this volume. This he has accomplished in a manner suited to the comprehension of every reader, and has illustrated his positions by numerous interesting facts.

REVIEW.-The Existing Monopoly; an Inadequate Protection of the Authorized Version of Scripture; Four Letters to the Lord Bishop of London. By Thos. Curtis. Effingham Wilson. London.1833. THE necessity for a correct and immaculate edition of the Holy Scriptures, must be obvious to every one. They are of such vital importance, that a small error might be productive of the most pernicious consequences. On this ground, Mr. Curtis has exposed many intentional and accidental departures from the Authorized

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