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Good stories

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Title:
Good stories
Creator:
Wells Gardner, Darton & Co ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London
Publisher:
Wells Gardner, Darton & Co.
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (various pagings), [4] leaves of plates : col. ill. ; 19 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1890 ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1890 ( rbprov )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1890 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1890
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) ( rbprov )
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Illustrations printed in colors.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text: 36 pages.
General Note:
Date of publication from prize inscription.
Statement of Responsibility:
illustrated.

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University of Florida
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University of Florida
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This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026790093 ( ALEPH )
ALH0977 ( NOTIS )
180989995 ( OCLC )

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GOOD STORIES.

ILLUSTRATED.



LONDON:

WELLS GARDNER, DARTON & CO,
2, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS.









“TRIED AND TRUE."

LUCY HUTCHINSON.

the year 1619, when King James I.’s reion was
drawing to a close, our heroine, Lucy Apsley,
afterwards to become Lucy Hutchinson, was
born in the Tower of London, :

Her father, Sir Allen Apsley, was Lieutenant
of the Tower, a position of no little importance in those days,
when the Tower was used as a state prison, and the cells and
rooms were but too closely occupied. Those were troublous
times for England; poets, warriors, and nobles, as well as
country boors, were in turn committed to this prison.
Queen Elizabeth herself was during her sister Mary’s reign
a prisoner within these walls; and many were the great and
noble names who (less fortunate than the Maiden Queen)
only left their prison to suffer death on the little green of
Tower Hill. Sir Walter Raleigh was one of these. He
was for twelve years a prisoner in the Tower; but this
great man showed to the world that

“Stone walls do not a prison make, ~
Nor iron bars a cage.”



He used his cell as a study, and finding himself com-
pelled to retire from the world, he employed his leisure in
writing books, which at this very day are remarkable for

(221) A





2 “ Tried and True.”



the learning and knowledge they display. Besides this, he
made various experiments in chemistry, the materials for
which were provided by the generosity of the Lieutenant’s
wife, the Lady Apsley. In return for this and many other
services which Sir Walter received from the hands of his .
kind and humane keeper, he taught Lady Apsley all he knew
of surgery and the science of medicine, and by these means
she becamé skilful in the healing of wounds and concoct-
ing of simple remedies for the sick. It is said that she
was as a mother to all the prisoners that came to the
Tower. In sickness she would herself make them broth
and dainty dishes, and would minister to their wants with
her own hands; whilst those who were sick with sorrow—
and this was no uncommon disease amongst the Tower
-prisoners—she would console and comfort as best she could,
and endeavour to let them feel none of the inconvenience
of a prison.

We must not forget that the people who were sent to
the Tower were very different to the class of criminals who
now fill our jails. Instead of being people of bad character,
who had offended both God and man, the inmates of this
fortress were then, as a rule, people of exalted station and
gentle manners, and were generally imprisoned because
they were believed to be opposed to the Government of the
day; for at this time opinions that were in favour one
week were declared to be seditious and dangerous the next,
and a man who was once high in favour would suddenly
find himself deprived of liberty for crimes of which he was
often wholly unconscious.

No wonder, then, that the gentle wife of the keeper of
the Tower felt much womanly pity for the prisoners under
her husband’s charge; and when her daughter Lucy was
old enough, she would accompany her mother on her visits
of mercy to the various cells. A childhood passed amid



“ Tried and True.” 3

such scenes made an early woman of the little maid, She
says that at the age of four she could read English per-
fectly, whilst at seven years old she had eight tutors, who
taught her various languages, music, dancing, writing, and
needlework. . Naturally enough this child-woman did not
much care for other children ; their games and toys seemed
puerile to her who had already seen the dark side of life.
She appears indeed to have been most precocious in many
ways. Inthe short history of her life that she has left
behind her, she says that before she had reached her teens,
she was “the confidant in all the loves that were managed
among my mother’s young women;” and she quaintly adds,
“There was none of them but had many lovers.” When
Lucy had reached her seventeenth year, the moment arrived
when she was to have a lover of her own ; she had hitherto
cared little for notice or attention from the gallants of the
day ; probably the experience gained in childhood amongst
her mother’s young women had warned her that—

“Men were deceivers ever.”

But now a grave divinity student fell deeply in love with
her, and she on her part felt an equal affection for him.
The friends on both sides were pleased, and the course of
true love for once ran smoothly until the day of the be-
trothal, when Lucy, gentle pretty Lucy, sickened with the
small-pox. We in these days can hardly imagine what a
dreadful disease small-pox was before the discovery of vac-
cination, which has robbed it of half its terrors. At that
time thousands of persons died yearly of its ravages, and
those whose lives were spared were generally so disfigured
that they were repulsive to look upon. Such was Lucy’s
fate. When she recovered, she was, to use her own
words, “the most deformed person that could be seen.”
But John Hutchinson cared not for that; it was Lucy her-



4 “ Tried and True.”



self, not her face, that he loved. “He was little troubled
at it,” she writes, “but married her as soon as she was able
to quit the chamber, when the priest and all that saw her
were affrichted to look on her.” It is pleasing to know that
in time she regained her good looks, though it was some years
before she quite lost all traces of the malady.

The early years of Lucy’s married life were passed quietly
and happily, first in London, and then at her husband’s
house of Owthorpe, in Nottinghamshire. Two sons were
born, and Lucy then found her chief pleasure in the care of
her babies and the society of her husband. He was much
in his library, but those were troublous times for England,
and soon the books of “school divinity” had to be put aside,
and John Hutchinson set himself to understand the matters
in dispute between the King and the Parliament. Civil
war was then raging in our land; the people were divided
into Cavaliers and Roundheads, so called on account of the
different way in which the opposing armies wore their hair.
The Cavaliers, who belonged to the King’s party, were
adorned by the long flowing ringlets which we know so
well in the pictures of Charles II, whilst the Roundheads
prided themselves on keeping their hair short and close
cropped. Mr, Hutchinson decided in his mind that the
cause of the Parliament (or the Roundheads) was the most
righteous one; but he had no wish to be concerned with
the fighting on either side, and contented himself with
praying for peace. His wife, however, did not like the
term Roundhead to be given to her husband. She says:
“Tt was very ill applied to Mr. Hutchinson, who, having
naturally a very fine thick-set head of hair, kept it clean
and handsome, so that it was a great ornament to him,
although the godly of those days, when he embraced their
party, would not allow him to be religious because his hair
is not in their cut.” Zhe godly was a name by which the





“ Tried and True.” 5

Roundheads frequently called themselves; and such was
their bigotry, that it was deemed impossible for any one to
be considered godly who varied in any way, either in dress
or opinions, from the rules they had made.

John Hutchinson seems, however, whilst espousing the
cause of the Parliament, to have ever remained moderate
and humane; and in this he differed so much from the rest
of his party, that we are surprised to find him chosen as
the governor of the old castle of Nottingham, and from
henceforth he is always known as Colonel Hutchinson.
In his new post he displayed both courage and skill; the
castle, almost a ruin, is by his orders changed into a strong
fortress, and for five days and nights it is held successfully
against a large army of Cavaliers, who are at last driven
from the town with great losses.

Now is the time for Lucy to show of what stuff she is
made. She has now the opportunity of putting into practice
those lessons of surgery and medicine learnt as a little
child in that prim old fortress of the Tower. We will give
the historian’s own words on this matter :—

“There was a large room, which was the chapel, in the
castle; this they had filled full of prisoners, besides a very
bad prison, which was no better than a dungeon, called the
Lion’s Den. The new Captain Palmer and another minister,
having nothing else to do, walked up and down the castle
yard, insulting and beating the poor prisoners as they were
brought up. In the encounter one of the Derby captains
was slain and five of our men hurt, who, for want of another
surgeon, were brought to the governor's wife, and she having
some excellent balsams and plasters in her closet, with the
assistance of a gentleman that had some skill, dressed all
their wounds, whereof some were dangerous, being all shots,
with such good success that they were all well cured in con-
venient time. After our wounded men were dressed, as she





6 “ Tried and True.”

stood at her chamber door, seeing three of the prisoners
sorely cut, and carried down bleeding into the Lion’s Den,
she desired the marshal to bring them in to her, and bound
up and dressed their wounds also; which while she was
doing Captain Palmer came in and told her his soul ab-
horred to see this favour to the enemies of God. She replied,
she had done nothing but what she thought was her duty
in humanity to them as fellow-creatures, not as enemies.
But he was very ill satisfied with her.” Surely we have
improved in Christian charity since those narrow-minded
days. Now, like Lucy Hutchinson, we deem it a duty, nay,
a pleasure, to nurse and feed our prisoners, and make no
difference between them and the wounded of our own
people.

When peace was at length restored to this country,
Colonel Hutchinson and his brave wife returned in thank-
fulness to their country home at Owthorpe. They found if
plundered of all that could be moved, and the building
itself much damaged by the successive regiments that had
passed that way. This was unfortunately the case with
many other country houses, and Colonel Hutchinson wasted
no time in idle regrets, but set at once to work to restore his
home to its former comfort. He now led the useful life of an
English country gentleman. The poor of the neighbour-
hood ever found in him a trusty friend, one to whom they
could apply in all their troubles, and whose time and money
were ever at the service of those who most needed them.
In all his undertakings, Lucy was ever his helper and
wisest counsellor. She was as willing to assist with the
laying out of a cottage garden as she had formerly been to
succour the wounded; nothing that could help a fellow-
creature came amiss to her womanly heart, and both she
and her husband were greatly beloved by all their neigh-
bours. Yet there were those who regarded with disfavour





“ Tried and True.” 7



that quiet household at Owthorpe. The Puritans (to which
party the Hutchinsons nominally belonged) looked with
suspicion and dislike on the family where innocent joys
and open hospitality were daily indulged in; while, on the
other hand, the Cavaliers could not forget or forgive the
persevering way in which the Colonel had held Nottingham
Castle against the fierce attacks of their soldiery.

For a time, however, the Hutchinsons were left undis-
turbed in their retired life, occupying themselves chiefly
with draining and planting the estate, and thus giving
employment to many labourers who otherwise would have
suffered great hardships. Other children were born to
them, and their two eldest sons grew up to man’s estate,
and showed themselves not unworthy of their parents.

The Restoration, however, brought about a new order of
things, and now the gallant defender of Nottingham Castle
is summoned to London to appear before his enemies.
Colonel Hutchinson seems to have been little surprised at
this command, but prepared cheerfully to obey the sum-
mons; and having a presentiment that he should never
return to his happy Nottinghamshire home, he called
together his labourers, and paid them off with kind words
of farewell. They, honest fellows, wept bitterly at the
thought of losing their good and generous master, but he
comforted them with a smiling resignation; and, accom-
panied as he had ever been by his devoted wife, he entered
his coach and left Owthorpe, never to return.

The journey to London took four long days; sad and
dreary ones they must have been to the loving wife who
was so soon to be separated from him whom she had
devotedly followed during five-and-twenty years of good

and evil days. Yet through them all the Colonel was |

cheerful, nay, almost merry, telling his wife “It would
blemish his innucence for her to appear afflicted, and if she



8 “ Tyted and True.”

had but patience to wait the event, she would see it was all
for the best, and bade her be thankful for the mercy that
she was permitted this comfort to accompany him in the
journey.”

The journey ended at the Tower Gates, and here, in the
fortress where Lucy had first seen the light, was Colonel
Hutchinson imprisoned.

It was a bitter parting for the poor wife, and none the
less bitter that she knew the harsh and exacting character
of the present governor of the Tower.

Lucy’s father had long since gone to his rest, and bad
times had arisen for the prisoners. All things within the
walls were now changed, and there was no longer any care
or thought for the unhappy captives, except indeed the con-
sideration of how much money could be wrung out of them.
Colonel Hutchinson’s room was in the Bloody Tower; it was
said to be the very room in which the young King Edward
V. and his brother had been so foully murdered by their
uncle’s orders, and just below was the chamber in which the
Duke of Clarence had suffered death by being drowned in
a cask of wine; so that that portion of the building certainly
deserved its name.

It was some time before Mrs. Hutchinson was allowed to
visit her husband, who was as strictly guarded as if he had
been some violent malefactor instead of an English gentle-
man who had served his country to the best of his ability.
He was frequently brought before his judges, and at last was
sentenced to be imprisoned in the Isle of Man. This, to
the poor wife, sounded as dreadful as banishment to New
Zealand would appear to us, and she used all her influence
to get the place of his imprisonment changed to one in a less
unknown spot. She was so far successful that Sandown Castle
in Kent was finally chosen for her husband’s prison, and
certainly a more wretched spot could scarcely have been







“ Tried and True.” 9



found. The castle stands about a mile from the town of
Deal, on a low, flat, marshy shore, and every tide washed
the foot of the castle walls. Naturally enough this made
the rooms damp, whilst a broken roof and dilapidated
walls completed the wretchedness of this dwelling. Still
the Colonel kept up a brave heart, though every indignity was
heaped upon him, and a low-minded man (also a prisoner)
was lodged in his room. His faithful wife begged hard to
be allowed to share his prison, but her loving request was
rudely refused. She was, however, permitted to visit him
during the day; so she and her eldest son and daughter
took lodgings at Deal, and every day, through the rains of
winter or the scorching summer sun, did the heavy-hearted
trio trudge the weary road from Deal to visit the patient
prisoner. They endeavoured, also, as far as lay in their
power, to provide amusement for the lagging hours, which
must doubtless have seemed doubly long to one who, like
Colonel Hutchinson, had previously lived so much of his
life in the open air. His wife and daughter picked up, on
their daily walk to Sandown, the common shells which lay
scattered on the sands, and these the Colonel would arrange
and classify with a simple pleasure, in the same spirit as at

Owthorpe he had taken delight in his beautiful collection —

of agates and onyxes. These Kentish cockles were, it is
true, common and worthless in the ordinary estimation of
things, but they were, notwithstanding, the creation of
the same God who had formed the ruby and the diamond,
and not less worthy than these of man’s admiration and
study.

This was, however, merely the diversion of his leisure
hours. His chief occupation was the study of God’s book,
the Bible; and though his wife had, with some pains, ob-
tained one or two of his favourite volumes for him to
amuse himself with, he thanked her much, but told her

(221) A2



10 “ Tried and True.”
“that as long as he lived in prison he would read nothing
there but his Bible.”

After eleven months of this life, Mrs. Hutchinson was
obliged to leave her husband to make arrangements for her
younger children, who remained at Owthorpe. She quitted
him with many forebodings, dreading lest, during her
absence, he might be shipped off to some “ barbarous place.”
It is, however, invariably the unexpected that happens. It
was no rude jailer who carried the Colonel from his wife’s
sight, but God’s gentlest angel. The Angel of Death came
for the prisoner, and bore him far away from this world of
strifes and dungeons. His last words were, “Alas! how
will she be surprised!” and then with a gentle sigh his
spirit fled.

As soon as possible the news of his death was sent to
Owthorpe, and the Colonel’s two eldest sons and all his
household servants, with a hearse and six horses, went to
the prison, and after some difficulty obtained permission to
convey Colonel Hutchinson’s body to the family vault at
Owthorpe.

Thus ended the life of a good and brave Englishman.

We may not agree with his political opinions, and we
must certainly regret that he should ever have been so
mistaken as to consent to sign the death-warrant of his
lawful sovereign, King Charles I.; but, nevertheless, we
cannot but feel as we read his life that, whether in bright or
dark days, he was ever a mau strict in duty and patient in
suffering. Above all, he displayed a childlike gladness of
heart amid his many trials, and his religion was ever gentle
and loving—a rare quality in those days of narrow creeds
and religious intolerance. And Lucy, his devoted wife, a
fitting helpmeet, what became of her? She long survived
ber husband and ever mourned his memory—not idly, with
clasped hands and useless tears, but wisely and lovingly.



“ Tried and True.” II



She erected a monument to his memory, and not content
with graving his virtues on senseless stone, she fixed them
firmly in the hearts of her children, so that they grew up
endeavouring to imitate as well as revere the actions of
their father. She wrote a history of his life for their
benefit, and this book is one of the best of our English
biographies. It is from its pages that this simple story has
been taken.

MADAME DE LAVALETTE,

On the return of the Bourbons to the throne of France
after the battle of Waterloo, the Count de Lavalette was
imprisoned on the accusation of being an accomplice in
_Bonaparte’s treason against the royal authority.

As there was no hope of the captive being liberated
alive, Madame de Lavalette proposed to her husband a
desperate scheme of escape disguised in female apparel.
Lavalette was at first disposed to reject the idea as utterly
“impracticable, but the tears and anguish of his wife induced
him finally to consent to it.

It wanted only forty-eight hours to the time appointed
for his execution, when this devoted, though almost heart-
broken, woman presented herself in her sedan chair at the
prison, requesting to be permitted to bid a last farewell to
her husband. Her young daughter was with her, and the
guards permitted them to pass on with looks of sympathy
for the anguish before them.

Madame de Lavalette was clad from head to foot in one of
the rich pelisses which noble ladies wore in that day, while
on her head was the towering erection of silk and feathers
which did duty as a bonnet; underneath these garments,



12 * Tried and True.”



which she shortly intended handing over to her husband,
she wore her usual indoor dress.

There was little time to be lost when once she had been
ushered into the prisoner’s cell; a few words more were
needed to induce the Count to allow his wife to incur the
risk of abetting his escape, a trembling adjustment of the
cloak and bonnet, a fond committal of her treasure to God,
and a recapitulation of directions, and then the brave woman
gave directions to poor little Josephine, who had already
been much agitated by bidding adieu for ever, as she thought,
to papa. The mother had intended to dismiss the child
before the critical moment of escape arrived, but now she
thought that ber presence might direct the attention of the
guards away from the disguised man, and with that view
she retained her to accompany her father out of the prison.

When Lavalette was dressed in the disguise provided
for him, the mother asked Josephine—

“What do you think of your papa?”

The poor little girl only smiled sadly.

“But will he do, dear?” demanded the anxious wife,
obliged at last to make a confidante of the young girl and
to claim her assistance at this agonising crisis.

“Not very badly,” said the child, but her tones were not
hopeful.

Then Lavalette charged the brave woman he was leaving
in the prison to go behind the screen in his room, and make
some little noise as if moving the furniture, so that the
jailer might imagine the prisoner was there still when his
visitors had left.

After that there was but time for one hasty adieu, and
the prison doors were unlocked, and the relatives of the
condemned man must leave him to his fate. Out went
first Lavalette himself, greatly embarrassed by the strange
dress and nodding feathers which were meant to personate



“ Tried and True.” 13



his wife, but treading calmly, daring all for the sake of life
and liberty and dear ones. After him stepped his little girl,
her face pale with terror.

In the next room he had to face a file of five seated
jailers. Of course he was holding his handkerchief to his
eyes ; but, to make matters more alarming, poor little trem-
bling Josephine forgot her mother’s directions, and walked
on the wrong side of her father. She should have been
between him and the jailer; instead of which, the man came
up as usual close to the supposed lady and laid his hand
on her arm, a token of sympathy at the parting he supposed
had taken place.

“ You leave early to-night, madame?” he said; but neither
the disguised man nor his daughter dare answer a word.
Happily the jailer put it down to their intense grief.

Then they arrived at a closed door, where sat the jailer
who kept the keys. He looked steadily at Lavalette,
but presently unlocked the gates, and they were outside
the prison.

But not safe! There was a staircase of twelve steps to
traverse to reach a court where the sedan-chair was waiting
for the fugitive, and at the foot of the steps stood twenty
soldiers with an officer at their head, within three paces,
waiting to see Madame de Lavalette go by. That was-an awful
moment! Lavalette and the child got into the chair, but a
bearer had failed. A sentry was staring at him, on whom
Lavalette also fixed his eye, determining, on the least sign
of suspicion or agitation, to wrest his musket from him and
defend his recovered liberty unto death. Just then, how-
ever, his faithful servant appeared, and the chair was taken
up and carried down a street or two. When it stopped, a
gentleman—Monsieur Baudres—came forward, and offering
his arm to the supposed lady, said aloud, “ Madame, you
know you have a visit to make to the President.” The



14 “ Tried and True.”

chair porters had yet to be kept in ignorance of the burden
they carried.

In a little dark street close oe stood a cabriolet, into
which Lavalette now sprang, dashing away for dear life.

Poor Josephine stood watching her father for a moment
with clasped hands, praying for his safety; and then, when
she had lost sight of him, she got into the sedan-chair by
herself, Very shortly after it was stopped and searched for
the escaped prisoner ; but finding only the child in it, it was
speedily abandoned.

Lavalette discovered that the driver of the cabriolet was
his friend the Count de Chassenon, and M. Baudres soon
joined them again. The fur cloak and bonnet were changed
in transit for a groom’s dress; and when the party alighted
from the cabriolet, Lavalette found he was to be hidden in
the very house of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Duke
de Richelieu. A strange place of safety, and one to which
he was indebted to the kindness of the wife of the cashier,
Madame de Brisson, who, while he remained there, literally
stole food from her own table for him, it being necessary to
conceal his existence in the house from all save a very
chosen few.

From the windows of his room Lavalette could hear the
price of his apprehension and the denunciations on those
who harboured him shouted by the town-criers.

Assisted by some Englishmen, Lavalette at last escaped
from Paris disguised as a British general. He passed through
many dangers before he found himself safely out of French
territory, finally taking refuge in Switzerland.

Some may wish to know how fared Madame de Lavalette
after the success of her daring scheme. No sooner was her
husband beyond the gates of the prison than the jailer
peeped as usual into the room, but hearing some one be-
hind the screen, went out satisfied. He returned in five



“ Tyted and True.” 15

minutes, however, and still perceiving no one, pushed.aside
a leaf of the screen, and seeing only Madame de Lavalette,
gave a loud cry and ran towards the door. She flew to
prevent him, and in her despair held his coat so tightly
that he left part of it in her hands.

“You have ruined me, madame,” he exclaimed in his
rage; and then burst from her, crying, “ The prisoner has
escaped’ [e

Immediately the closest and widest ssaaeh was made for
the captive. Mounted gendarmes galloped wildly about,
passing even the cabriolet in which Lavalette was seated ;
but to no effect. Paris was baffled.

Madame de Lavalette was questioned, reproached, in-
sulted, an kept in harsh captivity for some time. The
poor thing, in weak health, and now in a perpetual agony
of suspense lest her husband should be retaken, suffered so
severely at this time that her mind failed her; and though
in after years she was restored to her husband, and he en-
deavoured by the tenderest care to make up for her past.
terrors and sufferings, she never entirely enjoyed her
former health. Still, as her husband said, she was ever
good, gentle, and amiable, and able to find enjoyment in
the country. After an exile of six years, Lavalette was
pardoned and allowed to return to France. It is pleasant .
to add, after this tale of trouble, that little Josephine
grew up and married happily, passing the later years of
her life in a calmer atmosphere than she had known in
youth,



16 “ Tried and True.”

A HOSPITAL NURSE.

HAvE you ever heard of the town of Walsall in Stafford-
shire? Nearly all the men there are employed in coal or
iron mines, or in the great foundries where the iron is
wrought into shape. Many accidents naturally befall them
in this their daily work. Broken bones, burns, and scalds
of a terrible nature are perhaps among the most frequent of
these ills. It was soon found to be inconvenient, as well
as cruel, that these poor sufferers should be sent all the
way to Birmingham to the hospitals. So in the year 1863
a Cottage Hospital was established in Walsall, and a lady
called “Sister Dora” was placed in charge of it.

There was no flourish of drums or trumpets when the
little hospital was opened. No one knew much about
Sister Dora, who with one friend, an old servant, managed
the entire concern—not much, at least, beyond the fact
that she was a real lady, who for love of sick people had
left her own comfortable pleasant home. But by-and-by
people lying ill in dismal alleys, and miners struck down
suddenly by some accident, found that a quiet sunny-faced
woman asked permission to enter their houses. And she
invariably brought with her hope and comfort. She did
not say, “This broken limb must be bandaged; this angry
wound must be bathed and attended to;” but she got out
the bandages and fetched the kettle of water, and never left
the poor sufferer till he was eased and refreshed. Then
she would hurry back to her hospital home. There were
eight beds at first in it, but there were sixteen and twenty
very shortly afterwards. Besides this, there was a crowd of
out-patients pressing daily for her attention. Sister Dora
had not been brought up to this life. She had had very
little to do with sick people till now, but she was determined



“ Tried and True.” iF

to learn all she could of doctoring and nursing, so as best
to help her poor friends in Walsall. Her own words at
this time were, “Nobody could possibly be more ignorant
than I was; I had everything to learn.” Yet in a very
few years she became so clever in surgery that she could
bandage a broken leg, draw teeth, and plaster broken heads
as well as the doctor himself.

She possessed at the same time one more valuable quality
still, that of being able to make everybody trust her. In
a very short time her patients came almost to adore her.
Rough men and lads, they had never in their lives had such
a sweet bright-faced woman moving about their sick-beds,
doing the commonest work in such tender cheerful fashion
as almost to make it seem that an angel had come down to
comfort them in their trouble. The little hospital which
saw the beginning of Sister Dora’s work in Walsall soon
became too small for the increasing needs of that great
town, and a larger hospital was built on a hill called “ The
Mount.” To this Sister Dora contributed liberally in money,
but that was little compared to her after gifts—her work
and her life. The larger hospital contained twenty-eight
beds in three large wards, so arranged that the sister could
read prayers and be heard in all the three wards at one
and the same time. The windows of the building looked
on a fair-sized lawn and garden, where vegetables and
shrubs managed to grow in spite of bleak winds and per-
petual smoke, and beyond all this somewhat tarnished
greenery stood out boldly the tall chimneys and great work-
shops on which her patients gazed familiarly as the scenes
to which they would return when restored to health, One
more interesting object too met their eyes, the line of the
South Staffordshire Railway, and many a sick man, especi-
ally such as belonged in any way to the railroad, amused
himself in watching the trains whiz by, and in speculating



18 “ Tried and True.”



whether Jack or Bill were driving the engine. Jack and
Bill too knew all about the eager white faces pressed
against those hospital windows, and each had his special
whistle by which he might be known.

And so Sister Dora was comfortably settled at last in her
new hospital, with her own good helper and servant Mrs. H.,
and two under-servants to do the scrubbing and cooking.

Terrible cases were sometimes brought to that house on
the hill. One fine healthy young man came with his arm
so torn and mangled by a machine that the doctor declared
the arm must be taken off immediately. The poor fellow
looked first at the doctor and then at the Sister; and seeing,
as he thought, something in her face that gave him hope,
he cried out earnestly, “Oh, Sister, save my arm for me;
it’s my right arm!” Working men and women know what
aright arm means to a poor man. It means the power of
making a living in this busy, pushing world of ours.
Sister Dora had meantime looked the young fellow well
over, and noticed his clear eyes and strong frame. She
could save his arm, she fancied, if she might only try. The
doctor thought her mad to dream of such a thing. But the
poor lad hopefully clung to the suggestion. He was not
afraid of pain, but he was afraid of being crippled in his
youth, At last the doctor gave in so far as to say to the
Sister, “Well, remember it’s your arm; if you choose to
have the young man’s death on your conscience, I shall not
interfere, but I wash my hands of him. Don’t think I’m
going to help you.” After that speech a weaker woman
would have given in; but Sister Dora was anything but
weak, and she set. to work with a-will to save her arm.
For three weeks she watched and tended it day and night.
Do not think she was not cruelly anxious, strong-hearted
though she was. “How I prayed over that arm!” she
used to say afterwards. At the end of a month she way-



“ Trted and True.” 19



laid the doctor and displayed to him “her arm,” straightened,
healing, and in a fair way to become as good an arm as the
uninjured one. “Why, you have saved it!” said the good
man, “and it will be a useful arm to him for many a long
year yet.” Sister Dora was bursting with joy and thank-
fulness; she went away and cried, she was so happy.
“Sister's arm” they called this man in the hospital. As
you may imagine, he became one of his nurse’s most faith-
ful admirers. She would not let him go back to his work
till he was completely cured. Even after that he seized
every opportunity to come up to the hospital and “let
Sister have a look at his arm,” a proceeding which merely
meant that he wanted to have a look at the woman who
had done so much for him.

Many of the Sister’s patients were not decent young
fellows like this, but drunken brawlers, who in a street
fight would get badly knocked about, and at any hour of
the night would make their way to the hospital and ring
the bell which stood over her bed-head. Then the Sister
would rise, saying to herself, “The Master calleth for thee,”
and flinging on her clothes, cap, and apron, would hasten
down to let in her visitors. Not pleasant ones perhaps,
but she would dress their wounds and sew up their cuts as
gently and carefully as possible. Then, when they were a
little more comfortable and sobered, she asked them “ why
they did not behave like respectable members of society in-
stead of fighting in the streets, and then getting her up at
unearthly hours of the night to mend their broken heads
and bones ?”

When in hospital she always endeavoured to make an
impression on these poor drunkards. One lad, brought in
with a badly broken limb, the result of a drunken fray,
faithfully promised her for the future never to touch drink
any more. On his first day out of hospital he forgot him-



20 “ Tried and True.”



self and came back very drunk, reeling up against the
Sister herself. She laid her head down on the table and
cried bitterly. But she was seldom so cruelly disappointed
as this. Many men openly said that they owed the begin-
ning of a better life to the time spent in hospital with
Sister Dora. She not only gave general care and advice
to all, but she went separately to each, praying for a man
by his own bedside, and assuring him that even when he
had left the hospital she should still go on caring for him.
Neither was it all prayer and serious talk; as I have told
you before, she was a woman of a sunny nature, whose
jokes and laughter rippled like a stream in the hospital
wards. “She'd make you laugh when you were dying!”
said a big Irishman, delighted with his cheery nurse.

No bad words or low conversation, however, were tolerated
by this happy-natured woman. One man badly hurt swore
terribly the whole time she was attending-to his wounds.
“Stop that!” she said, shortly and sharply. The man did
stop, but began again as the pain came on afresh. “What's
the good of that?” said Sister Dora; “that won’t make
it easier to bear.” “No, but I must say something when
it comes so bad on me, Sister.” “Very well then; say,
‘Poker and tongs!’” she answered, and ever after that if
the Sister, walking up and down her ward, heard low mutter-
ings coming from that bed, she would call out, “ Poker and
tongs, mind! nothing else.” Another day, in the out-
patients’ room, a pretty baby girl was brought to her with
a badly set arm which would not mend. When the Sister
began to undo the bandage the tiny thing broke out into
a torrent of curses. The man who had carried the child to
the hospital put his hand over her lips, saying, “Sister
must not hear such words,” and would have silenced her
more roughly if the Sister had not stopped him. Alas! it
ig much to be feared that the small creature had learned



“ Tried and True,” aI



the language from him, though he had the decency to be
ashamed of it before a good woman. When the child had
gone, Sister Dora turned to the other out-patients, rough
men and women too, and asked them with flashing eyes,
“Which was worse, that she should hear such language,
or that innocent baby lips should be taught to repeat it?”
Some of the patients slunk away, feeling guilty and crest-
fallen, and let us hope determined to keep a guard over
their lips for the future.

But Sister Dora was not one to condemn a sinner.
She generally found some gentler way of bringing him to
a sense of his misdeeds. A patient gave her much trouble
by trying to throw contempt on the religious observances
of the hospital, talking during prayers, and rustling a news-
paper to the disturbance of the rest. He was discontented
too, and a grumbler, who infected the others in the ward
with his complaints. As it happened, he took a bad turn
and became very ill, and Sister Dora, always ready for
the hardest work, sat by his bed’ night after night, turning
his pillows, supporting the poor racked body, and trying in
every way to relieve his suffering. He never thanked her,
but one night he suddenly said, “I hope they pay you well
for this.” “Yes,” she replied, “very well.” “Come now,”
he went on, “what do they give you; I really want to
know?” And then Sister Dora told him that she nursed the
sick for her Master’s sake, and that her payment was the com-
forting of the bodies of His poor, the saving of their souls for
Him. No earthly gold went into her pocket for this loving
service. The man said little then, but afterwards, instead
of being noisy at prayers, he actually went so far as to say
Amen to them, meaning to please Sister Dora. What was
better, he tried to give as little trouble as he could for the
rest of the time that he continued in the hospital.

It is not every one who has so much bodily strength at



a0 “ Tried and True.”

command as Sister Dora was gifted with. She possessed,
too, the largest share of good spirits and merriment ever
probably bestowed upon woman. One minute she laughed
so much while relating some anecdote concerning her
sick, that one might almost think she must be heartless,
yet the next she was choking with tears over the mention
of some deserted children found starving in a lonely house
with their dead mother. There was a poor servant girl
in the hospital who had lost her leg by the old foolish
trick of playing with a gun that she thought was unloaded.
She was very deaf, and when Sister Dora put her lips close
to her ear, the girl threw her arm round her neck, and
pulled her down to kiss her, in a way that made one feel
ashamed of ever thinking the Sister unfeeling. Sister Dora
had other patients than servant girls, however. At this
very time she was nursing a young man brought to her at
midnight, having cut his own throat after attempting his
sweetheart’s life in the same way. The doctors were all
with the poor girl, and when the young fellow was found,
and brought to the hospital, only the Sister was there; the
man was all but dead, so they laid him in the hall, and
thought there was an end of it, but Sister Dora did not
think so, She sewed up his wound, and presently he began
to breathe, so that by-and-by he could be moved into a
bed. Once there she took him in hand body and soul,
though a policeman watched him also day and night, and
when on his recovery he was sent to prison, she wrote him
several letters, begging him to behave well, and avoid bad
company, and promising when he should leave the prison
to lend him a helping hand.

But I must tell you how much the Sister loved little
children, and how well she managed them. She felt like a
mother to such as were brought to her hospital, not liking
to trust them to any one’s care but her own, constantly tak-



“ Tried and True.” 23

ing one, sometimes two children into her own bed, and once
sleeping with a burnt baby on each arm! You, who know
what it is to soothe and comfort one sick child, may guess how
clever the person must be who could attempt this. One
day a little girl nine years old was carried to the hospital
so terribly burnt that to look at her was to see that cure was
impossible. She was very quiet; there was no suffering now,
but the child was frightened at the strange weakness she
felt creeping over her. Perhaps she guessed it meant the
approach of death. It was a case for quieting and comfort-
ing, as Sister Dora at once saw, so she gave over her other
patients to her helpers, and sat by the bed of the dying child,
telling her about the loving Jesus and the happy heaven
. above, in which He waited for little children, till the poor
little thing left off trembling, and looking wistfully at the
flowers on the table in the ward, murmured, “ When you
come to heaven, Sister, I’ meet you at the gates with a
bunch of flowers.” And so she died. A boy of ten with

a diseased arm she kept happy and cheerful, by making him ~
of use in fetching the various articles she needed when go-
ing her rounds, such as cotton-wool bandages, old linen, and
so forth, One day his poor arm pained him so that he
remained in bed crying softly under the clothes. This
would do no good, his kind friend knew. So she bustled
about her work, collecting her own materials, but saying so
that he could hear it, “How I do miss Sam!” ‘The tears
ceased immediately, Sam dressed himself in all haste, and
came to help his dear mistress. ‘“ Now then, Sam, what do
you recommend for this patient ?” Sister Dora would ask,
half in fun. But Sam was always ready with a grave answer,
and sometimes a right one. “Iodine paint,” he would say,
or perhaps “ Zinc ointment.” He had seen these things
used very often, and had got to know all about them. Of
course Sister Dora nicknanied him “ Doctor:” she gave all



24 “ Tried and True.”



her patients names of some sort; if amused them, and made
a little fun in the sick-room.

“ Cockney” was a London boy with a leg hurt in a coal-
pit; “ King Charles” was a man whose face reminded the
Sister of the picture of Charles the First—he had that name
written on the egg brought up for his breakfast. Then there
were Darkey, and Pat, and Stumpy, who all knew their names
and answered to them. I really must put in here a letter
she wrote to her dear patients in the hospital when she
was away from them for many weeks, nay months, nursing
even worse sufferers than themselves, those stricken with
small-pox. . Here it is. Remember it is written to men,
women, and children, all sorts of people :—

“My DEAR CHILDREN,—What did you say to your
mother running away? I dared not tell you, and I could
not trust myself to come and bid you good-bye. You know
how I love you all and care for you, and it is for this
very love that I have left you. The small-pox was spread-
ing in the town, and might have spread to your wives and
families ; the patients would not come to this hospital until
they heard I would nurse them, and then they were all
willing tocome. There is not one who has come in that does
not know me. I have got a lad here who is always wanting
something just to keep me by his side. Tell my Irish
friend in the corner, that I have a country-woman of his,
and she is the plague of my life. Tells such accounts of
cases of small-pox as would make your hair stand on end—
how a cat can take it from one ward toanother. Tell John
Dawson that to-morrow afternoon Sister must give him some
paper, and he is to write me a letter, with a message from
each of my children, and with it to send word how his foot
is. Remember me to Isaac; he is not to leave ‘the Darkey’
too much. ‘ Everlasting’ is not to dance about. ‘ Delicate
Man’ is to tell me how he sleeps, and if he does not miss me



“ Tried and True.” 25

to arrange his leg and look after him. Tell my Irishman
I miss his blessing—the man by the door: I will soon come
and starch him (ae, his leg). Mr. Baker, I hope, is atten-
tive to his duties and has broken no more pink cups. I hope
‘Leg’ is getting on grandly, not sitting up toolong; ‘ Head’
is better; and ‘Thumb’ easier; ‘ Michael’ is as contented
as ever. What shall I say to my beloved Sam? I wish I
had my boy here. I send him twenty kisses, and hope he
has been at church to-day and in time. He must not sulk
all the time I am away. I have two blessed babies who
alternately keep up music all day and night accompanied
by my Irishman’s tongue, so I am not dull. Have you
been singing to-day? You must sing, particularly ‘Safe in
the arms of Jesus, and think of me. Living or dying, I am
His. Oh, my children, you all love me for the very little I
do for you; but oh, if you would only think what Jesus
has done, and is doing for you, your hearts would soon be
full of love for Him, and’ you would all choose Him for
your Master. Now whilst you are on your beds read and
study His life; see the road He went, and follow Him. I
know you all want to go to heaven, but wishing will not
get you there. You must choose now in this life; you can-
not choose hereafter when you die. That great multitude
St. John saw round the throne had washed their robes and
made them white in the blood of the Lamb, which was shed
for each one of you. God loves you; I know it by His
letting you get hurt, and bringing you to the hospital. ‘As
many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.’ Think over these
things, my dear children; your mother is thinking of you
and praying for you. And if it please God you should
never see her again, will you make up your minds to walk
in the narrow way, so that we may all meet in the green
fields above? May God bring you all safe there, is the
earnest prayer of your faithful friend, Sister Dora.”



26 “ Tried and True.”

I have given you the whole of this letter, because I think
it best explains to you, not alone Sister Dora’s work, but
her character. She tells you in it why for the moment she
had changed the place of her labours; but she does not make
you fully realise the sort of hospital she has now under-
taken. On the outskirts of the town of Walsall it stood,
its only scenery huge cinder-heaps, its only neighbours the
poorest and most wretched you could find, At the first
sight of the spot even brave Sister Dora shuddered and said
to the surgeon who conducted her there, “ Take me back, I
cannot bear this dreadful place.” But he knew better, and
answered, “Come in.” And she came, never going out
again till she had learned to call it “ That dear Small-Pox
Hospital!” She was a woman, you see, who always did
her work so well, that in time she musé come to love it.

The twenty-eight beds were soon filled with sick people
in every stage of that dreadful disease; her helpers here
were two workhouse old women to do the washing, and the
porter, an old man who, though kind and attentive when
sober, had a habit of too often going off “on the drink.” It
would not do, however, to be too particular, as it was not
every one who dare undertake work in a small-pox
hospital ; so Sister Dora put up cheerfully with every one’s
shortcomings, and did not complain in a hurry. Her bed-
room was a tiny chamber between the two great wards of
sick. Her patients, coming chiefly from among the lowest
class in the town, were dreadfully dirty, and could only
have their faces and hands washed because they were so
ill; but the Sister does not mind. She says, “I cannot
get a decent woman to come and help, though we pay well.
One man is so delirious, I cannot keep my eye off him or
else he is out of bed.” He did get away once, and Sister
Dora thought he had run home, but they found him in an
empty ward. Another woman was so wild with the fever



“ Tried and True.” 27

that it took the porter as well as Sister Dora to hold her
down. The Sister’s letters are so delightful to read, and
they tell you so much about her work, in plain, simple lan-
guage, that I should have liked you tohear them all. How-
ever, I must give you some more extracts from them. This
is to a friend of her own :—

“You would laugh to see me washing my babies. Poor
things, they are smothered in pox! I am obliged to put
them into a warm bath. They are getting quite fond of me..
We have all the washing to do beside the night-nursing.
Iam writing this while waiting for my potatoes to boil.
My bedroom and sitting-room is getting to look quite gay
with flowers. I find time to read to my patients. They
have scarcely ever heard of Jesus, and they are so ill they
cannot attend to much. I have no one to speak to, no time
to read for myself, and my letters are my only company at
meal-time.” To another friend she says:—“I have got a
servant the plague of my life. It is good to have some
cross, so I take her as such.” And later comes the news,
“The servant walked off this afternoon, and went drinking,
actually, in the middle of washing! It is now past seven,
and she left me at two, and a boy raving. I am sure he
will die, poor fellow.” Her porter, too, was often “at his
tricks,” as Sister Dora called it, and once left all alone with
a big, strong, delirious man, she had a hand-to-hand struggle
with him to force him back into bed, and hold him there
till the doctor came.

When the last day of April found her yet in the hospital
(she came there in February), she writes :—“I am stilla
prisoner, surounded by lepers. I do feel so thankful that
I came. ... I have had time and opportunity to spread
the ‘glad tidings’ to many an ignorant soul who has been
brought in here. I was quite touched the other night when
one little boy said, ‘Please tell me some more of Jesus,’



28 ; “ Tried and True.”



and his face lighted up as he -caught the idea of the
wonderful redemption, and said, ‘Did He really die for me ?’
I thank God daily for my life here. I feel He sent me,
and He has blessed it to my own soul; and I hope from
henceforth that I shall indeed serve Him better, and be more
zealous and earnest in winning souls for Christ. Oh, how
sorry we shall be (if there be sorrow in heaven) if we should
enter in at the gate, and enjoy ourselves to all eternity, to
think how little we did to help others on the narrow way.
When I think of it I feel as if I could be all day long on
my knees praying for poor sinners; and I am overwhelmed
with regret when I think of the hours I have wasted, the
souls that have come and gone out of the hospital, and
that I have not led to Christ. I thank Him for sparing my
life a little longer, that 1 may do better.”

Till the middle of August Sister Dora remained at her
post, and then the last patient departed, the small-pox
epidemic vanished out of the town, and she returned thank-
fully to her own work in the Cottage Hospital. Hard work
that was too; if not quite such trying or solitary work as
the Small-Pox Hospital involved, it was sometimes quite as
appalling. In the October of that very same year a fearful
accident happened near Walsall. An explosion took place
in some iron-works, and in a moment eleven men were
covered with the molten metal. In their terror and pain
they jumped into a canal that ran close by, from which they
were with difficulty rescued, and borne all, save one, to
Sister Dora's hospital, Such an incoming was surely never
seen there! All but very serious cases were turned into
the passages to make room for the poor burnt creatures,
who cried, “ Water! Water!” in their agony. Some were
already dying, others begging the Sister pitifully to dress
them first, they were so bad. She answered tenderly, “ Oh,
my poor men, I'll dress you all if you'll give me time.”



“ Tried and True.” 29



One poor fellow, seeing her perplexity, hushed his moans
to say, “Sister Dora, I want to be dressed very bad, but if
there’s any wants you worse, go and do them first.” And
then this unselfish sufferer was turned on his face; he was
burnt so badly he could only lie thus, and died in the night!
Another died in two days’ time, some lingered ten days ;
only two of the number recovered.

During all this sad time Sister Dora never left her patients,
never went to bed even; many people offered to help her |
and really meant to do so, but the foul air of the ward
drove them away faint and sick, if the horrors of the scene
did not do so, It is said that many of the poor fellows
were more like charred logs of wood than human beings.
One of the survivors tells of Sister Dora going from bed to
bed talking, laughing, even joking with the poor men, tell-
ing them stories to divert their pain, feeding them, comfort-
ing them, and always pointing out to them the way to
heaven. “ What we felt for her,” adds the man, “ I couldn’t
tell you, my tongue won’t say it.” Every time he pro-
nounced her name, he pulled his forelock, as though it were
of some saint or angel that he spoke. Sister Dora called
him “Burnty.” It was twelve months before he did another
stroke of work, and then she paid for a special pair of boots
for the shrivelled, distorted feet.

I do not think I have told you a story which will show
you how clever Sister. Dora was in small surgical cases.
One day a boy came to her, having just chopped off one of
his fingers. “Where's the finger?” inquired Sister Dora,
quietly. “It’s at home,” replied the lad. “You stupid
fellow! go and fetch it this moment, and mind you are
quick.” Off he hurried, returning with the missing tip,
when Sister Dora pieced it on, bound it up, and in process
of time it healed perfectly, and became good for use.
Amongst her hospital patients it was her sunshiny face



30 “ Tried and True.”



and ready wit that first gained her a hearing, and once
dear to her patients, it was easy to slip in the more serious
words. Never, however, did Sister Dora try to cram religion
down the throats of her poor sick, she would patiently wait
for what seemed to be the right moment for speaking of
holy things.

A patient who had never thought much of his soul or of
the world to come, woke one night to find Sister Dora
kneeling by his bedside, and praying softly, yet fervently
for his salvation. He was deeply touched; her great love
and his own apathy forced themselves upon his attention.
Many men who came into the hospital unbelievers or
scoffers,; went out convinced that Jesus was the Christ, and
it was the example of this one faithful servant of His that
had worked upon them. As we have seen before, Sister
Dora was a firm believer in the power of prayer; she
always read prayers aloud in the ward, even if most of the
patients had fallen asleep. “The prayers go up for them
all the same,” she would say. She fully believed that
what she prayed for would be granted, and if a poor fellow
were brought to the hospital insensible from an accident,
and unlikely to recover his senses, “ Well,” she would say,
“we must pray.” And by-and-by, when every one else was
in bed and sleeping, she would herself steal up to the
dying man, and make her petition by his bedside. Her old
servant who slept near her says she used to hear her pray-
ing aloud for hours at night. No wonder that in the day
her face shone with the light of these vigils, the light that
is neither of the sun nor of the moon, but comes straight
from the throne of God.

And now I must skip a great deal of the story of Sister
Dora’s working days to tell you of those when she too
came to lie sick unto death waiting for her summons. A
new hospital, a larger and better one, was to be built in



“ Tried and True.” 31
Walsall; and when the old one had to be left, the Sister
took so much pains in separating her possessions from those
of the hospital that several of the Committee were surprised’
and said, “ Why, sister, one would think you were neve’
coming back to work the new hospital.” “Perhaps I never
may,” she said shortly. She knew that, despite her seem-
ingly undiminished strength, she bore about with her the
seeds of a disease that must be fatal in the end, and
might be fatal soon. She never did resume work in
Walsall. She enjoyed a short pleasant summer holiday ;
she went to Paris to become learned in sundry surgical
matters, she came back to London to study under a celebrated
surgeon, and then her health suddenly failed, and she
learned that very shortly she was-to die. “Let me die
among my own people,’ was now her cry. So they took
her back to Walsall. She writes to a friend at this time :—
“T wonder what you will say when you hear the decree
has gone forth—Sister, put thy house in order, for thou
shalt die, and not live. Such has been the verdict of the
doctors, such is my own feeling this time... There
is only Mount Calvary to climb by the ladder of sick-
ness. . . . I have not had two hours’ sleep for four days
and nights, but in the midst of the fiery furnace there was
a form like unto the Son of God.”

Yes, the busy, hardworking Sister-nurse was now to lie
helpless on a bed of racking pain, her work in this world taken
utterly out of her folded hands. “No hope, only a question
of time,” that was the doctor’s verdict. And still sunshine
lingered on the bright face, still laughter echoed from the
sick-chamber. “I have so longed to go home,” are the
last written words that mark the state of mind of the
dying woman, “I am so happy. . . . God has taken away
the fear of death and all sorrow at parting with life.”
And though clouds now and again darkened her soul, she



32 “ Tried and True.”



ever clung like a drowning man to the Saviour she had
leaned on in life, and no billows were suffered to overwhelm
her. To the last her hospital, her patients, her friends
were dear to her, and she could take the deepest interest in
all. Ags she lay a-dying, a Royal life ebbed away in such
pitiful fashion that rich and poor alike grieved over the
tidings. Our Princess Alice !

Sister Dora raised herself in her bed to speak her sym-
pathy with the sorrowing Queen-mother, and then with a
gleam of her old interest in all cases of sickness to ask
particulars of the terrible disease that carried off the precious
life. Ten days later she said, “I am dying.” It was
early in the morning. While one attendant ran to summon
aid, the other spake words of comfort—* Our Lord is stand-
ing at the gates of Heaven to open them for you.” The reply
came confidently, “I srz HIM THERE; THE GATES ARE OPENED
WIDE.” She lingered a few hours, and then on that Christ-
mas Eve her spirit winged its way to the country whose
inhabitants no more say, “I am sick.”

Her last wish was gratified, “I hope I shall sing my
Christmas carol in Heaven.”

Her funeral was a public one. She had specially asked
that it should be very quiet and plain. How then came it
that her wishes were so neglected? It is easy to explain, and
perhaps Sister Dora herself would not have objected to the
change, for the great crowd who would follow that flower-
covered coffin to its last resting-place were those poor who
had loved the Sister in life, who mourned her in death.

The rich and great were there too; but the poor held
the chief place among that weeping multitude. They
had come to say “Good-bye” to the best friend they had
ever known.







GEFF RAYNER’S STORY.





GEFF RAYNER’S POSY.



CHAPTER L

“These are Thy wonders hourly wroughé,
Thou Lord of time and thought,
Lifting and lowering souls at will,
Crowding a world of good or ill
Into a moment’s vision ; e’en as light
Mounts o’er a cloudy ridge and all is bright ;
From west to east one thrilling ray
Turning a wintry world to May.”—The “ Christian Year.”
ET me show you a pleasant scene——A long room,
with a window at either end; half of it carpeted
with dark crimson, and furnished with a round
table on which stands an orange-tree; a sofa,
an old-fashioned writing-table in the window,
and arm-chairs of all sorts and kinds; the walls of the
room are hung with pictures, china, bookshelves, and
knick-knacks from many lands, making it look much like
what it is—the young ladies’ sitting-room. The half of
the floor which remains uncarpeted is coloured dark brown,
and that portion of the room is simply provided with
an ancient many-legged table, some quaint high-backed
chairs, a huge cupboard, and an old oak chest; just now,
however, it is furnished with something more—girls and
primroses. Girls and primroses everywhere—the latter

strew the floor, the chairs, the table, the piano, mixed up
(222) A





2 Geff Rayners Posy.



with bowls of water, cotton-wool, and little squares of
illuminated card. And larger and larger there grows out
of the medley a store of primrose bunches with their feet
wrapped round with wet cotton wool, and text-cards hung
round their necks all ready for the two workers who are
laying them carefully in a large hamper. ~Business goes
’ on steadily, for the hamper must be packed and ready to
send off by the five o’clock train if the flowers are to reach
their destination fresh and unwithered ; and as all are work-
ing in good earnest, there is not much time for talking.
The conversation is something of this kind—

“Where is:the cotton-reel ? ”

“Oh! I am sitting on it.”

“Do you want more cotton-wool, Annie ?”

“These bunches must be dipped, but do not leave them
too wet.”

“Will somebody put the texts on to this heap?”

“How are we getting on? Four o’clock:!—there! the
hamper is ready, now we can send it off and go down-to
tea!”

It is not- about any of these girls that I am going to
write. I have only given you a glimpse of them at their
work as a contrast to the next place to which I am going
to take you,—in

THE BLACK COUNTRY.

Black indeed it is, above, below, around. Over the sky
is drawn a murky veil of smoke through which the sun
shows, when it does show at all, round and yellow as
through a piece of smoked glass; the roads are black, the
grass and such poor plants as attempt a sickly existence in
. the blackened soil are dull and grimy; the new red brick
of the houses is dimmed, the very window-blinds look more
grey than white, and on the doorsteps are the blackened



Geff Rayner’s Posy. - 2B



footmarks of husbands and brothers who wring their daily
bread from dark depths far from the light of day. Yes,
truly, it is a black country.

The cleanest spot, perhaps, for miles round the little
town of Minely is the interior of the hospital which stands
on a desolate-looking bit of ground not far from where a
cluster of huge furnaces and chimneys pour forth volumes
of smoke by day and a wide-spreading glare of red light
by night. The outside of the hospital partakes of the
general dinginess, but inside things are very different. Spot-
less walls, well-scrubbed boards, clean sheets and bright _
coverlets, make the accident ward a more cheerful place
than might at first be thought possible. But here one is
reminded even more sadly than by the smoke outside that
one is in the “ Black Country,” for in many of those beds
lie strong men who have been struck down in an instant,
never, it may be, to rise again in health and strength, by
the falling of a block of coal, the bursting of a boiler, or
one of the thousand accidents which put the life of a miner
or iron-worker in continual jeopardy. Poor fellows! to
them the cheerful hospital-ward seems little better than a
dreary prison cell, and the hours are long and tedious as
they creep painfully by. How welcome is any little in-
cident that breaks the ‘monotony—anything or anybody
that gives them something to think about. There is a
something and a somebody coming now.

The glass door at the end of the ward is slowly pushed
open, and a figure enters in a neat dress and a white cap
half covering the smooth brown hair, Under the cap
is a beautiful face with grey eyes, lighted up just now
with a joyous smile; in her arms she carries a large basket
piled up with primrose bunches, a perfect foam of yellow
flowers. It is Sister Grace, the Sister who has the charge
of the hospital; she is known by no other name. She, has



4 Geff Rayner’s Posy.

given up family and friends, and all the comforts of a rich
home, that she may be a friend and helper to the sick and
suffering, and to all who need care and sympathy, and so
she is just called by everybody, “Sister Grace.” As she
comes in, heads are turned towards the door, and a look of
expectation lichts up many a face on which but a moment
before weary lines of pain had been traced ; and as she begins
distributing the sweet bunches, eager hands are stretched
out with, “Give us a posy, Sister,’ and a stir and murmur
arise as the-texts are spelt out. And so from bed to bed
Sister Grace makes her way slowly round the ward with
the wonderful, delicious scent gradually filling the room, till,
at the foot of one of the beds she pauses a moment, as if in
doubt, and looks at the figure of a man of about. five-and-
thirty lying there, still and motionless, a hard fixed look
on his face, even though his eyes are closed. If the Sister
had not been so occupied she might have seen how intently
those eyes had been watching her progress; but now they
are shut, and she stands, doubting whether to offer her flowers
here or no,—for Geff Rayner is the “hardest” case in the
ward, the hardest indeed that Sister Grace has ever had to
deal with. Rough and uncouth her patients might often
be, but they were almost always grateful for her care, and
she well understood all the odd little ways and signs by
which they endeavoured to show their appreciation of her
services; but from Geff Rayner came no such signs. He
did not complain or grumble; he never spoke of the pain he
suffered from a shoulder crushed in the mine, but, at the
same time, he never expressed any gratitude for services
rendered, and invariably refused all the gentle ministrations
by which Sister Grace tried to help the souls of her patients,
while she tended their bodies. Her efforts were always
met by short and decided negatives, and the chaplain’s offer
of prayer or reading had been opposed with such fierce



Geff Rayner’s Posy. 5



determination, that there seemed nothing for it but to wait
and see whether time and tender nursing would soften the
poor fellow’s antagonism; and earnestly did Sister Grace
pray for Geff, whose silent endurance of his sufferings and
rejection of the comfort she was longing to give, made her
grieve doubly over her stubborn charge.

It was not surprising, then, that she paused, wondering
whether her flowers sould meet with the same reception as
her other attempts at consolation; and she stood a moment
with her head bent over the nosegay she held in her hand,
considering. Lifting her eyes she suddenly encountered
Geff’s, and saw in them a look of actual suspense and longing.

“Will you have one?” she said.

A movement of his head answered in the affirmative, and
she placed in his one free hand the bunch she had been
holding. Geff caught sight of the little card hanging to
the flowers.

“What's this?” he said, “I don’t want no texts; you
may take it off.”

“No,” she answered quietly, “I don’t think I can do
that—those who sent the flowers sent the text ; it wouldn’t
be fair to cut it off,’ and she moved on, disregarding the
scowl of displeasure on Rayner’s face. For a moment or
two Geff tried in childish anger to detach the card, but it
was fastened securely, and he had only one available hand ;
he was weak too, and it seemed a good deal of trouble,
so he contented himself with crumpling it up in his hand
as he smelt the blossoms and laid their cool fresh heads
against his face. Then he lay quite still as before, resting
after hours of pain. His arm was easier, and there was
something wonderfully soothing in the perfume of the
flowers. It was so long—years and years—since he had had
a primrose in his: hand, and ah, what memories came back
with the scent !—vague at first, and confused, only bringing



6 Geff Rayners Posy.



a feeling of freshness and sweetness and a dim sense that
there had been a time far back in his existence when things
were different, when the air was pure, and there were
green fields, and hedgerows, and waving woods, and when
he himself—surely it could not be himself of whom he
was thinking, it could never be himself, hard and wearied,
black in body and soul! Yet he sees some one living
in those sweet old days that can have been no one else,
and ever more and more clearly the figure comes out till
he can watch it living and moving in that far-back life.
He sees a boy—a very small boy, arrayed in corduroy, his
first suit, which, having been so made as to allow for
growth, is, very baggy, and but for the honour of the
thing, much more cumbersome than the discarded petti-
coats. The trousers are far too large, and are inclined to
swallow up the remainder of his apparel, being tightly
buttoned almost on the top of his shoulders, allowing no
appearance of waist—still they are trousers and not petti-
coats, and that makes all the difference ; the boots too, being
made on the same foreseeing principle, are a world too wide,
but then are they not made as nearly as possible on the
model of “father’s” boots, with real nails and laces? The
boy is happy and flops contentedly along through the long
grass as, with eyes round and fixed, he skirts the hedgerow
in search of spoil or prey.

A nest! a chaffinch’s nest trim and neat, no disappoint-
ing wreck of last year, but bran new and with egos, no-
doubt, in its soft woolly cup. The ground is marshy under
the hedge, and the big boots sink deep into the clay, and are
dragged out with a clammy squeaking sound,—one iron-
shod toe is stuck firmly into the bank, and the small body
is hurled recklessly up against the hedge with hands clutch-
ing wildly at the twigs. For a second anything may
happen—success or failure are equal chances—then the



Geff Rayner's Posy. 7



toe on which all depends begins to plough its way, slowly
at first but quickening as it goes, through the loose soil of
the bank, quicker and quicker, the arms plunge helplessly
forward, and behold, there is only a yard of corduroy lying
prone in the quagmire with its scratched face buried in a
root of primroses.

Something very like a laugh coming from Geff Rayner! 8
bed astonished his Seeing on ene side.

The boy picks himself up at last, and even in that
moment of desolation has presence of mind to make a grab
~at the primroses. “He’s a terrible one for flowers, is our
Geff!” his mother used to say, and he finds time to take
sobbing sniffs at the blossoms and to press them against his
hot smarting cheeks as he stumps home howling dismally,
to receive a cuff and a kiss—a cuff for the muddied clothes,
and a kiss for his own scratched face.

And that boy was himself—Geff Rayner! Another
recollection is brought by the primrose scent.

An old church, dark and dim and cool within, and a boy’s
start of surprised delight at finding it all decked out in
spring flowers-—reading-desk, font, and pulpit, all transformed
by the bunches of white and purple violets, red buttons and
golden daffodils fastened on them; the very benches are
adorned with posies of faint yellow primroses. There is a
moment’s suspense as to whether “our bench” will have a
bunch on it. Yes, it has; and what is more, the boy, kneeling
at his mother’s side at the outermost end of the seat, finds
it possible, by quietly protruding his head round the corner,
to smell the flowers at intervals during the service. Easter
Day it is—he knows that because of his own’ wisp of
new tie and his mother’s bonnet strings—the words have
conveyed little to his mind as yet, but to-day there is
brought to Geff’s boy-soul an unusually joyous sensation,
and the Easter anthem, “Christ our Passover is sacrificed



8 Geff Rayner’s Posy.



for us,” gets somehow mixed up with the primroses and the
scent of violets, and he feels a thrill of happiness quite in-
comprehensible to himself. Very far away did that Sunday
seem to Geff Rayner lying in his hospital bed—further off
even than the birdnesting day. Surely the old flower-
scented church and the organ swelling the chant “ Christ
our Passover is sacrificed for us,” can be only a dream, and
the boy, who under their influence felt himself “a good
boy,” must have died long since.

Another scene.

A young man—the handsomest young fellow in the
village, people’ call him—leaning against the side of a
cottage gate, with his dark eyes fixed on the downcast face
of a girl; a fair, pretty face all aglow just now with
blushes.

“Yowll never say me nay, Nancy.”

There is no answer, and Geff bends down and grasps both
her hands in his.

“Tell me, Nancy. Don’t keep a fellow like this—you
love me, don’t you, little Nan?”

The biushing face is slightly raised and a whisper
comes —

“Tm half afeared, Geff.” :

“ Afeared! never say it, Nancy—what should fear you?”

““Geff, yowll be good to me, won’t you?” and the half-
frightened blue eyes were raised to the young man’s eager
face.

“Good to you? aye, that I will, dear lass, as long as I
live. Why, I love you, Nancy, more than a fellow can say
as hasn’t many words with him. Come, say the word, tell
me as you'll take me, or just give me the posy you've got
there, and J’ll know that you love me and will be my wife.”

With trembling hands Nancy took the bunch of primroses
out of her apron string, and put it into Geff’s strong brown



Geff Rayners Posy. 9

hand; then she turned and fled up the garden path between
the gooseberry bushes, and into the house.

Who so proud and happy then as Geff Rayner! He
watched the figure of his little love till it disappeared, and
then he strode away exulting. Did ever primroses smell so
sweet as those he stuck in his button-hole? Did ever sun
shine so brightly, or blackbirds sing so gaily, as on that May
morning when he won his little Nan? Geff’s heart beat
high with happiness and pride, for many and many a fellow
had been after Nancy, and now he had beaten them all. Little
did he guess how much this had to-do with his happiness,
how much thought of self there was in the heart he fancied
he had wholly given to Nancy. Very different scenes came
crowding now into his mind; but it was not the scent of
the primroses that brought them, they have nothing to do
with sweet country life.

He can see Nancy worn down into a pinched, sickly-
looking woman, and her voice grown querulous and fretful
as she upbraids him with having taken her from her country
home, tempted by miner’s wages. And what is she the
better for the high wages? the ugly little house already
lacks some of the comforts they brought with them——where
does the money go ?

Things get worse and worse, times are bad, wages go
down, and poor Nancy gets less and less for herself and her
delicate boy. There are loud, angry words, too. Nancy has
come to talk like the women about her, and uses lancuage
which Geff would little have thought once to hear from his
sweet little Nan ; now, however, he scarcely notices it; and he
gives her back rude, violent words when he comes home
from the public-house. Words! ah! if it had been no
more than that! but Geff can remember times when,
half mad with fury, he had—the recollection makes him

shrink, and the words spoken on that May morning come
(222) A2



10 Geff Rayner's Posy.



back, “ Good to you ?—Aye, that I will, dear lass, as long as
I live!” A nurse passing by Rayner’s bed notices the
expression of his face, and stops to ask if his arm is worse.
She gets a rough “No,” and goes on, thinking, “ What a
strange man that Rayner is, I don’t believe he has a spark
of feeling in him.” You see people are sometimes mis-
taken.

And now Geff sees himself sitting idly smoking—
tobacco has not failed, whatever wife and child have had to
go without—beside the empty grate. A faint voice comes
from the bed in the corner—

“ Geff, I reckon I’m dying; could you get a parson to me,
think you?”

“A parson ?—I’'ll have no parson here! youll do well
enough without parsons.” Geff said to himself that he
wouldn’t have any one coming and preaching and frighten-
ing the poor girl now ;—it would have been more true if
he had said he didn’t want any one to come and frighten
him about his wife.

The faint voice spoke again—

“T’ve been bad, Geff—I partly think it was you that
made me bad—but now as I’m going I'd like to make it up.
i-forgive you, lad; won’t you kiss me once as you used to
do?”

Geff rose and kissed the poor pale face, then returned to
his seat, turning his back to the bed on which the boy sat
huddled up, ready to give his mother the mug of water for
which she kept asking. Selfish and cowardly, as men
without religion are apt to become in times of trouble, Geff
could not bear to see her die.

Only once more Nan spoke.

“ Be good to the boy, Geff.”

And had he been good to the boy? Was it his fault
that the child took the fever? What was it the doctor



Geff Rayner’s Posy. II



had said about care and better food? Well! he had left
the boy what food he had for him before he went out
in the morning—what more did they want? He couldn’t
stop in the house to be haunted by the thought of Nan
lying on the bed in the corner there. The lad was better
off now, people said—and it might be so, he couldn’t have
been much worse off at any rate than in those past days. _
- So Geff’s thoughts ran on. The flood of recollection bad
set in, and nothing would stem it—memories which for a
year past he had striven, by every means in his power, by
work and drink and merry-making, by the excitement of
‘dog-fighting and betting, to crush and stifle, now surged up
in his mind with resistless force. All through the day the
scenes of long ago haunted him by their contrast with those
of later years ; he could not get rid of them, and at night, in
the intervals of fitful sleep, they were there again, only
jumbled up in bewildering confusion.

Sometimes he fancied that the boy tramping through the
grass after birds’ nests was his own little Jem, who, poor
Jad, had never been birdnesting in the whole course of his
life; then it was Nan in the next bed ill and dying; then
-again she was standing beside him im all the beauty and
‘sweetness of their courting days, and through all the words
‘kept repeating themselves, “Aye, that I will, as long as I
live.”

Geff was fully awake when the day began to shine
‘through the high windows; the fancies of the night were
past, but in their place remained a sense of intolerable
~wretchedness pressing him down like a dead weight in his
~weakness. Remorse for the past, and utter hopelessness
for the future, had taken possession of him, and he could
have groaned aloud in his misery.: Was there no relief ?
‘no getting rid of this terrible burden? Turning his head
wearily on the pillow, he caught sight of the bunch of



12 Geff Rayner's Posy.



primroses lying faded on the coverlet; he took them up
feebly to see if any scent yet remained in them, and the
crumpled card was still hanging to their limp stalks. It
would be a change even to read the words on that slip of
card, so he flattened it out on the sheet, and then held it so
as to catch the dim morning light falling from the window
above his head. This was what he read:

“Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as
snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”

CHAPTER ILI.

SisreR GRACE, going her morning rounds, dressed Geff
Rayner’s shoulder, smoothed his bed, and made him as com-
fortable as she could. When all her arrangements were
completed, she noticed that he was looking at the fresh
bunch of primroses she wore in her dress. “Ah!” she said,
“T have no right to these. There was one bunch over, so I
took it for my wages and kept it alive in water, but you
shall have them now. Yours are quite dead, poor things.”

And she took up the withered flowers, pausing an
instant to read the words on the card—then she looked
gravely at Geff.

“Do you believe that?” he said sharply.

“Yes, I do,” she answered.

“T don’t, then!”

“Why not, I wonder.”

“ Because it ain’t likely. Js it likely now that a fellow’ll
be forgiven when he’s gone to the bad like I have?”

Sister Grace’s heart gave a bound—could it be that the
ice was broken? She knew she must be gentle for fear of
rousing Geff’s spirit of opposition, and after one quick
thought of prayer she answered :



Geff Rayner’s Posy. 13



“Tt does seem very unlikely certainly, but as God has
said it, it must be so.”

Geff was silent a moment, then he burst out violently:

“T tell you it ain’t possible. I said Td have none of
your texts, and I was a fool to read it. What call is there
to forgive me? I never wanted to be forgiven, and I don’t
know what’s set me on thinking of it now. It’s all them
flowers.” .

He was getting excited, and the Sister felt she must
exert her authority to quiet him.

“Rayner,” she said, speaking very firmly, “you know
that is not the way to speak to me—I never allow it. Be
quiet now, and listen. You say you cannot be forgiven—
that it’s impossible—and so it would be if we had to get
forgiveness by ourselves ; but see here what is on my card,—
‘The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all’”

“Not mine,” said Geff. “You don’t know,—a lady like
you ain’t likely to know what I am.”

“No,” Sister Grace said, “I don’t know, but I suppose
God knew what sins men would fall into, and yet He had
those words written for them.”

“T can’t even believe it means mine,” persisted Geff, but
he spoke less violently. z

“Well!” the Sister said gently; “I wouldn’t cut the
card off the flowers to please you, and I can’t take those
words out of the- Bible either. It says ‘the iniquity of
us all, and so it must remain. You had better believe
God, Rayner. Now I must go on; lie still and think it
over, and God grant you faith, my poor fellow.”

And for a long time Geff did think, or rather he fought,
for the whole perversity of his nature seemed roused to
reject the hope for which in the depth of his soul he was
craving ; and, strange to say, the good that was yet left in

O°?

him took part against his peace. It was mean—so he





14 Geff Rayner’s Posy.



thought—for a fellow like him, knowing what he was, to
get comfort out of a few good words which had come in his
way, as it were by chance, without effort or wish of his;
and Geff was not what his companions would have called a
mean man. It appeared to him that to accept the hope of
pardon then, just because he was brought down by weak-
ness, was like trying to shirk the punishment he knew he
deserved. So he tried hard to put the thought of recon-
ciliation away, and to go back to his old sullen state; but
it would not: do—he could not get the words out of his
head, and he battled on till, when, some hours later, Sister
Grace came to his bedside, he broke out vehemently :

“J tell you it’s no use; you don’t think a chap like me is
to get pardon in a minute just for the asking.”

“ By believing and repenting,” said the Sister.

“ By believing either then—TI don’t see as it’s likely.”

“How else then?” And as Geff did not answer, she
went on—* Look here, Rayner, don’t you see that, wait as
long as you will, if you are to be saved at all it must be
that way at last ? Suppose that for the rest of your life
you were to live better than any man ever did yet, what
would you do about the past? The stain of your sins
would still be on your soul; how would you get rid of it ?
First or last, you can only be saved by the Precious Blood
of our dear Lord; and if He offers you pardon through It
now, why wait? why not believe in Him now ?”

“ But do you mean to say as it takes no more than that
to get a fellow straight—just believing ?”

“ No, I don’t mean that,” she answered gravely. “It takes
a great deal more than that. What it has taken to save
you was the Life and Death and Agony of the Son of God;
what it will take to show your faith and thankfulness will
be all you can do or bear for Him as long as God spares
you here. Listen, while I read you what your salvation



Geff Rayner’s Posy. 15



has cost;” and sitting down by the side of the bed, Sister
Grace drew out her small pocket Bible and read aloud the
23d chapter of St. Luke. As she closed the Book she
repeated softly “ The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity
of us all;” and then she left Geff to himself.

I cannot describe to you the thoughts that passed through
Geff Rayner’s mind during the next few days. They were
such as he could not himself have put into words, nor did
Sister Grace question him or try to make him speak of his
feelings. She believed that the best work often goes on in
silence, and so she simply read a portion of Holy Scripture
to him night and morning, and was allowed, without
opposition, to kneel beside his pillow and whisper the
prayers she thought would best speak the needs of the
struggling soul. Whatever were Geffs meditations, they
produced a change in his outward manner. Troubled and
very sad he was at times, but the sullenness was almost
gone; his brow was seldom contracted into its accustomed
scowl; and at last a peaceful look came on his face, and
Sister Grace could see tears shining on his eyelashes as
she finished her reading.

One morning, however, after a restless night, all the
newly-found peace seemed gone, and to her gréat disappoint-
ment an anxious, harassed look met Sister Grace’s morning
greeting.

“Have you had a bad night, Rayner?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, turning his head wearily. “I say,
it’s no use, Sister; you tell me as I can be forgiven, but you
don’t know the half of it yet.”

“ Why, Rayner,” she said smiling, “you talk as if it were
I that had to forgive you—God knows the whole of it.”

“Yes, and He can’t- forgive it—there’s one thing that
can’t be got over.” He spoke very low and in a voice of
utter despondency.



16 Geff Rayner’s Posy.



“Will you tell me what it is?”

“Tt’s Nan!” he said almost in a whisper.

“Nan ?”

“My wife,—she’d a’ been a good girl but for me. She
were a good lass when I married her, but I’ve been the
ruin of her, and that can’t be undone.”

“Tell me about her, Rayner.”
And Geff told all the story to the end—even to the sad
deathbed scene. He made no comment as he went on, and
uttered no word of self-reproach, only when he had finished

he said in a low tone of despair,—

“She’s gone, and it’s my doing, and there’s an end of it.”

Sister Grace sat pondering, with her kind sorrowful eyes
fixed on the despairing face. At last she spoke—

“Tt is difficult to know what to say to you, Rayner; you
don’t want me to give you false comfort, I’m sure; and it
is no use telling you not to think of it, for you must and
ought to think of it. You must tell this to the chaplain.”

For an instant the old look of aversion crossed his face,
but it passed, and he only said—

“Yd a deal sooner hear whatever there is to hear from
you, Sister.”

“But I am not able to answer you rightly about this—
the chaplain is the proper person to help us. You must let
me tell him the story, Rayner, and ask him what he thinks ;
only one thing I think I may say; your wife forgave and
kissed you, and such forgiveness was no light matter.”

Taking his silence for consent, Sister Grace laid the case
before the chaplain, asking anxiously how much comfort she
might truthfully give the poor fellow in the trouble she felt
it so difficult to deal with.

“J wish he would see you,” she said at the end of their
conversation; “I am not the right person to guide and
advise a man like this.”



Geff Rayner’s Posy. . ca



“Don’t distress yourself about that,” answered the chap-
lain with a kind smile. “ Was it not a woman who found
the lost piece of silver? And remember that a man will
often say things to a woman that he would not to another
man.”

At her next leisure moment Sister Grace repaired to Geff
with her answer, and his face showed how anxiously he had
been awaiting it.

“The chaplain tells me to say this, Rayner,” she said,
shrinking a little at the stern opening of her message,
“your sins against your wife must and ought to be a cause
of deepest sorrow to you, and will be a source of lifelong
repentance, but he bids you remember that she had the
wish for reconciliation with her Heavenly Father, and also
that she forgave you; we may not ‘therefore think that her
God had forsaken her. Such forgiveness could only be the
work of His Holy Spirit, and you must keep in mind that
He who knew all the secrets of her heart longed more
tenderly for her salvation than even you can long now to
know her safe.”

Geff heaved a deep sigh that was very like a sob, and
muttered—

“Thank you.”

“The chaplain told me to say,” Sister Grace went on,
after a moment’s silence, “that he does not intend to intrude
on you against your wishes, but that if at any time you
would like to see him you have only to send for him.”

The courtesy of the message seemed to strike Geff, and
after a pause he answered with another “Thank you—T ll
send for him when I want him.”

The tone was far more respectful than the words, and
Sister Grace was satisfied.

Before many days had passed the chaplain, for whom
poor Geff in his ignorance had entertained such an aver



18 Geff Rayner's Posy.



sion, was sitting by his bedside, and he was telling him
things he had never thought to speak of to any one.

A very different Geff Rayner it was who at length left
the hospital, from the one who had been brought in, silent
and sullen, and with no higher thought than that of keeping
his pain to himself, so that no one might come “ humbug-
ging” about him.

ff Goody Rayner,” Sister Grace said with a cheery
smile; “remember the work is not done—you'll have a
fight for it yet.”

And Geff smiled ick at her as he answered shyly— _

“Please God, I'll not shirk, Sister.”

It was hard work at first—very hard work; with return-
ing health came the old longings for excitement, and the
sad memories that greeted him in his lonely home. made the
companionship of his former friends seem doubly desirable,
and then to a man of his proud temperament their ridicule
was hard to bear. It was a trial to be called “t’ Parson’s
lamb,” and to be asked “how much he got a Sunday for
going to church?” There were times when it all seemed
too strong for him, and “his footsteps had well-nigh slipped ;”
but Geff clung on to his new habits, and by prayer and
dogged determination the victory was won, and the old
temptations gradually lost their power. Then the chaplain,
whose work at the hospital was over and above that in his
parish, began to make Geff useful, and some of the evenings
that had seemed so long and dull came to be spent in what
he called “ going errands” for the Parson—for in his humil-
ity it never occurred to him that he could be thought
worthy to teach and help others. As the errands, however,
were oftener than not to the sick and dying, it came about
quite naturally that the thought of the love of Christ, ever
uppermost in Geff’s mind, began to take shape in simple
words of counsel and comfort for such as needed them.



Geff Rayner’s Posy. 19



He never, as a rule, spoke of himself or of his conversion ;
he was not one of those who seem almost to boast of their
former wickedness, perhaps intending thereby to glorify the
mercy of God, though too often it sounds sadly like glori-
fication of self. Once, however, when a poor fellow was
despairing of pardon, as he himself had once despaired, Geff
broke through his reserve. :

“ Eh, lad, never say it,’ he said; “why, He forgave me!
you'd never think what I was; I reckon I don’t rightly
know myself—but He knew and He forgave me.”

In the depth of his penitence Geff truly believed that

if he could be pardoned, none might despair.
- Children were his special care. He seemed to think
that by loving service to them he could in some way atone
to his own little Jem for his neglect of him, and often
during the dinner-hour some pale, wizened child might be
seen perched on Jem’s three-legged stool, sharing Gefi’s
mid-day meal. Then in the autumn Sister Grace had some
primrose: roots sent from her own home for Geff to plant on
the grave of his wife and boy, so that, as each spring came
round, he had a posy or two for his child-friends; and the
bunch of primroses and the hearty handshake which awaited
her after the early Communion, came to be one of the plea-
sures to which Sister Grace looked forward on Easter Day.

For Geff did not stop short in his Christian course,
content to take all the peace and comfort he could get from
his Saviour’s love without ever obeying His dying command ;
and after a time he was rarely to be missed from the band
of the faithful gathered at the Holy Feast.

It is a very happy life that Geff Rayner lives now, and
it cannot be called a lonely one, for he has friends in every
part of the town, and he can scarcely walk down any street
without a shrill little voice coming from some open door,
“Geff! our Geff!” while a pair of clumping feet bring their



20 Geff Rayner's Posy.



owner, bread-and-butter in hand, to receive the nod and
smile he is sure to get, even if Geff has not time to stop
and swing him up on to his broad shoulder for a ride to
the end of the street. Then, too, in many a humble home
the first thonght in sudden trouble (and sudden troubles
are common enough in a mining district) is, “ Geff Rayner
—we mun send for Geff!” Thus—
“ Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes ”—

most truly “bringing forth fruits meet for repentance.”



A MILL AND A MILLER.



VERWORKED? Of course he has overworked him-
self; they all do. They can all work fast enough,
but they have to learn how. Good evening,
doctor—your advice shall be attended to.”

I confess that, as a deacon of three months’ stand-

ing, I was a little hurt at hearing the hard work which I

certainly had found tolerably severe, spoken of as the result of

youthful inexperience, and I suppose the Rector read some-
thing of the kind in my face, for as he came back, after seeing
the doctor out, he said, with a little twinkle in his eyes—

“QOh—our feelings are hurt, are they? Never mind,
Redford, give me the horse that wants the curb sooner than
the one that wants the spur—he will be the better
animal in the end.” Then laying his hand on my shoulder
he added: “ After all, it’s not for me to lecture you, for I
couldn’t have had my holiday in peace if I hadn’t known
that you young ones were doing all my work as well as
your own.”

(The dear old Rector !—I fancy there was not one of us,
“boys” as he always persisted in calling us, who would not
have laid down our lives for him, if necessary, any day.)

“At any rate,” the Rector went on, “the doctor says rest,
and rest you must have; so you had better pack up your
traps and be off to-morrow.”





22 A Mill and a Miller.



“To-morrow! but, Rector,” I began, “ there’s the Mission-
room Service and”

“ And the mission school, and the clubs, and the library,
besides Tom, Dick, and Harry, who cannot possibly get on
without you. My dear boy, I know, but the case would be
precisely the same this day twelve months—so to the
country you go to-morrow.”

I had to obey of course; and the next day I was whirled
into a land of hill and valley, heather and stream,—and that
was how I came to be standing in the particular spot which
rises before my mind’s eye as I write, and which will never,
I think, fade from my memory. How can I describe its
loveliness ? or, if I could, how should I ever be able to con-
vey the spirit of it all? Impossible! I can only try and
tell of the help that came to me there in my. weariness and
despondency.

I was standing on a steep bank overlooking the turbulent
brook, and about me was the sound of many waters, for
upstream the topaz-brown water with crests of foam came
tumbling down a rocky incline, to be split up and turned
aside by sharp boulder-stones ; part of the stream too had
been directed on to the great mill-wheel now standing
motionless, so that the unused power of water rushed down
from the wide wooden spout and added its share to the froth
and fume. Down-stream the flow was calmer, and the dark
water had only islets of many-coloured rocks to contend
with, as it slipped away down the cool narrow gorge, so
narrow that the walls of moss-covered rock on either hand
almost met, and only a mist of lighter green glimpsed at
between them, and a clearer light coming through interlacing
branches showed that the stream widened out once more
before joining the river in the “great leap,” which was one
of the lions of the valley. There was no sunshine ; indeed,
though scarcely felt where I stood leaning against the stem





A Mill anda Miller. 23
of an ash tree, a light rain was falling, decking grass and
fern with tiny sparkles, burnishing the leaves of overhanging
trees, bringing out the thousand soft shades and tints in the
wet rocks, and giving to the moss that peculiar intensity of
green which seems almost to deepen into a “ glow” as one
gazes at it.

I was just in that state when outward things photograph
themselves indelibly on the brain, without any conscious-
ness of one’s own, for my mind was all the time busy with
far different matters. Too weary to turn into other lines of
thought, it kept beating along the old ones—-going over again
and again the ideas and scenes that had occupied me during
the last few weeks, although I instinctively felt it a
desecration to bring them there into the cool tenderness
and purity of the place, where a man might indeed go and
wash, body and soul, and be clean. The contrast forced
itself on me more and more strongly, and with it awoke a
struggle, born, I trust and believe, of over-tasked bodily
strength, and not of any real “looking-back” or regretting
of the great choice I had made a few months before. There
swept over me a dreary sense of the ugliness, the common-
ness of my work viewed from without, and just then I
could not rise to its inward meaning; it was so unutterably
ugly and repulsive: dirt and squalor, sin, hypocrisy, and de-
ceit—these had for long been my daily surrounding, and
it seemed just then as if all the beauty to which I had
always been so keenly susceptible were for ever shut out of
my existence. I know in all honesty that I had no other
intention in taking a London curacy than of working hard
and conscientiously, buf in my ignorance I had cherished a
secret hope that in the great city I should be within reach
of some of the art and culture for which I had longed in
my little country-town home. I had had visions of stealing
away in moments of leisure for a blissful hour in gallery or



24 A Mill and a Milter.

museum; but somehow my leisure moments were few and
far between, and I found that “stealing away” from the
clergy-house at St. Ann’s, 8.E,, to Bond Street, was a longer
business than I had thought; and if it took the form of
omnibuses, it became expensive. “No,” I thought rather
bitterly, “beauty either of nature or art is not for me—I
have made my choice, and must abide by it, and leave
other things to those who can enjoy them.” But what a
discord it all seemed! to think of a place like this existing
not only in the same world as, but only a few hours’
journey from, a certain court which I could recall with all
its hideous characteristics.

The rain was becoming heavier, and dutifully recollecting
that I had been sent to acquire health and not bronchitis,
I turned sadly away to seek shelter in the mill. Such a
curious, old-world little mill! I had to cross a bridge of
planks to enter the door high up in the long shed-like
building, and found myself in a whitey-grey “interior,” with
roof, floor, and all the quaint wooden fittings toned down
into soft shades of grey, not by the dust, but by the flour of
ages; and on a higher level, reached by some rickety steps,
sat the soul of the body—the miller of the mill—chipping
away at a great stone dish, the upper millstone, while near
him lay the nether millstone of proverbial hardness. Having
asked and obtained leave to rest awhile on a friendly plank,
I watched the old man as he sat by the small window in
the’ gable, the light showing his finely-cut face in relief
against the dusky shadows of roof and rafter, and just
touching the white hair scarcely distinguishable from the
erey tones about it. He was deepening the grooves in the
millstone, he told me, for the new wheat would be heavy,
and would require a stronger draught of air to prevent its
clogging. I was in a mood to take up grievances, so I took
up that of the new corn. A sad ending it seemed to the



A Mill and & Miller. 25



erowth of months and the waving glory of the fields, to be
brought here and ground into indistinguishable powder ;
the ultimate result of bread was too comfortable an idea for
my then state of mind, and I went on drearily musing and
moralising as I watched the miller. Then I wondered
whether he, living in this wild lonely spot, and working on
in his daily round, ever troubled his head about the questions
which underlie everything and rise up to harass us just
when we seem least able to solve them. “His was a quiet,
thoughtful face, and I thought I would try him.

“It seems a curious thing that the corn should grow and
flourish only to come to your grindstone at last,” I said.

The old man paused a moment in his work, then went
on again, curtly remarking:

“T reckon it’s what it’s for.”

Another silence—then the miller once more laid down
his tools and turned his keen grey eyes on me. “I’m
just a bit of a preacher on the Lord’s Day,” he said, “and
to look at you, I should say you were the same.”

A preacher! How I should have resented the term two
months ago, and with what an elaborate definition of my
office I should have tried to enlighten this old man! But
just now I was too jaded to enter on a discussion—indeed,
I felt as though it would be very restful to sit there and
be preached to by the old man, so I meekly replied, “ Yes ;”
and the miller continued: “ Well, as I sit working here or
go about the mill, I think over things as I shall have to
tell our folk on the Sabbath, and when I see the grain
bruised and broken up till it comes out fine white flour, I
just think how as the Lord seems to bruise most things as
He intends to use for us—there’s the wood has to be
chopped up and broken afore it can be made firewood of,
and the coal has to be broken, and the iron melted in the
furnace, and a sight of other things, And then I look at



26 A Milland a Miller.



it this way—the Lord Himself was bruised afore He could
save us.”

I might well sit still and be taught; the miller knew
more of these things than [—he had found the clue which
I had lost.

I went back, pondering deeply, to my ash-tree for another
look down the cool green gorge; and, perhaps, because the
old man’s words had raised my thoughts from myself to
God, its beauty spoke to me now, and I could hear. The
words came -to me, “ Without Him was not anything made
that was made,” and then the thought of what the mind
must be .that could devise such a scene as this; for was I
not looking on a “ thought of God,” a thought of Christ made
visible? Of Christ—of Him who was bruised that He
might become our Life, our Bread in a far more real and
literal sense than the old preacher probably knew. Then
what must human life have been to Him, the deviser of all
beauty !—the commonness of the carpenter’s shop, and the
houseless, homeless wanderings; what must the touch of
the beggar and the leper have been to Him, who had
imagined the exquisite tenderness and purity of the tints
and forms there before my eyes; and more than all, what
must those details of the Passion, of which we read with
such reverence as almost to lose sight of their real nature
—the brutality, the ugliness, the degradation—what must
these have been to Him! And I had dared to think the
discord too great between the loveliness here and my own
surroundings! I had thought it hard that my little feeble
“feeling for beauty” should be crossed and thwarted, and
in my heart I had rebelled against the small share of
“bruising” which might one day make me fit to be used
by my Master for the good of His Church and His people.
I began to see how I had been getting to make myself the
centre of my work, and to look at it as it affected me. What





A Mill anda Miller. 27

wonder then, that it had grown repulsive! Apart from my
Lord, how could it be otherwise? But where He is the
Origin and Creator of all beauty of art or nature, surely
nothing can be wholly ugly, wholly commonplace. “THe is
the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever;” the Christ Who
tells us that He is present to us in the poorest and weakest
of His brethren, is the same without Whom were none of
these things made that were made, the same Christ Who so
used and conquered the humiliating elements in His own
death and passion, as to make them for all ages the object
of the reverent love and admiration of His people.

Here is the harmony into which melt all the discords of
life—all but sin itself.

One look back before turning out of the quiet little dale.
The stream was hidden from sight, but the air was filled
with its music, the long line of the low mill-roof was
drawn against the background of trees, and high above stood
a heathery peak, its purple dimmed by the mist-wreaths
passing across it.

“Without Him was not anything made that was made.”



WHITLAR BOYS.

—++—_

LITTLE world in itself !—That was the general
remark of the visitors who now and then wan-
dered curiously through the great Naval School
at Whitlar. A school it was, in name and
reality; and yet it was a ship, a huge un-

wieldy creature, that rose and fell with the changeful

waves of the great river at whose mouth it was moored.
And here I must pause for one moment,-to say that if

my readers think I am going to give an account of the
workings of this great sea-school they are very much
mistaken; they can guess for themselves what sort of
business goes on all day there; and if I, who am no sea-
man, were to pretend to know all about sails, and ropes,
and such matters, the little cabin-boy who had only made a
single voyage would soon find me out, and laugh at me.
No; Iam going to write only of what I know,—and that
is, a little of the life-story of two of the boys, out of the
several hundreds who are in the school. In each case the
old question from boy to boy, of “ Who’s your father?” met
the brief answer ‘‘ Dead,’—but Harold Grey, the handsome
lad, spoke up boldly, and added, “He was a gentleman;”
while little Jamie Duncan’s eyes fell, and grew. dim, as
he repeated the short sad word which meant so much
to him,





Whttlar Boys. 29

Harold soon settled well to his work; he was strong
enough to do easily what fatigued many others, and he had
a smattering of book-learning and a good bold handwriting,
which made him useful to the petty officers.

Jamie Duncan, meanwhile, was lost in the crowd: a
patient, striving boy, without much talent, he did his duty,
and no one thought any more about him. Yet, for some
reason, this quiet boy was constantly at Harold Grey’s elbow,
listened eagerly to his voice, and did him many a little
service without reward, or scarcely thanks.

Harold liked the thought of a sea-life; and being a good-
tempered fellow on the whole, his companions took na
farther notice of his boastful laments over his past life, than
to dub him “the Gentleman,”—a title Harold rather liked
than otherwise.

One terrible anxiety poor Jamie had for his friend—he
felt sure that Harold left the ship at night with one or two
others, though for what purpose, and where he went, he did
not know.

And now there came a sore trial to the poor sensitive
boy. The usual day for the repair of the boys’ garments —
came round, and under the charge of the master-tailor they
were all seated on their chests, busily working. All except
Harold, who as usual despised the needle, and declared
there were no rents in any of his clothes.

“Then take and mend this, for practice,” said the tailor,
who had little patience with Harold’s airs, and he handed
him a waistcoat belonging to the steward’s assistant. Harold
dared not refuse, but he was obliged to pretend to do the
work; more he could not do, since he had not the skill to
execute the needed repairs.

Little James was creeping up to him, intending to relieve
him of his task, when he noticed a gold coin slip out of the
pocket of the waistcoat as Harold turned it round. Harold



36 Whitlar Boys.

saw the coin too, and his fingers closed over it, and then
went into his pocket.

Next day the bit of gold was inquired for,—the steward’s
assistant felt’ sure he had left it in the pocket of the torn
waistcoat. Jamie, to whom the neat repair was traced,
answered that he had found no half-sovereign in the waist-
coat ; and then he hoped to hear Harold tell how he had
found it. But Harold never spoke ; “the Gentleman ” was
utterly silent. And this was Jamie’s great grief, for how
could he believe his friend to be a thief?

Meantime the whole school was startled and dismayed by
the declaration of a poor half-witted man, who helped the
cook, that his money-box had been robbed, and his savings,
amounting to two or three pounds, had been taken. Poor
Mike was drowned in tears,—what mind he had, had been
so devoted to these two or three gold pieces.

While affairs were in this condition Jamie reccived a sum-
mons from the sick ward: Harold was ill, he wished to
speak to him.

“T wish I had kept to you, Jamie, for a friend,” he said ;
“then I might not have broken rules so much, and gone out
at night. Sykes and Turner, they persuaded me; and first
it was the theatre, and then a grand singer in Turner's
brother’s public-house ; they got the boat, and managed it
all, and I had to pay: you can’t tell, Jamie, how difficult
it was for me, a gentleman’s son, to refuse: and then I
was short of money,—-and mother’s letter never came,—
and me

“ And you took Adam’s half-sovereien,” said Jamie,
calmly, trying to save Harold’s panting breath.

Harold gasped “Yes. And when the row was made
about it, Sykes lent me ten shillings to put in Adam’s berth.
I guessed he could not have come honestly by the money,
and now I am sure”







Whitlar Boys. 3t-



“That he took Mike’s money,” said Jamie, gravely.
“Harold, you must tell all this to the Chaplain.”

But Harold flushed up and _hesitated— Gentlemen
never tell,” he muttered; “you don’t know, Jamie, it’s so
different for me. What I wanted to ask you was, Could
you lend me the money? and then I would pay Sykes,
and he would perhaps put Mike’s money back, and all
would be right.”

Jamie shook his head; he was not a very clever boy, but
he could see that it was all wrong.

“J have no money, Harold, only one half-crown ; but
please listen to me, and perhaps you will when I tell you
that I am a gentleman too. My father was a clergyman,
and he meant me to be one too; but fever came, and they
died, father and mother; and Ellen and I had no money:
so she is a governess, and I was sent to this school.”

The next night Harold summoned Jamie to tell him,—* I
can’t die, Jamie, I feel I can’t, till Mike has his money back.
I heard the poor chap crying like a baby yesterday outside
the door. I know the Chaplain and the Governor mean
kindly ; they are hushing matters up till I am dead, but
it won't do. I didn’t take the money, but I must get it
him back. Oh, if only I had a bit of strength to write
to mother, or do something!” and poor Harold groaned in
anguish.

“They have written twice,” said Jamie. “But stop,
perhaps my sister,—we have very little money, Harold, but
she might be able to get us some: I will get leave to-morrow,
and see, for I think you are quite right to try and give
Mike the money back.”

That night Harold had a long sleep, the first for many a
weary night. And Jamie got his leave, special leave, at
the Chaplain’s request, and came to the sick ward next
evening, bright and beaming.





32 Whitlar Boys.



“Tt’s all here, Harold,” he said, holding a little leathern
purse.

“All?” said poor Harold, feebly.

“Yes,” said Jamie, proudly; “Ellen had just been paid
her salary, and she gave it tome. Won't Mike be glad?”

“Thank you, Jamie,” said Harold, “please give it Mike,”
and turning round, he fell asleep directly.

Next day Mike was all smiles again, his treasure was
restored to him, and his poor wearied wits never puzzled
themselves as to why or how, so he was perfectly happy.

Affairs were managed very quietly at Whitlar: the same
day that Harold, carefully wrapped up, and tenderly carried
by a big sailor, was taken on shore to be nursed by his
mother, Sykes and Thornton also left the school, never to
return. After due inquiry it was thought best to dismiss
them both from the ship.

From that day there was no longer any chance of boys
getting out at night. MHarold’s confession of his misdeeds
had led to a change in the rules of the ship which put a
stop to such pranks. No one exactly knew why at this
time James Duncan come to be generally looked up to and
respected, or how sundry whispers got about that he had
been a real gentleman, even more so than poor Grey.

And here my story really ends; though one sorrowful
sentence, and one glad one, must be added.

Harold only lived a year, carefully tended by his mother ;
but, as far as we can tell, that year was well spent, in
learning to be gentle, humble, and repentant.

And Jamie is still at Whitlar. All his companions like
him; and when a new boy comes to the school, Jamie is
pointed out as in some mysterious way “a real gentleman.”
And so he is. -







A VILLAGE NEAR GENOA.



A VILLAGE NEAR GENOA.

A TRUE STORY.



WO pupils in God’s school were slowly spelling
G out the same lesson of Faith under the patient
eye of the great Master. The one was a toil-
worn middle-aged woman, and the other a very
young boy.

Beppo was doomed to watch those dearest to him as they
faded one by one in wasting sickness from earth to the
better home above. Peppina was called upon to resign her
_ children, each and all, to friends beyond the sea; who
promised them ease, comfort, and prosperity, in exchange
for the life of obscure poverty to which they had been born.
The lesson, although differently worded, was essentially the
same. Peppina perhaps needed stronger faith than Beppo,
for to the imagination of those simple peasants South
America seemed a more unknown land than did the heaven
of which they had heard from infancy. She was, in fact,
being taught in a parable, like the immediate disciples of
the Master. Like them also she was sometimes slow in
learning the task set before her, but she never closed
her ear to the divine voice, nor refused obedience to its
precepts.

The child and the woman, although not related, were
near neighbours, dwelling in a village some few miles distant

from Genoa, that grand and beautiful Italian city, of which
(223) A



2 A Village near Genoa.



the churches and palaces rise on a mountain slope cut into
terraces, out of the blue Mediterranean Sea. The town
itself is bleak, but there are sheltered places in its neigh-
bourhood where the climate is warm and brilliant for a
great part of the year. Delicate invalids hence flock thither
in numbers to escape the rigour of a Northern winter. Yet
consumption and decline are very prevalent along that
lovely coast, strange though the fact may sound to those
who dream only of Southern skies, and balmy breezes, and
orange-trees with white fragrant flowers and golden fruit.
Few persons who have never been abroad realise that
there is cold weather every year even in Italy. A sharp
north wind blows from the snow-clad mountains, bearing
frost and ice upon its wings; or deluges of rain, such as are
scarcely known in England, flood the houses, which are built
with small regard to warmth and comfort. In the palaces
the floors are of rare inlaid marble; in the cottages, of rough
grey slabs of stone; while through both whistles the keen
blast from ill-made doors and windows, exposing the inmates
to continual draughts. Carpets and fires are alike unknown,
and the food of the peasants is not such as to develop
vigorous frames. Many live chiefly on a kind of paste cut
into tiny strips resembling fiddle-strings, and actually bearing
that very name. A dish of this pasta, boiled in water with
a little salt, is often the dinner or supper of a family, but
although satisfying hunger, it does not contain sufficient
nutriment to strengthen the body against disease. When
these things are considered, we can scarcely be surprised at
the number of poor Italians who die every winter in the
very climate that so often restores health to wealthy and
luxurious British visitors.

Beppo’s life had been very sad, for he belonged to a
consumptive family, yet there was no gloom in the merry
weather-beaten face, so plain while in repose, so beautiful



A Village near Genoa. 3



when lighted up with its brilliant Italian smile. He was a
human sunflower, basking in every ray of gladness which
pierced through the dark clouds of his many trials.

The office of sick-nurse seems a strange vocation for a
boy, but it was one to which Beppo had been called in very
early childhood. Before he was eleven years old he had
already watched beside the deathbeds of both parents, his
two brothers, and his baby sister Rosa. No one else could
be spared to attend them, for the time of the bread-winners
was doubly valuable when sickness increased the expenses
of the household. Then came a year during which Beppo
went to school, and received the care of a mother from his
eldest sister Angela, the only near relation who was left to
him. There seemed some hope that her life might be spared,
as she had passed her seventeenth birthday without showing
any traces of the fatal malady. One day, however, Angela
caught a slight chill followed by fever, in returning home
from the silk-factory at which she was employed. She
drooped for a few weeks, then grew rapidly worse, and was
soon stretched upon the pallet where so many of those dear
to her had breathed their last. Like theirs, her illness
seemed to have been only caused by a neglected cold, yet
no one doubted from the first that it must end in death.
When Beppo looked upon her wasted form, he knew that
she was very near the Unseen World, whither he should
soon follow her. The humble neighbours were very plain-
spoken, and had often said in the boy’s hearing, that though
he might now seem stronger than the other children, he
would never live to be a man. The thought was too
familiar to alarm him, though he sometimes wondered
vaguely who would watch beside him when it should
become his turn to be the patient instead of the nurse.
The doubt, however, was too passing to disturb him, and it
never grew into a positive anxiety.



4 A Village near Genoa.

Strangers sometimes suspected Beppo of indifference to
the loss of those very friends whom he had so devotedly
attended. He could smile at the grave, and on returning to
the lonely house, eat his coarse food with youthful appetite,
and sleep soundly upon the bed newly deserted by its
moaning occupant. Nay, more, he could even enjoy a merry
game when there was no immediate call upon his services.
‘They did not realise that the poor child must long ago
have sunk under his heavy load but for the very buoyancy
which they: condemned. Why should his spirits droop
when he and his dear ones would so soon be once more
together in their Father’s home? Why should he not play
innocently, as he had before worked heartily, while waiting
for the summons of the Messenger ?

Peppina’s history was even more sad than that of her
little neighbour. Long ago her husband had deserted her
and his five children, leaving her not only burdened with
their care, but also with the charge of his father and her
own mother, both of whom were advanced in years. The
support of the old man devolved solely upon Peppina, as
she was the only creature to whom he could look for help.
The expense of her mother’s maintenance was shared with
the devoted daughter of her brother; but as he was a poor
fisherman, with four small children and uncertain gains,
Peppina never felt able to count on his assistance. Her
life became a hard struggle, and one which aged the comely
peasant before she had reached her prime. At length a
portion of the weight was lifted from her shoulders, although
only to be transferred to her loving heart. The eldest girl
married, and went with her husband to Buenos Ayres, where
so many enterprising youths from Genoa seek and find an
honest livelihood. Being steady and industrious, he soon
succeeded, made a comfortable home, and encouraged his
wife to send to Italy for her next sister, to whom he pro-



A Village near Genoa. 5



mised a father’s care. Teresa sailed accordingly, and before
two years had expired married in her turn, and sent for her
only brother, Stefano, for whom she had already secured
suitable employment. Meanwhile the worthless father had
rejoined his prosperous children, that he might: drain their
small savings, and force from them the few coins which had
been treasured for their mother as the fruit of great self-
sacrifice and arduous labour. But for him they might have
risen more rapidly in the New World, but as the spendthrift
was kept by their influence from vicious courses, they agreed
to bear much rather than turn him adrift.

Two little girls remained as yet in Italy under Peppina’s
care, Carmela and Cecilia. Their ages were fourteen and
eight, and the elder had already become very useful. -She
nursed the old grandparents with whom she lived, watched
faithfully over her little sister, mended and made the gar- -
ments of the family, and tried to spend the scanty earnings
of her mother to the best advantage. The poor commonly
enjoy freer space in Italy than in England, as the land there
is less valuable, and Peppina rented several tiny rooms at a
less cost than would have to be paid for one in London.
They were flooded by glorious sunshine and swept by pure
breezes from the sea and mountains, but they could only be
reached by seven flights of steps, so dark and dangerous
that i¢ seemed wonderful no lives were lost in trying to
mount or descend them. In order to support this small
establishment Peppina’s life was an unceasing round of toil.
She was maid-servant at an inn where many English visitors
resorted for the winter, and which was filled during the hot
months with Italians, who flocked to the seaside from the
fever-stricken cities of the plain. It was a rambling old
palace, with rich painted ceilings, and dim ghostly galleries,
and marble staircases; and broad flat terraces, which over-
hung the glittering sea. Nothing could be more unlike our



6 A Village near Genoa.

idea of a hotel, but this mansion, like many others of the
kind in Italy, had been let by its princely owner, who pos-
sessed more residences than he and his relatives could
occupy, to an innkeeper who desired to settle in the village.
There Peppina laboured from four in the morning till eleven
at night, living on the most scanty fare, taxed hourly far
beyond her strength, bewildered by the many mistresses and
masters whom she had to please, and never enjoying a
single holiday, even at Christmas. True, the hotel was
empty for a few weeks every year in spring and autumn,
but she was then employed in house-cleaning on so vast a
scale, that the demands on her seemed rather to increase
than to diminish. Peppina’s fellow-servants came and went,
seeking, for the most part successfully, to better their con-
dition. She was compelled to remain, for so strong were
* the ties which bound her to her native village that no work
beyond it would have been available. Her payment at the
inn, though small, was regular, and she was in the way
there of receiving little presents from the visitors—money
or left-off clothing—every article of which Carmela’s busy
fingers turned to the best possible account. Despite such
help, however, the poor maid began to sink under her
burden ; and although the firm will never failed, her health
was so enfeebled that she sometimes dreaded lest she should
become a helpless invalid.

While her heart was saddened by these forebodings, a
letter arrived from South America renewing the offer, which
she had already twice refused, of joining her family there,
and taking with her the two little girls, to be adopted by
their married sisters. To resist such a temptation called
for Christian heroism, but she did not waver. The old
mother, ninety years of age, was too childish to feel her
loss, and Peppina could send part of her earnings home
from Buenos Ayres to the brother who united with her to



A Village near Genoa. 7



support his parent. Her real tie was the father of the man
who had deserted her. How could she leave him friendless
with no one who would take it to heart whether he lived
or died? He loved her and would miss her personal care.
Not even an increase of ease would make amends to his
affectionate nature for her actual presence. When con-
vinced of this by calm reflection, she turned with tears
from the tempting prospect to face the steep uphill path of
duty and self-sacrifice.

Months rolled away. Peppina’s lungs grew delicate,
and she was only saved from pleurisy by the timely gift of
warm flannels from an English lady, who had noticed how
the poor old woman was exposed early and late to the
inclement weather. Then one cold February night came
startling news from South America. The elder sisters had
sent for the two little ones, whose passages were paid, and
who would be protected on the voyage by a trusted, worthy,
married sailor. The ship which brought the tidings was
even then lying in the Genoa harbour, and they were to
sail with her on her return to Buenos Ayres, which would
be within four weeks. No wonder that the mother’s heart
should sicken as she went about the weary tasks which
scarcely left her any leisure to bestow upon her children’s
needs. What anguish did she not endure at the thought
that she must so soon be parted from her sole remaining
treasures! True, she might not have been able much longer
to maintain them, but they were the sunshine of her daily
life. She did indeed expect to follow them sooner or later;
but would they not be so changed as scarcely to appear
like her own offspring? Carmela in her budding youth
might indeed only have developed into mature womanhood,
but would not bright little laughing Cecilia have grown
wholly out of her remembrance? Perhaps it was the
knowledge that she must for ever lose the childhood of this



8 A Village near Genoa.

youngest darling which brought the sharpest pang to the
mother’s heart.

_One care which weighed heavily on Peppina was the
question as to how she could secure a proper outfit for the
little travellers. They were going to live with relations
who moved in a higher sphere, and she was anxious that
they should be neatly and respectably attired; yet to find
money for their clothing was impossible, when even the
house-rent was in arrears.

Her now slender wardrobe was reviewed, and every
garment which could be spared put aside, but the result
proved so unsatisfactory that poor Peppina was disheartened.
Happily unexpected aid poured in on her from several
quarters. The old peasant woman had made friends among
the English guests at the hotel, whose tastes and habits,
which must have seemed so strange and unlike her own,
she faithfully tried to consult. Those to whose comfort
she had thus ministered felt they were only repaying a
debt of gratitude when they agreed among themselves to fur-
nish what was requisite for the outfit of the little maidens.
Wardrobes richer than Peppina’s were laid under contribu-
tion for gowns which could be adapted to their use. Under-
garments were also provided, and new prints for Sunday
frocks, and brilliant handkerchiefs for the head-gear which
in Italy is the usual substitute for hat or bonnet among
women of the poorer ranks. Nothing so tended to soften
the pain of this bitter parting to Peppina as the knowledge
that her children would neither disgrace nor burden the
relations who so generously offered to adopt them.

One afternoon the sorrowing mother chanced to meet
Beppo in the street, and stopped him to inquire for Angela.

“T think she will be leaving us about the same time as
your children,” said the boy; nor did his answer strike the
questioner as unusual,



A Village near Genoa. 9



Beppo had become almost as skilful as the parish doctor
in detecting the successive stages of decline.

The next day, however, the physician called again, and
gave a different verdict. Angela having survived the March
winds, might now live until the autumn, provided she could
have suitable nourishment. There was no mention of broth,
wine, and other luxuries beyond reach of the patient, but
the doctor charged Beppo to vary his sister’s diet, as the
fidellint could no longer tempt her appetite.

The poor child’s faith was now as keenly tested on the
score of food as that of Peppina had been respecting ral-
ment. Neither of them had as yet mastered the lesson
taught us of the birds and lilies, at least not where the
welfare of their beloved ones was concerned. The little
brother knew that Angela was virtually sinking from star-
vation ; for although there was no actual lack of provisions
in the cottage, he had no means of procuring any suited to
a dying girl, It seemed almost a case of being told to make
bricks without straw, and Beppo sat down to consider ear-
nestly how he could act on the doctor’s instructions. The idea
of begging did not occur to him, for, like most of the honest
Italian poor, he never forced his wants on others, nor even
supposed they were such as to claim especial sympathy.
Many, both in the village and around it, were as ill as
Angela, and some more destitute, yet all patiently bore the
hardships of their lot. His was no case for alms-seeking ;
but it is very different to ask a service at the hands of a kind
neighbour, and the only question was to whom it would be
wisest to apply.

There was his sister’s namesake, good old Angela, with
her bent frame and her white locks flying like snowflakes in
a March wind, and her cotton gown, which had been so fre-
quently mended that it looked like a patchwork of many
colours. She lived high among the vineyards in a four-

(223) Aa



10 A Village near Genoa.



roomed cottage, with gay prints upon its walls, and windows
of which each one framed a different landscape. On the left
was Genoa, with its marble palaces piled one behind another
on the hill-slopes, separated by exquisite gardens, while
almost in the sea rose a tall lighthouse, and beyond stretched
a beautiful headland, steeped in the soft gemlike colouring
of Italy. In an opposite direction, looking towards France,
the eye wandered over the long sweep of the Maritime
Alps, chain beyond chain of graceful peaks, on some of
which a silvery crown of snow stood out against the tender
blue of the spring sky. At the rear of the cottage, and
around it, the Apennine mountains raised their heads, the
lower ranges terraced into gardens of figs, almonds, grapes,
and olives, while the higher were covered with forests of
- the stately umbrella pine trees, of which the rounded tops
appear, as has been truly said, like dark-green islands set
among the clouds.

Angela’s was as fair a home as heart could wish, but
sorely did she struggle to maintain it by the field labour
for which she grew yearly more unfitted. Beppo knew she
would gladly help him, but he did not like to ask her for
the oranges, goats’-milk, or early vegetables which she sold
at the hotels and villas. Later, when the strangers were
gone, and garden produce was more plentiful, it would be
different ; but meanwhile he was too considerate to encroach
upon her slender store.

The friend who always pressed assistance upon others,
whether or not she could easily afford it, was Paulina, whose
life was full of deep poverty and constant care. Her hus-
band was subject to epilepsy, and when she saw symptoms
of an attack, she dared not leave him for an instant, night
or day. He was a gentle, lovable old man, whose face,
innocent as a baby’s, often wore a fixed, vacant expression,
which showed how much the brain had become affected by



A Village near Genoa. Tl

disease. Paulina kept him always neat and clean, and she
herself was a pattern of tidiness, though how she contrived
to be so remained a mystery to more than one slatternly
neighbour. Both she and her husband, when the latter was
able to work, earned a part of their clothing by oakum-
picking, which was the employment of many beside them in
the village. They were connected with a large rope-factory
in the next town, attached to which was a warehouse for
cotton fabrics, and the workers were paid in yards of print
or similar materials instead of in shillings and pence. A
little help was given them in money by a married son, and
they also possessed another source of gain, though one far
too uncertain to be counted upon as a regular addition to
their income.

At the end of the squalid open court in which they lived
was the chief entrance to a nobleman’s estate, of which the
key had been intrusted to Paulina by its absent owner.
The hall and the private gardens were not shown to
strangers, but all might freely wander through the wilder-
ness of the park, which was, indeed, little else than a
mountain-side partly enclosed, with here and there traces
of cultivation. Nursery-maids and children, picnic parties,
botanists, and sketchers availed themselves of this beautiful
resort during the “English season.” But the neighbour-
hood abounded with rival attractions, and sometimes Paul-
ina would be deserted for days, or even weeks, by the
capricious visitors. Most of these pleasure-seekers gave a
copper to the sickly woman, who descended at their call
from the top floor of a tall house that overlooked the stag-
nant ditch which poisoned the surrounding atmosphere.
Many did not bestow a thought on the gatekeeper, but the
sympathising few witnessed a touching sight. The merry-
hearted and indifferent saw only Paulina’s patient smile;
but the first word of kindness, or a gift beyond her



12 A Village near Genoa.



customary fee, so thrilled the overstrung sensitive nerves as
to call forth a gush of tears. Paulina’s sorrowful existence
had unfitted her for happiness, as the gloom of a dungeon
unfits prisoners for the ight of day.

Beppo knew she would give him her last penny, or part of
her insufficient meal, but he had no desire to take advantage
of such generosity. Several more cases were considered by
the boy, only to be dismissed by the delicate tact of an ima-
ginative nature, which enabled him to realise the circum-
stances of his friends. How he longed to earn enough to buy
Angela’s supper; but what way was open to a child whose
presence could not be long spared from the sick-room? It
was the girl herself who solved the difficulty, about which
she had not even been consulted. “Beppo,” she said,
stroking his hand caressingly, “I should so like a new-
laid egg. Do you think Maddalena would let me have
one ?”

In an instant Beppo’s feet were flying down the staircase,
and along the coast, where yellow sea-poppies waved in
the breeze, and through the straggling village street, until
he stopped at the house of the dressmaker. It was a small
low dwelling, occupied by Maddalena, her fisherman-brother,
two sisters, and several nieces, who, besides the needlework
which was their chief employment, undertook the washing of
lace and fine muslins for the visitors. They were contented
people, earning rather more than sufficed for their wants,
and always willing to relieve the needy. Beppo’s request
was cheerfully granted, and two fresh eggs were placed in
his little osier basket, together with some ripe lemons, a
solace for which Angela often pined during her feverish
nights. The dressmaker was arrayed in her picturesque
Sunday garb for a friend’s wedding-feast, having at. an
earlier hour attended the marriage procession, which is
almost as common a spectacle in Italy as in the East. She-



A Village near Genoa. is

looked strikingly handsome under the black lace veil which
fell around her like a cloak, while the gold earrings, which
had been part of her dowry, glittered amid the dusky folds
of her abundant hair. Her soft yet brilliant eyes sparkled
with pleasure, and her gestures were full of excited interest,
Maddalena knew how to enjoy a holiday, and her needle
would fly only the more briskly on the morrow.

While talking to Beppo, she suddenly pulled the latchet
of the street door, and a long train of fowls began to patter
up the staircase. Every crested head was raised high as
its owner fearlessly crossed the workroom and passed through
a doorway to a tiny hanging garden on the flat roof,
‘ where these pet birds were allowed to feed and roost. It
was just twelve, and punctual as the church clock were
the feathered guests, who would shortly disperse, to return
home for supper and bed when the sun dipped into the sea.
Their time was generally spent upon the beach or in
pecking at such stray fruits and vegetables as hung within
reach of their beaks from the greengrocery stalls that lined
the coast.

Towards autumn many a tempting prize was wrested
from these humbler fowls by the tall turkeys which then
thronged the streets and roadsides in such numbers as to
form a leading feature of the place. Everywhere they
were to be seen, stretching their stately necks upward to
the clusters of amber or purple grapes, or snatching at
plums, peaches, even cabbage leaves, till they were driven
away by the vendors with shrill outcries, which seemed
scarcely to ruffle their dignity. Living upon this unsub-
stantial fare, and sharing in most instances the dwellings
of their owners, rendered the birds so docile that, far from
being a terror to childhood, they were caressed by the very
babies, and dragged unresistingly indoors or out by creatures
whose plump hands could scarcely clasp around their swell-



14 A Village near Genoa.



ing throats. Many a nursery group fresh from England
stopped to watch the pretty sight, which was nearly as
short-lived as it was attractive. On the day after Christmas
not a trace of the children’s playfellows would be left, except
masses of glossy plumage, or occasionally a hapless survivor.

Beppo was too familiar with the ways of poultry to pay
any heed to Maddalena’s favourites, though he did delay
an instant to admire a parrot which a sailor-cousin had
just brought her from Brazil. Then he went down the
staircase with a caution unlike his usual impetuous rush;
but once on level ground, he was skimming as fast as ever
homeward, when he suddenly came to a pause and drew a
deep breath of surprise.

There was a group of strangers in front of the black old
castle at the water's edge, which had been built more than
eight centuries ago as a refuge for the women and children
of the district against the fierce pirates of Algiers. A pretty
English girl sat on a rock sketching the fortress, while a
lady some years older, with two fair-haired children, stood
beside an overloaded starving donkey, which was tethered
to a post. The little ones were feeding the poor animal
with pieces of white bread, which they drew from their
pockets. Very stale it seemed, judging by the loud crunch
with which the creature’s mouth closed over every morsel,
but the sight of such extravagance astonished Beppo. A
donkey fed upon these snowy rolls, which seemed too dainty
for any but a sick lady! “And she must be a very rich
lady,” mused the peasant lad, “or she could never afford
such expensive bread except on Sunday.”

Presently the younger child coloured and shrank close to
her governess.

“ Miss Ware,’ she said, “ why does that boy look at me
with such large round eyes, just as though I were doing
something naughty ?”



A Village near Genoa. 15

Miss Ware turned, and was no less struck than her pupil
had been by the earnestness of Beppo’s gaze.

“ What is it, little fellow?” she asked gently in Italian ,
“do you like to see how the poor beast enjoys his meal?”

“Js there any left, Signora?” rejoined Beppo, as he looked
into the kind eyes which smiled down upon him. _

“ Any of these dry crusts? No, I believe not; but sup-
posing there had been, what then ?”

“T should have asked you to let me have my share,
lady,” replied Beppo.

“ Are you so hungry then, my poor child?” asked Miss
Ware, compassionately.

“Oh, no! I can eat anything; but Angela, my sister, is
too ill to live on pasta, and the doctor says she will soon die
unless I can find something to give her an appetite.”

“This hard stale bread is not suitable for a sick girl, my
little friend.”

“TI should have made it into soup, Signora, with hot
water and a drop of oil and plenty of garlic,” exclaimed
Beppo, “and then Angela would have had such a delicious
supper.”

Miss Ware, who had never before been abroad, was amused-
at the ideas of her new acquaintance on the subject of in-
valid cookery, but she only said—

“ Angela shall have something else instead, and you may
come with me to buy anything which you think she would
like.”

“ Anything!” cried the child excitedly. “Oh, then, Sig-
nora, let it be some pane dolce, if you please.”

“That is what we get every evening at tea in the nur-
sery,” remarked Hubert, who began to understand a few .
words of Italian. His sister, Lucy, agreed with him that it
was a very poor kind cf plumcake, not one-half so nice as
that which was served twice a year on the vicar’s lawn to



16 A Village near Genoa.

the school children, Beppo, however, held a very different
opinion.

“ Signora, pane dolce is very expensive,” he said warninely,
as he followed the governess and her charges into a shop
equally frequented by strangers and natives from the variety
and excellence of its stores. Miss Ware smiled reassuringly,
but the next moment her sweet face softened into a look of
sympathy. Before the counter stood an aged’ man, bent
nearly double, wistfully eyeing the pinch of coffee for which
he had just exchanged two hard-won farthings. He sighed
as he made way courteously for the ladies, and with feeble
footsteps tottered out into the street.

“Girolamo spends all his coppers on coffee for his sick
wife,” observed the grocer, on perceiving that his wealthy
customers seemed interested in the transaction. “ Little
lady,” he added, addressing Lucy, “I have just received
fresh jams and marmalade from London. Is there any
way in which I can serve you this afternoon? Did you
say pane dolce, madam? Here are some hot from the
oven.”

Miss Ware called Beppo to receive the largest of the
whole collection.

“ Enough to last Angela for a week!” he cried repeatedly.
Then taking leave almost abruptly, he ran homeward at his
utmost speed, eager to reach his sister’s bedside and relate
to her his wonderful adventures.

Miss Ware lingered to inquire old Girolamo’s address, and
to purchase a good supply of coffee and moist sugar, which
she hoped to deliver to him on the morrow.

Peppina’s children sailed early in April, and she stood
alone at a window of the palazzo, watching until the steamer
which bore them away melted into the glory of the spring
sunset. Like the rest of the emigrant passengers, they had
been forced to spend many long hours on board before the



A Village near Genoa. 17

vessel left. No doubt this was a wise and needful recula-
tion, but the sense of nearness, combined with the actual
separation, made the interval a trying time to all con-
cerned. 5

The little sisters sat on the deck hand in hand, almost
awed by the splendour of the city, with its streets of pal-
aces, and hanging gardens, and encircling mountains, which,
although close to their birthplace, they had never visited
before. They were so young and buoyant that their tears
dried quickly, and their spirits rose amid the animation of
the scene. But as the day wore on, with flagging streneth
their hearts grew heavier, and when at length, coasting along
the bay, they passed within sight of their village, their arms
were outstretched with eager yearning, and the cry of home
and mother escaped from their lips. Every link with the
past seemed severed, and the new existence which opened
before them was a blank.

While they were speeding onward towards the gorgeous
lands of the far West, Peppina was faithfully struggling
to fulfil the duties for which failing powers increasingly
unfitted her. Both sleep and appetite seemed to have left
her with the children. The long strain on her nerves, and
the aching void which succeeded, told even upon the quick
intelligence which had hitherto made amends for want of
early training in domestic service. She moved about the dim
old painted chambers in a dream, conscious of a strange
inability either to understand or recollect what every one
expected at her hands. All seemed like a bewildering din
of orders, for the most part contradictory, and of bells
calling her in opposite directions, which haunted the
feverish slumbers that stole on her from exhaustion just
as dawn summoned her to resume the round. She rallied
once when a note came, dictated by the elder girl and
posted at Gibraltar, where the ship touched on its outward



18 A Village near Genoa.



voyage. But soon the listless apathy returned, only to be
dispelled when she began to count the days for the vessel
to be due once again in Genoa.

It came at length, bearing the wished-for letters which
announced the safe arrival of Carmela and Cecilia, and bore
tender messages of love to her from all. There the com-
munication ended. There was not the least clue as to the
employments or surroundings of her little ones; nothing
to tell if they were living at the pole or in the tropics;
no point upon which her fancy could seize to fill up the
outline of their altered lives. The interchange of thought
through correspondence, which among the educated brings
distant friends close together, was a blessing denied to
Peppina; but as she could not imagine its existence, so she
did not mourn its loss. The little ones were well and
happy, so the few lines from their guardians assured her.
More than that fact she had never expected to learn. The
tidings would have been almost as vague to her as if sent
from another world, but for an interview with the old
sailor under whose care her darlings had crossed the ocean.
He gave further though still scanty information respecting
the two households at Buenos Ayres, and aroused his
listener by cheery predictions that the time would soon
come when she should be free to join the circle of awaiting
dear ones.

When the doctor next went to see Angela, he was sur-
prised at her improved condition. She was free from the
hectic fever which had so long sapped her strength, and
her pulse, though feeble, was quiet and regular.

“You have been learning to eat, child,” he said approv-
ingly, “and Beppo has invented something better than the
Jidellini.”

“JY should think so!” said Beppo proudly, as he opened
the door of the cupboard and drew out a wing of chicken



A Village near Genoa. 19



and a jug of broth: “the very smell gives Angela an
appetite.”

“You have rich friends then, children, I am glad of that.
I suppose they must be among the foreign visitors ?”

“They are the English people who feed donkeys on
white bread, sir,” answered Beppo, much to the amusement
of his questioner. “They are going soon to England, but
they mean to come back for next winter, as the little lady
whom they call Zueia is not strong.”

“That is a happy prospect for you and the donkeys,”
laughed the genial doctor as he took his leave. But his
face clouded when he was alone, and he walked thought-
fully along the cliffs in the direction of the house which
came next on his list. There lay a woman about fifty, who
had not, like Angela, inherited disease, yet who was now
equally beyond help from human science. She was dying
from the effects of scanty food and sleep, united to excessive
toil. Exhaustion had first laid her low, and then an in-
flammation of both lungs quickly reduced her to the ranks
of the incurable. Hers was one of the most interesting
cases in the parish to the doctor, owing to the fond hearts
which seemed bound up with that frail existence.

“Poor Barberina!” he mused almost audibly as he
mounted the staircase; “I pray God her mother may be
spared until that sailor-husband returns from Japan. Only,”
and he sighed, “she cannot bear the expense much longer.
I wish Beppo’s new friends could make her acquaintance.” —

This desire was not destined to be gratified, yet upon
entering the sick-room the visitor found signs of unwonted
comfort. Barberina herself stood beside the pillow, and
explained that she had just received a gift in money from -
a family leaving the hotel in which she and Peppina were
fellow-servants. She had obtained an hour’s leave of absence
from her mistress, and had gone at once to buy meat for the



20 A Village near Genoa.

soup on which her mother’s life chiefly depended. She could
also afford to get coffee and sugar, and the cooling medicine
which would prevent fever at night. Did not the signor
dottore think the invalid would now do well, especially as
the warm weather had begun ?

The doctor said, with perfect truthfulness, that many
months on earth might yet be in store for his patient, if
the benefits which she now enjoyed could be continued.

Barberina returned to the inn after receiving the physi-
cian’s orders, and tried to throw all her energy into the
laundry work, which was the duty that just then devolved
upon her. She was a healthy young woman, but several
successive nights of nursing, followed by arduous days, had
rendered her so languid that her eyelids nearly closed as
she stood at the ironing-board. In her hand was an elegant
little frock, belonging to an English baby, and requiring the
minutest care, as it was wrought with delicate embroidery.
Beside her was a pile of linen garments of various descrip-
tions, all to be done against time. It was the height of the
flitting season for the Northern swallows, and the bustle of
many departures surged through the hotel. Her occupation
was such as to bring her seldom into contact with the guests,
and hence she did not often receive the parting fees which
made amends for increased labour.to some of the other
servants. Now and then her painstaking skill was noticed
and rewarded, but in general her only recompense was the
approval of her Heavenly Master. None of those whom she
served, however, were more light-hearted than Barberina, as
she remembered the encouraging state of her mother, to whom
she was bound by the most passionate affection. She could
provide all that was requisite for the next fortnight, and
she might soon expect the wages of her sailor, which were
punctually sent whenever his ship touched at a convenient
port. Her marriage was as happy as that of Peppina had



A Village near Genoa. 21



proved miserable, although it involved the trial of prolonged
and frequent separation. Pietro was the best of husbands,
“just like a good boy,” as his wife expressed it, and he
clung to his home and its inmates with a constancy which
was the chief of safecuards against the temptations of a
roving life. His dwelling was indeed one in which any
man might feel an honest pride. It was among the most
desirable in the village, and its rent was higher than the
average, but both the husband and wife felt that such
respectability was worth a struggle. Pietro had adopted
Barberina’s family, and so united were their interests that
the gains of each were for the benefit of all. Her brother
was one of the operatives in a factory where he earned
fifteenpence a day, and Rosalia, her eldest sister, who was
parlour-maid in Genoa, contributed four shillings every
month towards the rent of the home which would be always
open to her in sickness or sorrow.

The youngest girl, Marina, wrought in a cloth-mill two
miles distant, where she was paid at the rate of fourpence
for twelve hours during the winter months, and sixpence
when the longer days admitted of earlier and later sittings
at the loom. Of course this pittance barely sufficed for
her food, but Barberina wisely thought that the industrious,
steady habits thus acquired would enhance her sister’s use-
fulness through life. As the walk to and from Marina’s
mill secured to her fresh air and exercise, the vigour of
fifteen would scarcely have been overtasked but for the
arrears of domestic claims which had to be crowded into
the evening. She must wait on the invalid and cook the
supper, and undress Pietro’s rosy little boy, who, although
only five years old, could be intrusted with the purchase of
provisions, and was the sole guardian of his grandmother
during the absence of the elders. Barberina was in general
allowed to sleep at home, but.as she was not released from



22 A Village near Genoa.

her post until eleven at night, and then only until six on
the following morning, there could be no division of house-
hold cares between Marina and herself.

Miss Ware, Hubert, and Lucy remained until the end of
_ June in the villa which they had occupied since the begin-
ning of October. The other members of the family were
making a tour of the Italian lakes, but it was thought best
not to interrupt the regular routine of lessons for the
schoolroom party. It was still cool enough to take long
walks in search of the gorgeous wild-flowers which made
all the hillsides look like a succession of conservatories.
Most interesting of all to Christian eyes were the magnifi-
cent flame-coloured lilies, sometimes deepening to blood-
red, which, as the heat increased, began to blaze like flakes
of fire in every grassy dingle. Miss Ware gathered them
almost with reverence, for she knew they belonged to the
same species as those “lilies of the field” in distant Pales-
tine, of which the royal splendour surpassed “even Solomon
in all his glory.” Beppo usually accompanied the ramblers
to carry their baskets, guide them through the forest paths
and winding valleys, or scramble up the rocks, where only
his clinging bare feet could find a hold, in quest of rare
exquisite ferns, such as in England are not to be seen
except in hothouses. The boy was rewarded for these
pleasant services, and every penny was carefully saved for
Angela, that she might not want during the long period. when
there would be nobody to provide for her except himself.

At length Beppo’s friends received a summons to join
the rest of their circle at Turin, and after they were gone
the village was entirely deserted except by Italians. The
child was however happy, since Miss Ware had left with
him a small allowance for Angela’s comfort; and being a
‘thrifty little fellow, he supported her on milk, eggs, fruit,
and vegetables, at a very moderate expense. The sick girl



A Village near Genoa. 2%

nearly lost her cough, and although often languid from the
heat, yet rallied so decidedly that the doctor began to hope
her extreme youth might gain the victory over disease.
Peaceful and sweet were these bright summer weeks to the
brother and sister, who asked no enjoyment beyond that
of each other’s society. Miss Ware had shaded Angela’s
window with a green gauze curtain, which was a far
greater protection against glare and insects than the flap-
ping branches that Beppo had formerly waved over her
couch. Their house was built at the edge of a cliff, and
the invalid found constant amusement in gazing down a
sheer precipice into the sea, and watching the fish leap out
of the crystal waters. It was altogether a time of refresh-
ment. Never had such a lull from present sorrow and
care for the future occurred previously within Beppo’s re-
membrance.

That year the hot weather continued very late, and on
Michaelmas Day Angela felt the lurid atmosphere more heavy
and oppressive than even in August. Beppo, whose sturdy
frame was not affected by changes of climate, leant out of
his sister’s window, fairly shouting with glee at the gambols
of two fisher-children underneath. The tiny figures, looking
like a pair of statuettes sculptured in bronze, were rocking
on the wavelets in a bright green boat, so small as to appear
like the half-folded leaf of a pond lily. Sometimes the
baby-mariners balanced themselves at seesaw on their fairy
craft. Sometimes they overturned it, dived beneath the
water, and with ringing laughter scrambled once again on
board, only to recommence their joyous freaks, Even
Angela smiled faintly as the tide of merriment increased,
when suddenly Beppo’s ear caught some more distant sound,
and breathlessly gasping, “ The little lady’s voice,” he darted
from his sister’s side before she could rally from her astonish-
ment,



24 A Village near Genoa.

Miss Ware and her pupils were indeed climbing the
staircase, and soon their familiar faces appeared in the door-
way, where they were received with such a welcome as had
greeted them throughout the village, making the strange
foreign land seem like a second home. They had only
arrived two days previously, and their first visit was to
Angela, whose sunken eyes and wan cheek brightened at
the sight of her kind English friends, They were the earliest
of the winter colony, but others quickly followed, for despite
the steamy heat which still brooded upon the coast, cold
showers had begun to fall among the mountains. The hotels
and villas filled even more speedily than usual, and the soft
splendour of a southern autumn melted into Christmastide
without bringing a change over the gold ond azure of the
skies, or more than freshness into the invigorating air.
But the New Year was ushered in with bitter frosts, which,
far from softening into rain as was predicted, lasted for
nearly six weeks with a rigour almost equal to that of
northern latitudes. It was a terrible ordeal even for rich
invalids, and fatal to many among the poor. Benedetta
and Angela became very ill, and must have died but for
the timely succour which was extended to them both
through different channels, Peppina felt that she must
soon succumb, though bravely did she wage war with the
enemy, which threatened every mornirg to vanquish her
before nightfall. At length, conscious that the hour was
approaching when she could no longer meet even her own
expenses, she sent word to Buenos Ayres that she would
consent to join her children if they were still willing to
receive her. The return mail brought dutiful letters,
soothing hopes of a speedy reunion, and every assurance of
continued love, but no definite invitation from the heads of
either household. Peppina resigned herself to the dis-
appointment. Two months more elapsed, and the next



A Village near Genoa. ¢ 25



message she received was that all the arrangements for her
voyage were concluded, and that she must sail for South
America without any more notice than had been afforded to
Carmela and Cecilia.

This haste involved serious inconvenience, for there was
no one to assist Peppina in winding up the affairs of a life-
time for herself and others, and the three weeks which
remained were not her own. Her labours at the hotel
could not be suspended, as the house was full, and she was
not to quit her post until the very day of her departure.
Again English friends came to her aid with gifts of cloth-
ing and a sum sufficient to provide for the immediate
wants of the old couple whom she was leaving behind.
Peppina was torn by conflicting feelings. She had fancied
her whole heart weaned from her birthplace, and trans-
planted to the country which held her children, and she
now discovered that its every fibre was still firmly rooted
in her native soil. Strive as she might, she could not
reconcile herself to the idea of thus drifting away from all
ties and associations into the regions of the unknown,
She tried to have her passage-money transferred to the next
steamer, and the attempt was warmly seconded by her em-
ployers, who were anxious to retain her services as long as
possible. The answer given at the office of the ship’s
company was, that such a concession could not be made
except in the event of illness. She was strongly urged to
make that plea, which would indeed have been partially
true, but she shrank from the least vestige of deception
with the loyalty of an upright and candid soul.

The vernal equinox was raging wildly when Peppina,
amid sobs re-echoed by the moaning winds and waters,
passed away from the haunts of her childhood into the
white seething tempest which blotted out earth and sky.
Humble although she was, her virtues had won for her a



26 A Village near Genoa.



position which the proudest might have envied among those
of her own race and station.’ Even British strangers felt
that something was taken out of their lives when that
quaint figure vanished from the ghostly galleries, never
again to be seen gliding within their shadow. All those to
whom Peppina had endeared herself rejoiced in the happi-
ness to which she was hastening through clouds and ¢loom,
as loving friends rejoice when they turn from a death-bed.
Would not her blessedness be indeed a symbol of that to
which we aspire in the land beyond the grave? Twelve
weeks elapsed before these questionings could be set at
rest, and then the information which arrived was startling.
The voyage had been safe and prosperous, and when Pep-
pina disembarked, all the beloved ones were waiting upon
the shore to welcome her; even the faithless husband was
among them, seeking for a reconciliation, Nothing marred
outwardly the full significance and beauty of the parable;
only in one essential point its meaning failed. Every
report of Peppina, every line which she dictated, bespoke
the keen anguish of the exile, and heart-sickening yearnings
for Italy, and such an aching void as neither ease, pleasure,
novelty, nor even her children’s companionship could fill.
It was a natural, almost inevitable consequence of being
thus transplanted in mature age to a foreign soil, but none
the less were those who had followed her history disappointed.
They need not have been so. She had, after all, only ex-
changed one phase of earthly trial for another.

Next to Peppina’s aged charges, there was probably no
one who missed her to the same extent as Barberina.
They had long been intimate, and each found in the other's
sympathy a solace for many privations. The younger
servant was promoted from the laundry to the more Ilucra-
tive office which her fellow had left vacant; but even this
solid benefit was little compensation for her loss. All



A Village near Genoa. oe



lesser pangs were soon, however, to be merged in a more
poignant sorrow. Benedetta had a dangerous relapse, and
hovered for several days on the brink of death, Again, the
poor maid felt the strain of overwork unbalanced by regular
sleep, for the night-hours were spent in applying remedies,
and she could not venture to close her eyes except when
sitting upright at her mother’s pillow.

By slow degrees hope dawned for Benedetta. The attacks
ot bleeding at the lungs grew less severe and frequent, and
the appetite of convalescence began to repair her wasted
strength. The spirits of the watcher rose with a rebound
of gladness. Not alone was her mother yet spared to her,
but she might soon expect Pietro, whom she had not seen
for fourteen months, during which interval his ship had
sailed nearly round the globe. True, he could not stay
very long with her, but while he was on shore she should
devote herself entirely to him only, returning to the hotel
after his departure, as had been agreed between the land-
lady and herself. The vessel had been overdue a fortnight
before she was signalled at Marseilles, but Barberina scarcely
began to be seriously anxious ere her wanderer appeared on
his own threshold. Their meeting was one‘of such pure
happiness as seemed like a foretaste of Paradise. Absence
had wrought no change on either, unless to enhance their
mutual affection. Soon the great sea-chest was unpacked,
and its accumulated stores from many lands displayed to
view. All were remembered in the distributions—her
employers at the inn; English guests there who had .be-
friended her; neighbours in poverty, sickness, or trouble ;
every one, in short, who had a claim on her pity or grati-
tude. Very few of Pietro’s offerings were left to embellish
his own dwelling, but that gave him small concern so long
as Barberina was contented.

Even in this short holiday the husband and wife were



28 A Village near Genoa.

not idle, nor could they contrive to be always together
while engaged in their several pursuits. Pietro was a most
delightful inmate, happy from morning until night, and
occupied unceasingly for the welfare of those he loved. He
hired himself out to the fishermen, thus winning his share
of a favourable “haul.” He roamed among the rocks,
_ collecting for sale the “sea-fruits,” or shell-jish, which are
so esteemed in Italy, and undertook such whitewashing
and carpentry as were needed in his own household. Bar-
berina meanwhile had ample scope for her energies in
cleaning the rooms which had been so long neglected, and
in renewing the wardrobe of her sailor, which she found
reduced to a hopeless condition. How respectable and neat
all her surroundings looked when the substantial furniture,
and pretty crockery, and other trifles had been disposed to
the best advantage. How delightful it seemed to be mis-
tress of her own humble establishment, free from those
jangling bells which had distracted her at the inn, and at
liberty to arrange the day’s routine according to her own
convenience.

When Pietro had been with her for about a month, the
dreaded trial’ of her mother’s death overtook Barberina.
There had been so much pain towards the last, that no one
could desire it should be prolonged, and it seemed merci-
fully ordered that the blow should fall while the wife was
sustained by her husband’s strong yet gentle presence.

When Benedetta had been laid under the cypress trees
of the churchyard upon the hill-top, there were grave and
anxious consultations on the part of the survivors. Pietro
had been notified that he must soon be ready for a two
years’ voyage, and who would be the centre of the family,
and keep watch over its younger members as the invalid had
hitherto done despite her helplessness? Clearly there was
only one way, namely, that Barberina should give up the hope



A Village near Genoa. 29

of earning money for the present, and be satisfied to save it.
She must sacrifice her situation for the sake of the brother,
sister, and little child who needed her care so imperatively.
Their food might often be scanty as well as coarse, and
many a struggle would it cost her to make both ends meet ;
but it was finally decided to try the experiment. Her
face beamed with satisfaction at the thought of living among
her own people, and Pietro felt equally thankful as he took
his hand-net and went down among the rocks, eager to
capture a few of the small fish, with whose haunts he was
acquainted. Barberina had been busy during the discus-
sion in converting her oldest print gown into a summer suit
for her boy to wear at school. Clothing must be utilised
to the uttermost, as she did not know when any could be
purchased, and there would be none of the timely supplies
which had been of so much assistance while she was in
service. Laying aside her needle, she began to cook the
dinner, which consisted of rice boiled in milk and water,
with a pennyworth of chestnuts chopped fine to give it a
flavour. There was no dish which Pietro liked so much,
and it would be a treat for Angelino when he came back
rosy and ravenous from his school. It was more expen-
sive than the jidellini, but Pietro would not be with them
much longer, and she should like to feel, when he was
far away, that she had tried to consider his tastes and com-
fort.

After a short reprieve the heavy parting came to that
united pair, but they bore it courageously. Barberina
cheerfully began a new chapter of life, by no means a lonely
or sad one, for never, so she declared, were there such civil
and obliging neighbours as the six large families gathered
beneath the same roof as herself. Perhaps the secret lay
in her sweet readiness to share their burdens, and unfailing
sympathy towards young and old. Babies were her espe-



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'2011-09-28T17:08:32-04:00'
describe
'73603' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDK' 'sip-files00006.QC.jpg'
a2533141d297f98861634e496e4da9c2
cc02c14f914ac840ddd2df5285ffc7bd864899eb
'2011-09-28T17:11:14-04:00'
describe
'8230856' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDL' 'sip-files00006.tif'
d5ef6227e4e6e85263119e4b369e8a4d
7750abec37efdfdfcb297aa1502a38a6948ac1cb
'2011-09-28T17:13:03-04:00'
describe
'197' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDM' 'sip-files00006.txt'
b08a7972adee7849f103d15f7e93bade
fd1efdbf60a84fd0f651665d6260dfae54e4afcc
'2011-09-28T17:13:16-04:00'
describe
'34005' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDN' 'sip-files00006thm.jpg'
554389724796c2e01710c3fa8c451477
61a5f3ba4c223bba9137efaef31d34a2c2b79f54
'2011-09-28T17:08:03-04:00'
describe
'343344' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDO' 'sip-files00007.jp2'
13e4ce2e96da1a33ace8284ba094d45a
27ee4214b0a18fbe3e61a9d3f57fb53e1bdbdbc5
'2011-09-28T17:09:02-04:00'
describe
'77346' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDP' 'sip-files00007.jpg'
698224ebafd11c251a45db046a8ce2fe
a62bef90119bf8936ae69eee74dffe9a4944df9a
'2011-09-28T17:07:34-04:00'
describe
'2688' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDQ' 'sip-files00007.pro'
24436318f013015400367ce4b60375da
8d2fd27f7da8b86322d34b8deeb1ee456d162438
'2011-09-28T17:07:29-04:00'
describe
'37116' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDR' 'sip-files00007.QC.jpg'
c14aeaa3d878094c109aaef1995c678a
72022dad96133a9bf483526bdbfdc7ac2348fa16
'2011-09-28T17:10:36-04:00'
describe
'2766140' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDS' 'sip-files00007.tif'
59e50d06b2604aa1897d59fe22eba6fc
9d8e096278d57bc3f21f185cc627ece91efefd76
'2011-09-28T17:09:21-04:00'
describe
'179' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDT' 'sip-files00007.txt'
ca78b7348c87b746ee1644653a7b246e
1d70ca88c3b396aad0882dfee76257f417fa73a1
describe
'24979' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDU' 'sip-files00007thm.jpg'
a14b4810dade77a6c395d689003df2f7
ffb6788aae7d929bf06fe2dd66b8e84a44fcf17a
'2011-09-28T17:13:10-04:00'
describe
'343324' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDV' 'sip-files00009.jp2'
55204fe077a5ca2083cdd040fdcad32e
28a42d99a9e9a19d22ff4006a7cec190408ca6d3
'2011-09-28T17:10:24-04:00'
describe
'167189' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDW' 'sip-files00009.jpg'
4a2f4e4c4469db54394199710d5ad94a
025627fe7c1e47c51de0be6132e3c4f84f1f2315
'2011-09-28T17:11:16-04:00'
describe
'31041' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDX' 'sip-files00009.pro'
9f4a5632eb45b665c1370ff40c5f1428
9909c6973a9e3dfca42b504b0be6acb2f18409a6
'2011-09-28T17:08:36-04:00'
describe
'65089' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDY' 'sip-files00009.QC.jpg'
e7f1b44ea9d17925cd20f9ff2ccfaa62
189a831ce894084ab856b551a12a4b61a505383d
describe
'2768340' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANDZ' 'sip-files00009.tif'
9b9fd053824639c9445fc2f6e3d9e9d7
cace4f2f59e40c854b0ce5558a364b4e50b2e0fb
'2011-09-28T17:10:14-04:00'
describe
'1355' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEA' 'sip-files00009.txt'
25fc43fd0956ef3760e710c7a8567b74
251d3802955ac2442680d47bb6fb5b148607cb37
'2011-09-28T17:07:27-04:00'
describe
'32020' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEB' 'sip-files00009thm.jpg'
c7f0a83882940a495b94cc985471cb55
5737a5827e63cc940036c4b3a15008b4413b30ec
'2011-09-28T17:06:56-04:00'
describe
'343319' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEC' 'sip-files00010.jp2'
6bccdc861e814dd701075367252e01d3
f3d4b50530419e31d1936f595baed26612f2f69a
'2011-09-28T17:09:29-04:00'
describe
'223445' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANED' 'sip-files00010.jpg'
36a027cc8807be1755fd0f1a237d0398
176c9464698641d86e2348fa6a8f64b9e2db6c66
'2011-09-28T17:07:33-04:00'
describe
'49171' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEE' 'sip-files00010.pro'
dabc3298a3f45d77f7d171f6db978371
d41b24df13fb9ba6c6d2bf23aa74ca8ef8050a68
'2011-09-28T17:09:51-04:00'
describe
'86012' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEF' 'sip-files00010.QC.jpg'
9479b8cf4a7ba022f4f9a9dce5ec9c94
9a71b43e6afc179e352871d8915cc087e9e96f50
'2011-09-28T17:07:00-04:00'
describe
'2769836' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEG' 'sip-files00010.tif'
46dad5f7a5ffc03991c7eb1067fb856b
d80a9e71b3fa63aa843ca111a34beb89b8e7ebb5
'2011-09-28T17:11:31-04:00'
describe
'1961' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEH' 'sip-files00010.txt'
c474359279d53a02231d2a75dd677bb3
bb498ea85e0f62d01d2a66ec7e18c733c4011e17
'2011-09-28T17:10:15-04:00'
describe
'37354' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEI' 'sip-files00010thm.jpg'
1a68a0d20bf0a376c86236593d394ba2
3073a1482141448903227e14ccefc57a050edf77
'2011-09-28T17:08:18-04:00'
describe
'343331' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEJ' 'sip-files00011.jp2'
3828fc5e04aa79c331afe9577b3e2db7
b92dc466bc9b7590f9b8613f85d7b0d64ada5dc6
'2011-09-28T17:13:39-04:00'
describe
'226485' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEK' 'sip-files00011.jpg'
3399ff012be30e835f90c90dae0e3e3a
6797557da2633b30f1cea35c618a9f33e89737b3
'2011-09-28T17:12:03-04:00'
describe
'48528' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEL' 'sip-files00011.pro'
ce1288d6b02f2348809e5d80c4ae75d6
e3a919db202834365fa7069028fb35db23a79104
'2011-09-28T17:13:21-04:00'
describe
'89052' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEM' 'sip-files00011.QC.jpg'
d1fc124c7bd2e355a02935ee2c7cf5d5
411a351bc18f063e469ba95d3b512f450c1e8d64
'2011-09-28T17:09:18-04:00'
describe
'2770372' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEN' 'sip-files00011.tif'
c004c953eedd99b71ebc90a0cb9d4751
afc029912760c3356df2354983bf155aeecdfc1e
'2011-09-28T17:06:39-04:00'
describe
'1933' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEO' 'sip-files00011.txt'
5456b0fd56a5404d518a3392c192837d
b25c964d309966c01bf4c95986b2ced2a0135870
'2011-09-28T17:13:33-04:00'
describe
'38380' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEP' 'sip-files00011thm.jpg'
495955b74fb81486b240910a6879b5d0
7bb755b2fa57908f19625260342ad61e12c5c97e
'2011-09-28T17:11:17-04:00'
describe
'343336' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEQ' 'sip-files00012.jp2'
5bd7c93ac62958db143cb00c3c07e46a
d625482b5d32327ca34d9aa913400a10d78c0c92
'2011-09-28T17:11:08-04:00'
describe
'218786' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANER' 'sip-files00012.jpg'
8b581468afbf58eccdad469cc1e1f261
ea73069a74e09d582a2431a80ad5aa18f1b59a91
'2011-09-28T17:13:49-04:00'
describe
'51265' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANES' 'sip-files00012.pro'
4136c4bad558f34eef92f9c6f3a6b993
1b6bbb8ec87a0ef0178ebcb8002b8368f15ce420
'2011-09-28T17:10:05-04:00'
describe
'86563' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANET' 'sip-files00012.QC.jpg'
bd03ad92cf7a292f7f4f387f345236d2
68f0ea3bfe5783dfe392cca173c79ec22fbbee4b
'2011-09-28T17:06:51-04:00'
describe
'2769800' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEU' 'sip-files00012.tif'
1e0c223aec2f9be02beb657a70e464cf
6ee1f28e3c19e34a5d42f52d8cdde3241921819e
describe
'2013' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEV' 'sip-files00012.txt'
c7332c61d02e928926aa492655d88e05
92eaec4dc6a3c2a0fb1d38083ea76bfecad084d6
'2011-09-28T17:12:26-04:00'
describe
'37124' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEW' 'sip-files00012thm.jpg'
7bb704cd2828c3e06f00f060c9883b5c
b37a7ad3ad7f1574ab7f207b4b17f2426399dbcc
'2011-09-28T17:07:01-04:00'
describe
'343357' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEX' 'sip-files00013.jp2'
5c42b7e781fdc10c814250ff96e5c8f7
4a136c655c25286171b498454f97e7f59240b3c6
'2011-09-28T17:10:58-04:00'
describe
'235045' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEY' 'sip-files00013.jpg'
ae6fa5b6bbbc1f977673b41489b7fbb4
3bcbdc10815896d9bf3040b5febc2d62b89b48d3
'2011-09-28T17:11:15-04:00'
describe
'50639' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANEZ' 'sip-files00013.pro'
1e62bd19faf4f21e90080e47d15e902e
755ed3699d26eb27c7cacdf154c7f96b13c61e8d
'2011-09-28T17:06:59-04:00'
describe
'87899' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFA' 'sip-files00013.QC.jpg'
bf93908b24bde3f54e42d17086520862
a4c272553e33254173cb1f946179b64081b11b36
'2011-09-28T17:06:52-04:00'
describe
'2770092' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFB' 'sip-files00013.tif'
b36e566cccac66038bd6d3ece80c269b
d73fe1b9a3ea25001db7ee948589fdf536ee75fe
'2011-09-28T17:10:31-04:00'
describe
'2033' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFC' 'sip-files00013.txt'
75641f782a6099314dc3c86777d0f7b6
a23d174f6b0f5cf2721883a3cff48c1d14ea7dc7
'2011-09-28T17:06:43-04:00'
describe
'37601' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFD' 'sip-files00013thm.jpg'
fe1f18dcc54f2e323768ca41c93a3338
d28020f77262e94d927e5667aa95ceca7db3565f
'2011-09-28T17:11:28-04:00'
describe
'343354' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFE' 'sip-files00014.jp2'
84b6147ebb2440ad3604d2d45fb1ff2a
59f84d4f4af0565bf3342bacf1dad0e6a41268d4
'2011-09-28T17:11:26-04:00'
describe
'224400' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFF' 'sip-files00014.jpg'
db96160e65ba9bcca6b4a4b0ba6e33fd
6f90db6dfba3f4f4327c5b5f671d8d722ac2134a
'2011-09-28T17:13:14-04:00'
describe
'49805' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFG' 'sip-files00014.pro'
5cd4e99ff7b65f62993c2c721c27daa6
4819cd6937f439a83d90e9b8fd5d474cfe149b2a
'2011-09-28T17:08:35-04:00'
describe
'86657' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFH' 'sip-files00014.QC.jpg'
06560b7f0e8e7bd9a25af1471112f9b2
fc561d085137109939b89e4af61c45f3b20d7427
'2011-09-28T17:11:58-04:00'
describe
'2769672' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFI' 'sip-files00014.tif'
a5bc31937a37d9d03563cb4394b4a724
0e86dbc67eb8b07b6a0f1d1cfb6281356da47b9c
describe
'1966' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFJ' 'sip-files00014.txt'
133e3c61e89a17c6dc4b3423cb6bfafb
bc41be3522f3971b4978c25998f4abd62e524d21
'2011-09-28T17:09:08-04:00'
describe
'37050' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFK' 'sip-files00014thm.jpg'
45df46621a32d9d753bafd42047eb9fb
ca8503e5ce10e21fb57e213d38c82b30d044e3db
'2011-09-28T17:07:09-04:00'
describe
'343359' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFL' 'sip-files00015.jp2'
d30b86a1649c678f49bad1918a45addf
9a2f84c50d628e19414b33d90829e560770d1c2f
'2011-09-28T17:08:40-04:00'
describe
'215337' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFM' 'sip-files00015.jpg'
7a56b70d91d85cff42dbad9075b1f4cb
0d0d613061f1c210da830afb6b6c8385621f04ab
'2011-09-28T17:09:13-04:00'
describe
'49409' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFN' 'sip-files00015.pro'
44f5a13b776e139a6b0e4b465501fca0
df709794ef042511ec425eb5567a07c16a254231
'2011-09-28T17:12:47-04:00'
describe
'87247' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFO' 'sip-files00015.QC.jpg'
dfaf81282ed85477bb8b28f56764c146
e8d0d0d4a63b24262c626d1a6b91b4bf475efb1b
'2011-09-28T17:11:55-04:00'
describe
'2770000' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFP' 'sip-files00015.tif'
a39a846077f5aaa95b019ed728644f72
ec59e244db58c90aaa4579ab1e7c53b60c7d77ad
'2011-09-28T17:09:53-04:00'
describe
'1956' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFQ' 'sip-files00015.txt'
3b793201205acaf5a35c982f49857aa9
f162dac1368c59fe2c0ea0298374e3fde4d4ce5d
'2011-09-28T17:10:22-04:00'
describe
'37546' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFR' 'sip-files00015thm.jpg'
9af030d616a013a77daf66c6c29e5a04
8b381236c5edf840d809f2231a3bc081d8284eaa
'2011-09-28T17:10:28-04:00'
describe
'343315' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFS' 'sip-files00016.jp2'
1dba1fbae1ba1ac377f05b386431ca5d
6635d4e5251863b596d09beb66ce2a494dd40f69
'2011-09-28T17:09:00-04:00'
describe
'215490' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFT' 'sip-files00016.jpg'
75fa1ae4a5e0756d28a0ffc5fb4525f5
3306d9f9b5833890447361959a642c0b9974bbe6
'2011-09-28T17:11:52-04:00'
describe
'48208' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFU' 'sip-files00016.pro'
0e303afc06facdcd771ec87dfeb79810
559c68cba6d02802ed4f36086b5f3f932876bf95
'2011-09-28T17:07:30-04:00'
describe
'82180' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFV' 'sip-files00016.QC.jpg'
a8f22fda46053e9187ba7602c3789c57
721a221ac0b36bba0cdbe1f6162922651583de30
'2011-09-28T17:06:48-04:00'
describe
'2769364' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFW' 'sip-files00016.tif'
851bf06bc0f0b13baadb99b88c2cd81a
c223867cefa05cd082c26e3c58224e81bab427a2
'2011-09-28T17:10:53-04:00'
describe
'1907' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFX' 'sip-files00016.txt'
70aa83cf43f65da2a632890ce3619f6c
c4eb8f094f503b7382cdee51238c31234dd99b4d
describe
'36119' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFY' 'sip-files00016thm.jpg'
5e6c4699d4f0d0e1e8b9e02831a28f35
a3d6d7504ef8600e58f73515c8c5b632d873b11d
'2011-09-28T17:11:20-04:00'
describe
'343350' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANFZ' 'sip-files00017.jp2'
e1d7892dda200f941e889a7180113236
85c761de265cd0b5a3bdc92f79eabb7cdd9f6b80
'2011-09-28T17:12:38-04:00'
describe
'221992' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGA' 'sip-files00017.jpg'
e928538a9657a535a1bae95a743352cf
9586204e39bc2ffcb69ab2c8f9f0519dddcceb1b
'2011-09-28T17:13:47-04:00'
describe
'50364' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGB' 'sip-files00017.pro'
adb844dd8b3aef1b17637367c97a4507
a681d077c02a63aab6653a2f04d4ab9f16cf92e7
describe
'85887' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGC' 'sip-files00017.QC.jpg'
f9abf5e7d03682cf7353e9da4a8c8d2f
4f491536c0dd03a1111c8f8df0ca7d857ccae883
'2011-09-28T17:09:26-04:00'
describe
'2769848' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGD' 'sip-files00017.tif'
d9a3a7b0ce126d0fed063a9d8189d2b9
4e8c037b3f51015f7e3a8e01d7eff6af8503f9bf
'2011-09-28T17:10:34-04:00'
describe
'2008' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGE' 'sip-files00017.txt'
2133054c5fd2f1949739e5517ac2fd75
ee869672a8f1846f5d4b927fe30f7e966f6fdd0d
'2011-09-28T17:06:40-04:00'
describe
'36685' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGF' 'sip-files00017thm.jpg'
a629b5ceaf4e909f2d7f3495d7fce6bf
cd7c0bebc3c334421ba86454d8268555a2d3d21e
'2011-09-28T17:14:04-04:00'
describe
'343251' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGG' 'sip-files00018.jp2'
41e32ff9b9375b8aa039476d22da9327
a6fde6c7cd3df191f99dd951573840f4431c4b7e
'2011-09-28T17:09:17-04:00'
describe
'212868' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGH' 'sip-files00018.jpg'
8970f340e63083094b505c1dc38b83a7
254fcb2b55355b7f082507531a760f56971709de
'2011-09-28T17:12:02-04:00'
describe
'47891' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGI' 'sip-files00018.pro'
4dcd70f066bcef07bb1ba3a9f52a9e2b
381854143ef2f7d0885e549f6d3353f4c68ca218
'2011-09-28T17:14:08-04:00'
describe
'84927' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGJ' 'sip-files00018.QC.jpg'
94b450b8a3dac83fd2a08dc3bdd3cf08
34400894d802751f02ee92d3f4660c4df25a3b76
'2011-09-28T17:13:27-04:00'
describe
'2769604' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGK' 'sip-files00018.tif'
9e22e21f1198220616d91ccfb31c6f93
449c1ef9fc26e6a3f7d70592e483451a791e1e16
'2011-09-28T17:08:37-04:00'
describe
'1892' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGL' 'sip-files00018.txt'
a82737492eab52fb0cb804cc9da6ebf9
ab3a494967d1e31e5f535afcf2ef9422c840edb7
'2011-09-28T17:07:18-04:00'
describe
'36777' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGM' 'sip-files00018thm.jpg'
3ee1c221f59cecee52cc86f2e1db5488
4f87da74aeaf93e6ff0241a54509df9a5a7e80e2
describe
'343276' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGN' 'sip-files00019.jp2'
ccb80367641b76c3e0acd4c9dc2e732e
26054c1516edb86bbcf21c9233d4c2f363f3e0fd
'2011-09-28T17:11:22-04:00'
describe
'206117' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGO' 'sip-files00019.jpg'
bdf978016f0afe7406e74e47441efa80
1e0a3ed3fdbdcae57d2f3f0be915fb98027e83af
describe
'41396' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGP' 'sip-files00019.pro'
8f9579a0cab376d638d5c23942ef19dd
2e483ab30279c1658b30e7778e67f670a9764851
'2011-09-28T17:10:08-04:00'
describe
'77724' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGQ' 'sip-files00019.QC.jpg'
570eeca943592f9f3db7435f85012359
24f507cbaa71b696e6dc656f1b8b633e42d23958
'2011-09-28T17:08:00-04:00'
describe
'2769432' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGR' 'sip-files00019.tif'
8dc0c87201aa29a185208bbeb4b371b3
3735f6833698234978e3db5d84023bb1053a559b
describe
'1664' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGS' 'sip-files00019.txt'
dea1052e3b9918a5c72173cf7d62f131
be61187f58aa9513a4e8eab63b50bdacdcae0747
'2011-09-28T17:11:37-04:00'
describe
'35371' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGT' 'sip-files00019thm.jpg'
301113e90ae8dbfe94b1033576e17012
5bd6012a4cf22baf8672063c63cf36c654cdcf36
'2011-09-28T17:07:08-04:00'
describe
'343320' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGU' 'sip-files00020.jp2'
6c2f729000c776bfb4ba87525a12e7c7
82628a950df4e5e7aeafe7f5ac74f796bcb3c1ad
'2011-09-28T17:07:44-04:00'
describe
'207705' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGV' 'sip-files00020.jpg'
f6338cf4b83a3a6ee18046107b267a5e
47985b7454f361281ffdc0213363dc09525e3e1b
'2011-09-28T17:09:43-04:00'
describe
'46928' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGW' 'sip-files00020.pro'
36f0d675130f2380edc52fd5c5c4a3ff
6cf8ea5e6e82e5250b8ef8d1ce4adb26008567b6
'2011-09-28T17:13:32-04:00'
describe
'81884' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGX' 'sip-files00020.QC.jpg'
a14323f5808de5dd5481c4d7869206d4
e66b29903ce2e5a5ffe0f0b7babacaa05a562793
'2011-09-28T17:07:10-04:00'
describe
'2769212' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGY' 'sip-files00020.tif'
282366bdb8e31944ef0460c4fd93181d
bdd763919c8fd6714c0630eb201fc262b3850fb9
'2011-09-28T17:07:56-04:00'
describe
'1873' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANGZ' 'sip-files00020.txt'
37debc5c52fdd35d847bb89f1d62e20e
c69c42dde77ae9a39d84f69daeafc8762ea82612
'2011-09-28T17:14:10-04:00'
describe
'35839' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHA' 'sip-files00020thm.jpg'
9793265aefae8c9cc931c42f56eb06f1
dc718a2ff6f484a669e5d11026aa1abe3dce8af3
describe
'343308' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHB' 'sip-files00021.jp2'
6be5b030e3973c82af045116f7d12154
0ac16b74068e85713a2dbfd8a5f29f61b9653312
'2011-09-28T17:12:08-04:00'
describe
'222411' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHC' 'sip-files00021.jpg'
524dd79d731978a7a3248d88f33d8b37
8ce4c255e278f48cc6302e6c02fc77f8411f0756
describe
'48738' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHD' 'sip-files00021.pro'
2a24cdcba17302761991f99ba95f11a0
461279f33665d0ce3c6191abcb292626e0278e6b
'2011-09-28T17:08:15-04:00'
describe
'84914' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHE' 'sip-files00021.QC.jpg'
80abd43dbae84038c57a7b6db25c9d74
6cb48e6323608b2139e5243a845beab80d2fe963
'2011-09-28T17:10:19-04:00'
describe
'2769896' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHF' 'sip-files00021.tif'
37b003602cf30b7dbc6de749c2b7ee57
b40821c4b4ff577b52d9bae005eb604d7c1059c3
'2011-09-28T17:13:23-04:00'
describe
'1964' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHG' 'sip-files00021.txt'
c3a2def7c32ddf810a9ce3df319ea35b
3e9f44022cde9eb5fae2235228a2d4c1a4908003
describe
'37141' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHH' 'sip-files00021thm.jpg'
1b6ad7935ea6d951d5688014cd2e2857
d23bb2a3244896a6115e1da7477ac3d2742d8b6c
describe
'343316' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHI' 'sip-files00022.jp2'
0955315dae016858b13a5fc92518a904
cc60f5b1e09a37dd31e8046d17af9311c41dc8c9
'2011-09-28T17:11:24-04:00'
describe
'210137' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHJ' 'sip-files00022.jpg'
059d24ef1a5cb31ce0883e08f199c3ec
c8ddeecc50ef29a2ab7918337708cf9c52d02548
describe
'48209' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHK' 'sip-files00022.pro'
74b759661bb3daa1834b514f0d209bf8
ee9f01abd14f1bb9ef338bbd181cb94709db65ed
describe
'82497' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHL' 'sip-files00022.QC.jpg'
5c03cc7dc411f1e8af42890c55696a70
65760922406cc5ee3998f8abe31e8b0e4d8a1a88
'2011-09-28T17:09:40-04:00'
describe
'2769400' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHM' 'sip-files00022.tif'
e7123e34ee04f39975c7aec33c06c5cb
e338c748397a60234fff518f6bb63a1abf154fc5
'2011-09-28T17:10:50-04:00'
describe
'1917' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHN' 'sip-files00022.txt'
5bb142866927a497dc7201055e9a10e0
164e54eeee050e2a32221f7b224db3e30723a5a9
'2011-09-28T17:07:35-04:00'
describe
'35938' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHO' 'sip-files00022thm.jpg'
f5c839cfe63a188e002468adb273b771
107634839d5fef5a9c22633421eace0718f06df2
'2011-09-28T17:12:20-04:00'
describe
'343340' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHP' 'sip-files00023.jp2'
adc9403348d75b5cb7447b2bcf5ad39a
08d9f15e66ed201319fb7df2b06b78f92cb1857d
'2011-09-28T17:09:01-04:00'
describe
'177159' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHQ' 'sip-files00023.jpg'
f9b19444383e4eefe7993d780d74d75c
94fc1bd6fc1a75f95fca8f93e6f5967080c17684
'2011-09-28T17:09:27-04:00'
describe
'38474' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHR' 'sip-files00023.pro'
f5d9da0a0036c57ad34fe630cc3a5024
f701d42e51097bddd8bf85d1387f14492957ac8e
'2011-09-28T17:11:48-04:00'
describe
'71697' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHS' 'sip-files00023.QC.jpg'
fb992423e734fa01c44bf870343d1289
8ae94c474e646af56dddb01f71e73decfc91b42d
'2011-09-28T17:12:25-04:00'
describe
'2768476' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHT' 'sip-files00023.tif'
2ebc1ae1b77aab20c4bb1fb48732ffeb
1c2ece354aa4ea3cbfd79e265d76c41814475a53
describe
'1554' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHU' 'sip-files00023.txt'
c9190600b59cd823f84c8deda00871ef
7d0928dce15ba330a10a16be9dbd7d184a6a1808
'2011-09-28T17:11:13-04:00'
describe
'32982' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHV' 'sip-files00023thm.jpg'
2d362c87f40e630da8b23004d2c4383b
1439b1f2b04ea7b093c71890ab0d9ac5840a4b88
'2011-09-28T17:12:34-04:00'
describe
'343290' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHW' 'sip-files00024.jp2'
30c1c066576bd2c67baf41e81428b777
90cff688de9533fe09903c1e16cdabe859a3a91d
'2011-09-28T17:07:25-04:00'
describe
'211709' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHX' 'sip-files00024.jpg'
8b6739dc553c2a63a24e398b206adbb5
2a364d50a04d24d278020b9b67d20c65aa633f26
'2011-09-28T17:10:52-04:00'
describe
'47114' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHY' 'sip-files00024.pro'
be10e4e4f5fadd8ab327aa93c4fbf8ca
ebc944c53d63a4d7a761db87a5be1c5ce97cf03e
describe
'82378' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANHZ' 'sip-files00024.QC.jpg'
3ff950b91307600dc02f993324885d51
fd0c18a0316fb39085068fd0efd2732e80dd3b61
describe
'2769272' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIA' 'sip-files00024.tif'
e9e67215a21220f9959b8912e221efdb
9467a49bd510eee974aaa142bd9d23c6ec2d2eab
describe
'1869' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIB' 'sip-files00024.txt'
0bb8f75c64f3c85cf060bececbd4a292
91091fc21c2e7b94647e76cc216297d9185f7488
'2011-09-28T17:09:04-04:00'
describe
'35584' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIC' 'sip-files00024thm.jpg'
f5fe054d12d951f350e64ea3c4c84068
2d879e418e02f1c5ff5680a6b00264237389220b
'2011-09-28T17:09:31-04:00'
describe
'343355' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANID' 'sip-files00025.jp2'
99c3095bf9a7e85ae1aeb1367d4134ef
de9ec7c9c41aa6a0c1a5d30478df770f5a1f7c30
describe
'226875' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIE' 'sip-files00025.jpg'
fcddbe2624b70d5de4982d0aea4af81d
b8cd37e4cbd304565778b09a3a3e926e5e7799d8
describe
'50484' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIF' 'sip-files00025.pro'
39470961faf09cb5a493e118fc8827ef
0b2175b3859f676e3b2a36bba9eba75a099a4aea
describe
'86423' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIG' 'sip-files00025.QC.jpg'
764df6dbf317b7e68dfa850d29481584
a5de11a90fceccf3827ac9439477296be37304d6
describe
'2769748' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIH' 'sip-files00025.tif'
d673f23b5e909827fd8ab17579589678
d4cef082b3d43ca9c8861c47630e27cfad4c4fb7
'2011-09-28T17:11:01-04:00'
describe
'1994' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANII' 'sip-files00025.txt'
bb219c34fbcfcd355592f09e2c3fc194
3cbc3eb8302be0f338182e59beb163fcdbcc2cbf
'2011-09-28T17:14:03-04:00'
describe
'36844' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIJ' 'sip-files00025thm.jpg'
0e55dd48a2cec9b0e2df4b64f5f21d66
3a511c56b253054e671c24a4beac8c235be724dd
'2011-09-28T17:10:20-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIK' 'sip-files00026.jp2'
a647a3f298cfc89b72ec31bd54196c7c
aca9e7ce7203e031dbf1bc258f9ff7b389e66fca
describe
'216114' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIL' 'sip-files00026.jpg'
8484b538cfa14477a3a0d7433aca58a1
939c2fd3845fb102c2312b0417e158f93d059879
'2011-09-28T17:07:19-04:00'
describe
'49829' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIM' 'sip-files00026.pro'
7d766626c901c46d054afb7409048fbf
e9bf6539099c2cc94a20cf86e84a2f2791e456bc
'2011-09-28T17:12:11-04:00'
describe
'84404' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIN' 'sip-files00026.QC.jpg'
ce2f57f95c6a34dd03b58e23adb649a5
359595aae8e1b2597cc0f8a83a076802a669fd3d
'2011-09-28T17:09:05-04:00'
describe
'2769512' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIO' 'sip-files00026.tif'
a4c7d0ad717453902b1b403fcef35c07
04bbda0527a68dd9a61cb1ce00ddeac72b53e3c0
'2011-09-28T17:07:23-04:00'
describe
'1962' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIP' 'sip-files00026.txt'
2c846e16462f11a304f87896c9212a8c
79a9c6c442bcb58f17ea906a11215b37da870463
'2011-09-28T17:06:54-04:00'
describe
'36504' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIQ' 'sip-files00026thm.jpg'
a9028acf9d7e79cd5cb73046c3e9cbe8
feec5f01cf6306f5e06612819235c9227c6e90e1
'2011-09-28T17:06:49-04:00'
describe
'343356' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIR' 'sip-files00027.jp2'
433a5466eaccd28b6b93f1bc79286082
8b9319bba62ba6c96c297e787d83462c14813d62
describe
'207745' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIS' 'sip-files00027.jpg'
2595318b34e5b16072dd7882012cbfa3
fc3b050d8544a5b79ab7acf964992932a2cb3f19
'2011-09-28T17:07:46-04:00'
describe
'48710' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIT' 'sip-files00027.pro'
cdeb5229a46cb300648bbab6d07034d8
725fb845b5c22f3cb77c99fe2f759e058f832413
describe
'83315' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIU' 'sip-files00027.QC.jpg'
26ef10260f56f3c3b650c57ed5d92aa7
ae61b543bfaec9cbfb171fdb2434ffb2701b8cdb
'2011-09-28T17:11:53-04:00'
describe
'2769744' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIV' 'sip-files00027.tif'
2f1ece472ce3425dcfca4f8ebeb5ce4b
cbca991bea0024e1953c78bdde3bd7aa63bb6f4c
'2011-09-28T17:08:46-04:00'
describe
'1928' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIW' 'sip-files00027.txt'
d8db98685f4f01746590a2906313ec14
69a0583b4c8f17ed811bfbb21c3c90a6b642bf70
describe
'36687' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIX' 'sip-files00027thm.jpg'
2061c84494aa1482fd77a1b85df280d5
9b4d703fdabb51e94771b08664c74095b30abed7
'2011-09-28T17:13:30-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIY' 'sip-files00028.jp2'
c63d30b6072f3b8b08930614fd3d3508
1ecbc0ca4b485cf5ecfc5bc9f5a017daab9d0f52
'2011-09-28T17:11:32-04:00'
describe
'224572' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANIZ' 'sip-files00028.jpg'
284e58a2905eabb853c5d48b45bd52e8
28577052a6b6a7721e794b4f6ab9aadd420bf0e8
'2011-09-28T17:13:43-04:00'
describe
'50652' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJA' 'sip-files00028.pro'
66286a40f3c5deb7661c454818159fd5
0746639dbbd2ed3d1e13c32aa3a9f551fb3328d2
'2011-09-28T17:08:45-04:00'
describe
'86136' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJB' 'sip-files00028.QC.jpg'
16a4fbce95f4ed29dad924c903a18e8b
9007bb28841fc9259d00b75c8b72f063c2d03bd2
describe
'2769596' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJC' 'sip-files00028.tif'
471cb4635ecfd635bf6604013dae70bc
8bba4860ec4f4abfa03b2ff5eee9bdc3cac67132
'2011-09-28T17:13:42-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJD' 'sip-files00028.txt'
0c2cfbb4c9eb0f9f6c9b4b20884332c4
bcff87486b5fc97a034fdd297830cbb26297855a
'2011-09-28T17:09:19-04:00'
describe
'36798' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJE' 'sip-files00028thm.jpg'
47368eba4b50c91645a02315bfc26f6a
9405b6ea81613ca3b40a50d1af4e1023fc92c174
'2011-09-28T17:14:15-04:00'
describe
'343339' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJF' 'sip-files00029.jp2'
03e3d5cd1b78ddca9a28c600063150d0
b6f95f1bd05f5928a00af5b7431048823bdabf80
'2011-09-28T17:06:55-04:00'
describe
'224661' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJG' 'sip-files00029.jpg'
1a407532d1d4870ba47530fe466ce8c1
950303502e69b3ba8eac69a4ae8131ffb53c2771
'2011-09-28T17:08:31-04:00'
describe
'50849' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJH' 'sip-files00029.pro'
290640cc2018a33622a265b5409e7320
e1ad90b162b74b16989c17a450c7855cfb952df5
'2011-09-28T17:10:44-04:00'
describe
'87240' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJI' 'sip-files00029.QC.jpg'
96679b69acb51424ea4d9260454b6078
ec05c056d337c964bb235330fbefd2d7e9666fb8
'2011-09-28T17:12:36-04:00'
describe
'2769868' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJJ' 'sip-files00029.tif'
8bc22d8755ff8661126b77fff394f059
a7c61ca06a32bfdfaebb34e35c049ab662cb9602
'2011-09-28T17:07:21-04:00'
describe
'2032' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJK' 'sip-files00029.txt'
50b3ed3434d5034da90bdc78438e4648
9abfca71a66e2991f67d3b9d4a34f363436d5d35
describe
'36737' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJL' 'sip-files00029thm.jpg'
f1e45199470bf4ee883b34bf93d74dbb
45e15803cfd0e8df37fcf8ea5b12f5b79319d794
'2011-09-28T17:14:11-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJM' 'sip-files00030.jp2'
fd01bf260dc65a1f433bd98a54303287
e42373cf72c7576f8df4919f45b2b1ac9cd53723
describe
'213785' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJN' 'sip-files00030.jpg'
3b54f1828760d77ef7fa85565caeca74
c9bb09d9cc32c9f0742ecc9aba6fbd0827638865
describe
'50073' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJO' 'sip-files00030.pro'
8600ba6abc1a0176140c6d394081ceb3
fd56e101adb51be44a891c3d01bbb98310c81682
'2011-09-28T17:12:10-04:00'
describe
'83543' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJP' 'sip-files00030.QC.jpg'
6ac269fb75d7cdea556e945e9e53e4f2
e9104e009d3b62d16b7ddd48b420b0c5f9a2cf58
'2011-09-28T17:10:12-04:00'
describe
'2769424' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJQ' 'sip-files00030.tif'
3ebc1ef3f5b40794c18652a06c163899
a7fc17102e153353fd9d95659bb41f8427519d02
'2011-09-28T17:07:15-04:00'
describe
'1971' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJR' 'sip-files00030.txt'
6d317787f3d9acb93099491e2775561d
75bc996c55ff72c5ed505d181df38cbc83ad2f92
'2011-09-28T17:09:52-04:00'
describe
'36157' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJS' 'sip-files00030thm.jpg'
ffb466af032edc6633f2bd4090c9e06b
ae7dc8b4d8e02f2b24341b65f37f515bfc7e0395
'2011-09-28T17:12:50-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJT' 'sip-files00031.jp2'
878c11195de3045870a56c6b2279fcc1
7363893fc502b67e171c9f937791d5c643795351
'2011-09-28T17:11:40-04:00'
describe
'207436' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJU' 'sip-files00031.jpg'
648f3ffd5e2cb8f1988d7329df6be82c
b00be9c57001aa7d53bc99ab09a99d2832cf0295
describe
'51734' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJV' 'sip-files00031.pro'
2cc376f213d938e2eeb49437af3d5c00
9a1d7ac21e60733c2f9e35bed17ce34208770188
describe
'85540' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJW' 'sip-files00031.QC.jpg'
c2d882eaada9e0a39a40d8cb65c57812
e5964bea563ae0118415ed9be6c494d32be00d19
'2011-09-28T17:07:54-04:00'
describe
'2769856' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJX' 'sip-files00031.tif'
ce267dbfd4170b858615b780f2b5c3f6
4e16eb28a3c7d31e864844679436b5013b8d7d24
describe
'2042' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJY' 'sip-files00031.txt'
c72249661bd6a032ab4d759b56eef4f9
80a2f9415815b35f43868dece8357ea8baaa65f9
'2011-09-28T17:13:58-04:00'
describe
'37006' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANJZ' 'sip-files00031thm.jpg'
25569144abe60e30d6435c3e0e78533b
a5c5aeaf6c304fd196d726f1c221bcae2e408223
'2011-09-28T17:11:25-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKA' 'sip-files00032.jp2'
ed0f7f81dc6585752090fcfafa58826a
cb898609b6faa0c6b9e402daa0b5fd1ba48c8f11
'2011-09-28T17:12:35-04:00'
describe
'216161' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKB' 'sip-files00032.jpg'
fe81736283ac25f74caeb2b4ff368fd7
05fa04ceec19edec36aca4a7a4d0cac7cdb44b77
'2011-09-28T17:07:16-04:00'
describe
'50109' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKC' 'sip-files00032.pro'
117ef4ba175c0e352d20c61488492ec2
a7ffef40e93732120cfb634be5a6e36a5e773584
'2011-09-28T17:12:04-04:00'
describe
'83428' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKD' 'sip-files00032.QC.jpg'
b71cd6aef9ce9a9ba5d1da52402be52c
42fb3935854120fd910ef41a9f7324213b9c91e0
'2011-09-28T17:09:09-04:00'
describe
'2769316' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKE' 'sip-files00032.tif'
3a2a22e7effe15294f366567542d1997
c57d99888441a0d43062f367201df84b192ecf13
'2011-09-28T17:11:21-04:00'
describe
'1976' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKF' 'sip-files00032.txt'
3c452047887821f0c0487cf1cd4b7106
fc2d4bb8a24c7642d132aae0642f59aa78ee6866
describe
'35801' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKG' 'sip-files00032thm.jpg'
b86dd1ad1ccccbe923406e97f38624bf
4581a1b02d7dde8233494accde36288ee7603cc5
'2011-09-28T17:06:41-04:00'
describe
'343332' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKH' 'sip-files00033.jp2'
c50f5eb817c6d50043ab1141e3698480
8a6142e38308480d217a650b285f143f46a903ff
'2011-09-28T17:09:39-04:00'
describe
'223087' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKI' 'sip-files00033.jpg'
ab1668e27f44c083940afad194f65290
cbe31d0935cb73ae5e683ae56b7e697c9b2973a3
'2011-09-28T17:12:23-04:00'
describe
'50870' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKJ' 'sip-files00033.pro'
c4d067ceed6a17dbd8bc3a6ebd5b1d10
a4c2a71f59a20937adfa0a2477f0184a425a8472
describe
'86987' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKK' 'sip-files00033.QC.jpg'
85c1a3fa1cfc92f99cf7aa9088b4ac83
d4184859a30a5c80170199c07efba5f6bfd46026
'2011-09-28T17:13:17-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKL' 'sip-files00033.tif'
d1ffa7d16bcec51e06be2528c9c8f1d1
ffe04d0e9e8fd466c8a829001e047a2f34c2bda3
'2011-09-28T17:09:46-04:00'
describe
'2031' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKM' 'sip-files00033.txt'
b87be88721dee9e198f45358d48400c1
ff710a1595ba1c1b6066adba59f598863178af81
'2011-09-28T17:08:59-04:00'
describe
'36403' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKN' 'sip-files00033thm.jpg'
dd926e9712088fab798583c179105fc2
646a0e2c3fb1ca34abdafc492520245dac0b9c28
'2011-09-28T17:09:15-04:00'
describe
'343328' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKO' 'sip-files00034.jp2'
89e094b1493e5ff6f208a750858b028a
c2201527cf9528bfdbe222317f82078fdec01655
'2011-09-28T17:09:30-04:00'
describe
'212174' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKP' 'sip-files00034.jpg'
d1024de66595fffabbc579742409f1ad
d05727daaf941207ddf48bcd54c0b93edbf3a064
'2011-09-28T17:08:48-04:00'
describe
'51095' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKQ' 'sip-files00034.pro'
3dea7fe92831431fdb12744fe6da9421
5d069e6c7e5d6e0369e98eae64336c7181f5e6cc
'2011-09-28T17:14:09-04:00'
describe
'86863' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKR' 'sip-files00034.QC.jpg'
17f98550b41868b72c399b95f7163ab9
682918332be63d01a6e568146b6678b77b5a9a1f
'2011-09-28T17:10:30-04:00'
describe
'2769716' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKS' 'sip-files00034.tif'
50e9a798a8870f79fe2ee5496dc099e5
e6310dc654a743bf935da924e3a60b25185e30e0
'2011-09-28T17:10:00-04:00'
describe
'2012' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKT' 'sip-files00034.txt'
541a571457c4221d802cf171297270cf
acc1af2556f8665b3a02a95ae4de022a3cd71994
describe
'37095' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKU' 'sip-files00034thm.jpg'
8c6a7279f53e8ae63094a94824b7bccf
783304f7f97ea7217e3f80751efec503148dfc92
describe
'343346' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKV' 'sip-files00035.jp2'
0204facfcf3fb01319af8f9fb2b717cb
68cd4ed2db10d32d3cc5ec1153ae430bb34b6195
'2011-09-28T17:13:00-04:00'
describe
'213589' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKW' 'sip-files00035.jpg'
879789d0172d6482c18edf360cd54d0e
1d56b6bbd5c63a74835c6bfadd5add141dccc848
describe
'50183' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKX' 'sip-files00035.pro'
653e63948712a99eaf2d3897745ef4cf
1cc48bcb59641ea19ac6cec595da5b0cfe18f96b
describe
'85960' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKY' 'sip-files00035.QC.jpg'
6fe4df0af601640233dcd8a67146ead9
d67bff5914e8866ea2ecba3e26ea9e51ad3cfe10
'2011-09-28T17:08:27-04:00'
describe
'2770004' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANKZ' 'sip-files00035.tif'
7a770972149d3f553316f41c479c7b23
23b02f380c17b7b4fd6fd3f5c1327e1e284ff95e
'2011-09-28T17:13:15-04:00'
describe
'2014' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLA' 'sip-files00035.txt'
8c3ceb29175efdf36b14742548a6ccf4
89e38e5a0fa159bf641273cd3ca5548c13c10a74
'2011-09-28T17:11:07-04:00'
describe
'37120' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLB' 'sip-files00035thm.jpg'
7c9fdeb60f272d283d40bdbbed7d5547
ddacabc128539cb96f5ce1d5da49eee02eb77b52
'2011-09-28T17:12:31-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLC' 'sip-files00036.jp2'
d889e9bd787bed11e8babfd4ca274e25
a7a89ee72bb28f54fad71222a2e518de2bed1f29
'2011-09-28T17:09:23-04:00'
describe
'209976' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLD' 'sip-files00036.jpg'
abba4190534badb65515ed417ae90dcc
30accd6c01d01ad8e9418ff51fa960b76fefa5bb
'2011-09-28T17:08:39-04:00'
describe
'51510' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLE' 'sip-files00036.pro'
8f7b9a827ad03cb68bff89489de7c25e
d27ad66bd666068457a4a10ff62ac841b77cdec7
describe
'84442' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLF' 'sip-files00036.QC.jpg'
51e7c82e9c8c3a8bd852370efae00e44
79abf96a39c84678fb29596b3e55e90d431d54c3
'2011-09-28T17:09:20-04:00'
describe
'2769452' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLG' 'sip-files00036.tif'
d56d0bf85384d07cfaa517d2aef41b3f
304001533bcc76aa76d4ef83ce214760c5f1067f
'2011-09-28T17:13:07-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLH' 'sip-files00036.txt'
561b18dcfe9a561fd835dafd41aa7918
d48defce326f5f024c151f29e382052115e40aca
'2011-09-28T17:08:44-04:00'
describe
'36238' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLI' 'sip-files00036thm.jpg'
3c23297cfb1df0e68ea6f40e4274ba38
1947702c3586f59a7c378cb6fc9d7155dec19b87
'2011-09-28T17:13:54-04:00'
describe
'343351' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLJ' 'sip-files00037.jp2'
a35202789db4d378680b8fa6eef572eb
7980f360f1f59116f0f94d9c861483ba20d2efba
'2011-09-28T17:11:19-04:00'
describe
'218191' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLK' 'sip-files00037.jpg'
55762a69849e985240c3637a1870b8c7
de2b258bd315a26035f2ca49d706939a86944123
describe
'50583' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLL' 'sip-files00037.pro'
2ed7fb9db3c19ed3b2806af906651fef
be6ba7fccfbed26d1907b16c44c79c74d7516102
'2011-09-28T17:10:41-04:00'
describe
'87233' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLM' 'sip-files00037.QC.jpg'
67c4f6e997dca348d2cb6c95a439d2a6
9fcb77783e283b45056a0abec5322829fa9f3c2a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLN' 'sip-files00037.tif'
5b5b00f33db27db3ac2ef2ce1e5f1a10
78436f79a82dee4e7a29fe969cbaeabb726c3c2d
'2011-09-28T17:09:03-04:00'
describe
'2026' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLO' 'sip-files00037.txt'
17681867a3cc0472efebb7c4a0ad37aa
5161b82351d6d7ca3b59a420f075e1e2761f9cd7
'2011-09-28T17:08:26-04:00'
describe
'37407' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLP' 'sip-files00037thm.jpg'
11e81b26ffdb38b1c8dbf9a86800ff09
925e662edb3819d706df4126f5922494ba6aa019
'2011-09-28T17:14:00-04:00'
describe
'343349' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLQ' 'sip-files00038.jp2'
779be0277ea181809532643b87fe842d
2e7a5c930459d6cf4ec6f4fcda1aae4059e32b3c
describe
'207431' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLR' 'sip-files00038.jpg'
6f6e69fe86c96c2e64e2b90b46aa6be5
55880150b0f536b99d09ab381ff2ff74e3717770
describe
'49266' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLS' 'sip-files00038.pro'
46fe28f4a4262006bd9fdae99f39f0a7
508c1380b24f39ebcf0d8526422f145ed3e099c5
describe
'84180' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLT' 'sip-files00038.QC.jpg'
cc5e5c410766f00c0f1832c1691fbfc6
1425328a182dff0fd1a4460e366682b239b85acd
'2011-09-28T17:13:56-04:00'
describe
'2769760' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLU' 'sip-files00038.tif'
abbbd2b2e1c9d86b3cb8c690ee8a71b4
c9e76e7fb6dac95414dcd3c33fd4591a6b3edda1
describe
'1940' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLV' 'sip-files00038.txt'
b54dbf980161684e4f5836423b6b0f3e
c940927de2d007fb98194fe744ba17e7091954dc
'2011-09-28T17:11:35-04:00'
describe
'37138' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLW' 'sip-files00038thm.jpg'
565def6636e0f237fc0fde2d5ef49b2e
81126e95650ebbcf34eddb2edf51ef8ac936b07b
'2011-09-28T17:09:57-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLX' 'sip-files00039.jp2'
1f651dea46ba447bd3317aa6da672390
833e91bea42d35426505089e71240e8999520d04
'2011-09-28T17:10:55-04:00'
describe
'223610' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLY' 'sip-files00039.jpg'
fca0a7e31e591868667344a5ae14bb11
42b69323024405674d70ad8b74ec90bf507c6a9d
'2011-09-28T17:10:35-04:00'
describe
'50380' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANLZ' 'sip-files00039.pro'
3af8020d8a11b8aadfd9f04d281c0750
11f440a1c486fee076f696e7e9400103026e4b8d
describe
'86946' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMA' 'sip-files00039.QC.jpg'
0329e5b495edf1c32249019eec8ea8ef
dc59d4ce9e2bd497368502b53285b63b20089f9e
'2011-09-28T17:12:17-04:00'
describe
'2770068' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMB' 'sip-files00039.tif'
ea7a252fd40209c6928463e98124b6d6
513a8f2dbf26942929836cf312b2a810429f3db0
'2011-09-28T17:10:49-04:00'
describe
'2021' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMC' 'sip-files00039.txt'
b26eecc1b97854e26a8e9f6b6f88639b
bb97884361408653e148360dc6afbdfb5798e98c
'2011-09-28T17:08:09-04:00'
describe
'37497' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMD' 'sip-files00039thm.jpg'
65e673c6b123dc3534174f30347c3d74
99a00b98951f2978722524eacfb0ce950dea0b4e
'2011-09-28T17:12:42-04:00'
describe
'343233' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANME' 'sip-files00040.jp2'
d1edd3a7417824a9bd6eb933422ea002
3dd9359e3ca09ddff03ca1f167ea139bafcfb882
'2011-09-28T17:08:49-04:00'
describe
'204736' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMF' 'sip-files00040.jpg'
610234de093e99e9b25b7664327ec8dd
4ada2716a08731966ffc86e102a0653f385deedd
describe
'45649' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMG' 'sip-files00040.pro'
9d154f93e75f474f205c9c4c6cb8d48c
88d11a32e1db8c5acc96bfaf7ac3187d51390f7e
'2011-09-28T17:09:12-04:00'
describe
'80281' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMH' 'sip-files00040.QC.jpg'
64c123fe2b06396df8cb9d4482ae2187
80769187dda002d95ac5167e1dfad9a7ca38ea9b
'2011-09-28T17:11:03-04:00'
describe
'2769308' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMI' 'sip-files00040.tif'
e3f79d5c7f19a66098db3b78f1c88eb6
7825095243175dfac272acb7072d5efe0e868be3
'2011-09-28T17:12:05-04:00'
describe
'1815' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMJ' 'sip-files00040.txt'
66386e2a4ca24772d889e67ce1d45d7c
5fb46d8232a96c23b6d7969c6227cabd87405c09
describe
'35212' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMK' 'sip-files00040thm.jpg'
ea6152e1713719266183e50af219c72f
ec5dd4c57dac940b99ceba706d9590b05d736cd6
'2011-09-28T17:13:51-04:00'
describe
'342140' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANML' 'sip-files00042.jp2'
d1c6c372cb8ae06a547bb929e37415c7
626830fdc5edd5a1eab492fc557eb3413d0674d9
'2011-09-28T17:10:02-04:00'
describe
'245821' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMM' 'sip-files00042.jpg'
90ed1ba2e515a1b1a8bd363e36836008
9de91630a0abed6794e18f584aabc89415af1352
'2011-09-28T17:13:06-04:00'
describe
'3043' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMN' 'sip-files00042.pro'
85d1601f8a5f56e8f97b0a87d13fa473
8b64d5948dc1a9c8f465f81010b7c7afe8133492
'2011-09-28T17:11:34-04:00'
describe
'76028' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMO' 'sip-files00042.QC.jpg'
32e17f7d2071a5e31562073cd99c9b24
f6f75e3b53a11832a07d470b24210169f5a0b2e9
'2011-09-28T17:09:45-04:00'
describe
'8235056' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMP' 'sip-files00042.tif'
125d45b36f7a8979a0951c0aa6cedb3e
1eda7c43ae0b3f9a642f83949e8a798ada6fc4a9
describe
'165' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMQ' 'sip-files00042.txt'
1ce8edc41e376f812a7a027d0374806c
08897eb28ee4ba61c7eb14abcfc0a41b5f6c1e97
'2011-09-28T17:13:26-04:00'
describe
WARNING CODE 'Daitss::Anomaly' Invalid character
'35308' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMR' 'sip-files00042thm.jpg'
eac8da80c981931e8a72b669b0be2d44
a34d480b5a3f18d8b5490a2ec0047361452dccba
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMS' 'sip-files00043.jp2'
8cbe4276e88cda4b91acbfd2a2512860
1ec95d61773af155313eb275aef284f5448d10e9
describe
'148890' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMT' 'sip-files00043.jpg'
f590e77d05affe528b8ee1c9fa7f5464
82c2c23d6e69ec079cf72167ad07a53124ecb6d4
'2011-09-28T17:13:25-04:00'
describe
'32085' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMU' 'sip-files00043.pro'
60cb755727a50d867d4ef8958ca13e2d
8d42e71de48c02ef4bdd6b2baf4b88d6601f8212
'2011-09-28T17:12:37-04:00'
describe
'59939' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMV' 'sip-files00043.QC.jpg'
933bc63f322f8296637a81c42e79b5ce
ed7978e2a0bd4c94ff54d443b77d28e5fed51d79
'2011-09-28T17:14:01-04:00'
describe
'2767688' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMW' 'sip-files00043.tif'
fdabe2e53a098bb824804ca103553c9e
aa3e45e37856c0d7c71a6206fb732c7c14b0da7a
describe
'1490' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMX' 'sip-files00043.txt'
2592c67e88d0a700ef1b881e5ca75c67
54587e1329c3889d03d27dc88a16eace1920bedc
'2011-09-28T17:08:57-04:00'
describe
'29947' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMY' 'sip-files00043thm.jpg'
789f455c714ca37ee8ef697d27d363bd
4addab33eca21ed4b553fa69a6a2f5eba0aa3f42
'2011-09-28T17:08:42-04:00'
describe
'343607' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANMZ' 'sip-files00044.jp2'
1820f9b224b91881e8c247db49622a6e
5e3117c10a89489d02d4154a8fc73873f6e60ffa
'2011-09-28T17:12:52-04:00'
describe
'197433' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNA' 'sip-files00044.jpg'
03b0112d31f6202cfd64ca5c2b90855f
42cca6d58a46a95afd0b98048087615d5efeb124
'2011-09-28T17:09:56-04:00'
describe
'42596' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNB' 'sip-files00044.pro'
738363ae5ac5b3e56d51b74fef246e19
99daf2e2f0aec70389316d930e7e9a03082b53a4
'2011-09-28T17:10:48-04:00'
describe
'76628' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNC' 'sip-files00044.QC.jpg'
dc372fa235467deb002f8c82d253993a
d6a5f1e8a0d4aedbf52acff97d7f157c493ae0c7
describe
'2770928' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANND' 'sip-files00044.tif'
84575e5df31184f9a2f3e1e905393b30
7ad8f71c554afaaf3b5649076ffecb268c454e81
'2011-09-28T17:08:19-04:00'
describe
'1723' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNE' 'sip-files00044.txt'
21f9c699c35b7d90846250dfb1e15d57
8684597bdfc8f70544c22fde6aa915d72ee1ed33
describe
'34086' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNF' 'sip-files00044thm.jpg'
895a6ab3979b60c7c232df87d55d73f9
c0b91d7c9d087b94c1e515a1d7cd7d8b8f311077
describe
'343352' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNG' 'sip-files00045.jp2'
ee59afba07bd953b2f348ec60ea9f14e
b95ee330e492aee9a7061e59fdfb8e7bd55a21bb
'2011-09-28T17:10:21-04:00'
describe
'221876' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNH' 'sip-files00045.jpg'
326bd37d6154d42b563eed3b955a03f3
056f1c4942f85859a34c4edf19ed3c95ef7207be
'2011-09-28T17:09:37-04:00'
describe
'49717' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNI' 'sip-files00045.pro'
f42e9a1c292dbb3fdbb66a703bdc2d50
400867131ad9e5f8d7cfdc72304244c599aefbde
'2011-09-28T17:07:59-04:00'
describe
'84735' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNJ' 'sip-files00045.QC.jpg'
5299c7b55a9e428b08ba8b06e46f7e2f
029f27f865d7669bc9194312666691634504803d
'2011-09-28T17:08:25-04:00'
describe
'2769540' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNK' 'sip-files00045.tif'
79dbf62de095ba0285f765a80af2e6dd
030e2cf299a369261be8fd6b63e0193f75351bb5
'2011-09-28T17:07:58-04:00'
describe
'1968' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNL' 'sip-files00045.txt'
1dc4cfa0b4a7853266c4d329c8667d1d
afb550ee0659968c3fafbce68354cd64ef252819
'2011-09-28T17:13:57-04:00'
describe
'36300' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNM' 'sip-files00045thm.jpg'
9ec9a2f4d91395a0b3b6abe86a96dfb4
aba4542044e903e0f8abfb5940bb3a08bb650ccf
'2011-09-28T17:06:42-04:00'
describe
'343584' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNN' 'sip-files00046.jp2'
7776b3e15094dd51f3f8f2712e4fac9f
8fa3457d119a238e25e2f8b3c1cd23c10cdcbd82
'2011-09-28T17:13:41-04:00'
describe
'223621' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNO' 'sip-files00046.jpg'
555a57b4a858bd33c17451ff451621bb
162d7bdfc03d430e7afd8ca8cfda2db11de82e68
'2011-09-28T17:12:59-04:00'
describe
'52467' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNP' 'sip-files00046.pro'
fbf620eacab90d17d89c3d640b8f8f93
066b082b691f67474e07d77bfbbb4843de91d03f
'2011-09-28T17:12:48-04:00'
describe
'84174' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNQ' 'sip-files00046.QC.jpg'
8361075ab41948b31e5ee202471657ef
b3c5b9df0e06a99ecb1828f4d648f42d67880061
'2011-09-28T17:07:32-04:00'
describe
'2771256' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNR' 'sip-files00046.tif'
b788578953048b83da754dfbc3c74e6e
24923fd58304fe0279e7d592de60fdf145c462f6
'2011-09-28T17:07:43-04:00'
describe
'2056' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNS' 'sip-files00046.txt'
af6218dbfc90deca178267afab471865
49064149ad68cdf159f75b6488f5724809326d26
'2011-09-28T17:12:12-04:00'
describe
'35691' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNT' 'sip-files00046thm.jpg'
7d6c5c651b2d87c0464473e52c50fb86
f0158276ad8cc66abcb1b2468dc24ba13826b20d
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNU' 'sip-files00047.jp2'
2dd29fc83972d12e6f056893eab01ff8
728a2116fa7d9d3d312f507da25cdaa0263f6be2
'2011-09-28T17:12:58-04:00'
describe
'216109' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNV' 'sip-files00047.jpg'
528b9937bcfaf712021a3177552ed84c
e457f5a1fe07648bdfe03ac07f2781cc691cbf1a
'2011-09-28T17:10:39-04:00'
describe
'48140' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNW' 'sip-files00047.pro'
c29436deaf51a93fba752aba5c3ae135
ad7e50dfeb818c3efa7c9c55cc5deebd8990827f
'2011-09-28T17:09:36-04:00'
describe
'81325' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNX' 'sip-files00047.QC.jpg'
3f38edbd7ac7b0e676b3c07edc160cb7
cc789b4d8ce485e2e9f61273d771d27624f74b1c
'2011-09-28T17:07:47-04:00'
describe
'2769428' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNY' 'sip-files00047.tif'
25ad905abd1f73c1218d7fe65d7d1cdd
0418a8fde15ac81e48e3b7f78803c6a9e6018b48
'2011-09-28T17:12:56-04:00'
describe
'1941' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANNZ' 'sip-files00047.txt'
2e3caab7a329f0bfb7a1601080d0c11e
e91698d64ae6fd353ff5a8dd4943aa11d69cc1d1
'2011-09-28T17:08:20-04:00'
describe
'35805' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOA' 'sip-files00047thm.jpg'
fa90bc77dfa6c8b76058693ea1c3db31
7c5b19c2ae161a83fba18b54409196fd69e3be5a
'2011-09-28T17:08:24-04:00'
describe
'343622' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOB' 'sip-files00048.jp2'
a97aed5efdfa88a7d5222c58edb2a5c1
dffc3d000949b8a2fae968da10bcf754f792fbb5
'2011-09-28T17:10:46-04:00'
describe
'213243' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOC' 'sip-files00048.jpg'
9306055464da47c62f77570d70d13c66
f1365e84666a3e7e54475119365458049e9d952e
describe
'50420' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOD' 'sip-files00048.pro'
af156520b3d721170dfd079308e737b0
de615c4201f011f7123acbba094b1d5aeab72c55
'2011-09-28T17:11:23-04:00'
describe
'80544' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOE' 'sip-files00048.QC.jpg'
d45716dee694f090e82b1006ff4de39f
f8cd311730e7377385b6e2a9bd1e3f18b4d73f37
describe
'2770964' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOF' 'sip-files00048.tif'
716ef035adcfe8e9a07452bed95d9003
af615f1c0a40b8193f61aac2fa040bf631b309af
'2011-09-28T17:13:59-04:00'
describe
'1984' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOG' 'sip-files00048.txt'
8002e79d6fc9f212b90e287703574c81
02effcd272280e3122f5ccd11784b30a24762e2b
'2011-09-28T17:06:47-04:00'
describe
'34838' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOH' 'sip-files00048thm.jpg'
c5e6e65423494c69a104d97d9399b52a
d2954366e00869c7ff3fbca0b930cf7369746031
describe
'335390' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOI' 'sip-files00049.jp2'
06dfc5912cc68639600671e66ee425fe
6de61e759ab38325cdb9ae433e5f4850a90954e4
describe
'217459' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOJ' 'sip-files00049.jpg'
dafebb4b60b40b4e629addc7c9593b7c
d59761a38e7f862422007b6d58453a5ead8f0052
'2011-09-28T17:10:03-04:00'
describe
'50125' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOK' 'sip-files00049.pro'
128e297da331cebfce54682e8fd23ad1
690c0607a9239c54d252e1188619f86c63edb05f
'2011-09-28T17:11:50-04:00'
describe
'85028' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOL' 'sip-files00049.QC.jpg'
4f4bebfcd3bcd020b8e1b961101526a4
9a14e7717a6f464408d6f6510424baf11ee4c250
'2011-09-28T17:09:54-04:00'
describe
'2706192' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOM' 'sip-files00049.tif'
88b6f13b512bddf864ab20e7bb017d70
a3ce2582b3f6587d3e321f1c1a2699fce4e7e9fb
'2011-09-28T17:11:12-04:00'
describe
'2091' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANON' 'sip-files00049.txt'
7f4edee6d30e5d87b0929b15f1ad82f7
dac852968f67ac30bd5da48354a7fe0afa868623
'2011-09-28T17:12:54-04:00'
describe
'36149' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOO' 'sip-files00049thm.jpg'
6d031aa577b7689def7eb096d34f9286
cd03f063d4333adf7740f2b6bde31b0a5703d187
describe
'343241' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOP' 'sip-files00050.jp2'
614ea0986137adb0117a469d5caefc16
ba5cc9623879015baae666026438613590774516
'2011-09-28T17:11:04-04:00'
describe
'185697' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOQ' 'sip-files00050.jpg'
0e8922783eb149bb5c131425e21095c9
4de34f052ab64ccf39ed73fde44418cce4497fd9
describe
'42589' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOR' 'sip-files00050.pro'
d5fd4453415905920b590dd2e4d82e09
146e4f3a9f7d6a746bcd342fca9978707f0dfe3e
'2011-09-28T17:08:12-04:00'
describe
'73618' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOS' 'sip-files00050.QC.jpg'
baa3bdbb127c9e614e36d10d06edcd11
6a3de446fc3dd816175f6843a5dd60679e5a7b7f
describe
'2768616' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOT' 'sip-files00050.tif'
27c99ed93f1fbda24e29c4d213e492ca
9d03c9adcf68efc8ce3d0d88b1904af98e91f5f1
'2011-09-28T17:11:00-04:00'
describe
'1718' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOU' 'sip-files00050.txt'
862f19e038ba8445ecb73c4e4f51d3cd
9b06208e2ffde52e70a6fb2a54a10f851aced188
'2011-09-28T17:12:51-04:00'
describe
'33756' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOV' 'sip-files00050thm.jpg'
9760a10327a8333a43b1b5ca4cc1b6e8
2c1032faacfff81e2d695cbbc0cc4e02644bdcc9
'2011-09-28T17:10:10-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOW' 'sip-files00051.jp2'
7e69aa5c24bd606b9b28f6880c5d80ae
f1314a1be3723b10d7198208db392acd68c2f392
'2011-09-28T17:10:37-04:00'
describe
'219073' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOX' 'sip-files00051.jpg'
9c6b1b2750629caebc5f44e4ac1f47a1
6a4f977ed88dddbeca33323b0a455e415fe3d802
'2011-09-28T17:07:52-04:00'
describe
'49461' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOY' 'sip-files00051.pro'
09f754ee5f7a1aaa7919ad543e640624
ddb9cd06ae6903ad49323fe877493b7e46ebfc20
describe
'83718' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANOZ' 'sip-files00051.QC.jpg'
9d251c6dc07a37eaf93b7d50724b2de1
fa5ee0607580036e20251f1c02c7fd75ef3079fe
'2011-09-28T17:10:43-04:00'
describe
'2769580' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPA' 'sip-files00051.tif'
f76ebea9a60d0f6f8a817679d6e8b59b
873627bcec00b5956b55e22fc61d065f70e6b5b4
'2011-09-28T17:12:24-04:00'
describe
'1972' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPB' 'sip-files00051.txt'
c06303d804fca20052453917b288d5b2
4c97ccff1eb3523bc90882ea068b41dfe7d90852
'2011-09-28T17:09:49-04:00'
describe
'36799' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPC' 'sip-files00051thm.jpg'
e1c3e5fd06877fd006a6a07be055a701
c2e1d531f03f03c6a306d2ce07686be1835b6565
'2011-09-28T17:10:33-04:00'
describe
'343613' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPD' 'sip-files00052.jp2'
12c01feb5aea44e89b76c0b12a133acb
1e03632288e6d85eb0950dc1d05cb086b4179524
describe
'190299' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPE' 'sip-files00052.jpg'
93c5b76ef7eb5e720daff302a274a9bb
f314053bf9e83d222ce04e498c45e6c201b886f0
describe
'42131' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPF' 'sip-files00052.pro'
ab932820df7040bd96fe3ba7e742377a
4c606309807aa8847ae834e3f3a936b70a28be86
describe
'76837' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPG' 'sip-files00052.QC.jpg'
543109f8c452a24edf81584ecb025083
124ec8017acb62757080da733d2a8e13d80e2ab8
describe
'2771272' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPH' 'sip-files00052.tif'
b063fb359b9130e6b472ce26fce39dac
45942f676c2a908c16a8b66c8b6dbdc8561232c4
describe
'1690' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPI' 'sip-files00052.txt'
785249dc88f7128c563abd415bd73265
789ce32b675d9f94e8ba94f83f80a6507322ed1d
'2011-09-28T17:11:27-04:00'
describe
'35258' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPJ' 'sip-files00052thm.jpg'
686ee958454e40fbd992c305a5b36065
3e27040875670498846de19696ceaa5eacc91eaa
describe
'343338' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPK' 'sip-files00053.jp2'
e0f83f40f0ea6e761883807ae5de83ba
0790c3c48335ce172e611f95703d78d15d21beec
'2011-09-28T17:14:05-04:00'
describe
'217794' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPL' 'sip-files00053.jpg'
5c0ce76b4cacb91a188790e0031a502a
766d4754b053739723f23680d1101b7527121880
'2011-09-28T17:10:09-04:00'
describe
'49362' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPM' 'sip-files00053.pro'
3fd5ec2674c8224eaaa4482b73de0582
692127f8cea93da25287b0f05d1af58e58c64f85
'2011-09-28T17:08:38-04:00'
describe
'83209' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPN' 'sip-files00053.QC.jpg'
543e9da97100f9849da80c17199bdf9d
e57e20647b7a0381e7b9ed3fea6babc3b23fc6e8
'2011-09-28T17:11:59-04:00'
describe
'2769488' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPO' 'sip-files00053.tif'
ae02f42032f95525f045116118fe5bc5
a5b01c4d369dd78503f32aeffbace169d8bc793b
'2011-09-28T17:11:05-04:00'
describe
'1969' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPP' 'sip-files00053.txt'
c61d8aeb6e9177687c2a3cdefa972d69
a2d86bd22f2e7b1690243b09b9406a32664c5c7e
describe
'35689' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPQ' 'sip-files00053thm.jpg'
5699694b6eb11a6c3a390c461e28ce16
2fc458bf6c240bdfbc0ef68e44a956cb2d0b1f45
'2011-09-28T17:14:02-04:00'
describe
'343618' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPR' 'sip-files00054.jp2'
4d3ea99bd17fb128423285ea23d792f7
1eb31bd138ae348c3280836785602cc868047669
describe
'174305' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPS' 'sip-files00054.jpg'
3c54feb7f452a309a9f568c140873e26
5896bb35140524cf80d2b2b90af6ff7229785452
describe
'40432' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPT' 'sip-files00054.pro'
961255e96df3e59656c37aa0729349d4
d1a6f1d3856f0e3afb72c27c341ee6940c09e68c
describe
'71594' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPU' 'sip-files00054.QC.jpg'
9e0e84883675f651b168e83647ee4c5c
6e9a13823f1f83bf87f25a917c2ac44bc540c55e
describe
'2770696' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPV' 'sip-files00054.tif'
39063145951b40c0cef9419bc1522d51
ad7c77a14bfa339be34549206d6f2499bb8d38cf
'2011-09-28T17:07:40-04:00'
describe
'1648' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPW' 'sip-files00054.txt'
9db9d1287e3b8f4e846ce05cef5fcdb9
a19439fcd525c86ebbe9a69d01a1a442808b2a24
'2011-09-28T17:08:56-04:00'
describe
'33446' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPX' 'sip-files00054thm.jpg'
f198a7bfb77aa226dd1c8e0eb0809a5f
da32674c1f6cf083d3f89db0ac7c892ceacee5f8
describe
'343287' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPY' 'sip-files00055.jp2'
649344e4a283f0de6d8a2e8947f0c83e
a4d563c63d0866e9bcc70eccd268d236907ab5c7
'2011-09-28T17:12:41-04:00'
describe
'190077' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANPZ' 'sip-files00055.jpg'
dcc8871c84ec08b78ba20ab7369c1656
121fd0a51febba4c80ee891ac892df264b09c8b1
describe
'45745' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQA' 'sip-files00055.pro'
4ad71016570e7121ffc9141619e0743c
7a31f92bbbe90be3d74f05c7ca6c6ef7c5f013bc
'2011-09-28T17:10:54-04:00'
describe
'77497' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQB' 'sip-files00055.QC.jpg'
3e9ee40f5827bbfbda024d2994240aa6
3d1574ff4cf78240e6728f00c02baf1212653d76
describe
'2769396' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQC' 'sip-files00055.tif'
0de6a58bf5fdc55772fb13bf215b2501
1a5e5adbd629910e02ca08310e6549ea3388ffb7
describe
'1862' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQD' 'sip-files00055.txt'
957727fbef8d20b8afd0c74c6a959fbf
4706e345c22258b6a2f42c11eb0951a0153044b1
describe
'35280' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQE' 'sip-files00055thm.jpg'
e503162d2a2a6bb8fc8a186db8e57570
12f37e6ba3904f3ed0b74b3677c7cd8e6c427dad
describe
'343603' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQF' 'sip-files00056.jp2'
65caf876f192de74076cec5df0f2e319
ebd2482f6d319bfa81be4502986b443dc3995235
'2011-09-28T17:09:25-04:00'
describe
'200760' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQG' 'sip-files00056.jpg'
54b040836dd67f4a63fc28a6fd607e92
1370efd4cbe1f9ef1ebc0cb42a1cc4c7e79053c0
'2011-09-28T17:10:29-04:00'
describe
'49734' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQH' 'sip-files00056.pro'
4b9c0e9eefcd66e10cc2dc0f64a6c5b2
be23c0124bf10f2c32c4726286e9282b1cc6fe9b
describe
'80429' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQI' 'sip-files00056.QC.jpg'
6c1f039ef88c4cbb2230343383e24eac
3df70c043e49f71a5f928c2e529905331bca79c4
'2011-09-28T17:09:10-04:00'
describe
'2771260' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQJ' 'sip-files00056.tif'
553aa0a33527d23eee123e5f018a9108
e613bfe2ad7cfad5bb9fe648f8f70858dfe4fc61
'2011-09-28T17:13:55-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQK' 'sip-files00056.txt'
5234f37178c29724748dafbff778dd2b
59df3eb166df79003c55bb0133713814c523e9d4
'2011-09-28T17:07:57-04:00'
describe
'35408' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQL' 'sip-files00056thm.jpg'
eb0a71c0aefb4a982d72c4adfbae4eaf
2b241213283b5611a40aa2ae97569d5194e7426c
describe
'343210' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQM' 'sip-files00057.jp2'
51192847a1376494fbb9dcde1ce77fb8
f3abf1e5669c0d753086fe5386aa1e6d5c982c13
'2011-09-28T17:11:46-04:00'
describe
'195484' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQN' 'sip-files00057.jpg'
ebd93f7d85489f301a9f3111b52eb5a1
32f2bfe0b1dccd65b5e5a8ea5af25ccef16de0d6
describe
'46510' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQO' 'sip-files00057.pro'
4e11e1cc8d39f26459179ff56a99f500
5b2ce71238f3f8abf2d22f8f8154502ebdc1a72e
'2011-09-28T17:07:42-04:00'
describe
'79187' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQP' 'sip-files00057.QC.jpg'
8abb4be8ecadbd5560ec009af14d48b0
92efc5ad32b9da4fe3677fb86d47baf9f2558562
describe
'2769144' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQQ' 'sip-files00057.tif'
b2d5c440a4b05b50fbd88344580197b5
ae02d0671f48e17c0db18f5daafab1e3e5721fa3
describe
'1845' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQR' 'sip-files00057.txt'
e8926760bd4c3563749342a7ab23d4ae
8d71d1bd858359a01134611f758704a14895cd4f
'2011-09-28T17:12:33-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQS' 'sip-files00057thm.jpg'
d95e8b1d126a4a774e3499939d36771d
986aefc80d5b04015b34e79f41764c16da37bfef
'2011-09-28T17:10:11-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQT' 'sip-files00058.jp2'
a407bb77715974269d886437d3c9029b
08bd3bdc8ba6b1503009742479ccdc60f2310080
describe
'195879' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQU' 'sip-files00058.jpg'
8bcee8201caee883929407c2f14c4e4a
bea032714ea2ebc9e8cd4f7c46276c7505f9867e
'2011-09-28T17:12:06-04:00'
describe
'43957' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQV' 'sip-files00058.pro'
0cec0fc22d2d45ceceb55d1357d11275
9c26bc24ad65dca2df21279beec884d3207826ee
describe
'76652' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQW' 'sip-files00058.QC.jpg'
c337a84c1dfcc7126a29ce062500b9f2
6cbbc74659783cc7ae78414c83b5d909da8e6f8a
describe
'2769040' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQX' 'sip-files00058.tif'
9117c03de2cb30c45299c397781d866a
5faa45f935d4a5abd9c501572ffee64dd5912d38
'2011-09-28T17:07:13-04:00'
describe
'1776' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQY' 'sip-files00058.txt'
7a0f682f04f56a21997c1278ff6d5acd
e48ae6c3dff07d628cb6602c43bb53870f8a9991
describe
'34986' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANQZ' 'sip-files00058thm.jpg'
badb777855d790643360e37bd7621b9a
664098a6b8ba9067e0126ec47fca9c59d2a71167
'2011-09-28T17:11:38-04:00'
describe
'343358' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRA' 'sip-files00059.jp2'
c411c3f99be04ee374bb4cdf5ee288a9
9ab47fc0ddf0e4a49dc0fd44cfc619ba552a3335
'2011-09-28T17:12:40-04:00'
describe
'197358' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRB' 'sip-files00059.jpg'
5d360e4996134a820740372d21482367
610f29bc4162ca12c11e47bc18df966db7b2becf
'2011-09-28T17:08:17-04:00'
describe
'43310' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRC' 'sip-files00059.pro'
23d266d02e2e81614bad582d5b386feb
c334dc689c79a5683cdecac4e7f82ca142d66c74
'2011-09-28T17:07:45-04:00'
describe
'78782' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRD' 'sip-files00059.QC.jpg'
975abe7d12687d56db68a35b81ae5b5d
f2eec20f4e5541059e8e183ad023ba7cf2fffb16
describe
'2769256' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRE' 'sip-files00059.tif'
ecee04c08ae675c6c5a87f5e89201351
1400d5d47334605e7df710bff6660403c474b4d0
'2011-09-28T17:12:01-04:00'
describe
'1765' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRF' 'sip-files00059.txt'
4754d52e732f59816336e3db7e311c5a
9cd811dda5848d9251c17a53f04487fc680669e6
'2011-09-28T17:13:22-04:00'
describe
'35457' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRG' 'sip-files00059thm.jpg'
da89a8689a6c925a7bb1ffae51a6da3c
c012f831cf5058547f4c1f8f3656369729fb22e9
describe
'343333' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRH' 'sip-files00060.jp2'
f5b276a73893c46ba92e148f1364d282
2e293741ba70851d714ccacc1ea3eb0568750570
'2011-09-28T17:07:11-04:00'
describe
'215627' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRI' 'sip-files00060.jpg'
70a440116b44ad65b22e2b49251bb257
9d91b8a8f6e0b9b09b7472fe4fce3252dd94961c
describe
'48497' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRJ' 'sip-files00060.pro'
fb4e574d5618010bcd6aea7d617eedc6
f309266e8c3e5f29b1b93d56be3331dde8d80cc1
describe
'83463' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRK' 'sip-files00060.QC.jpg'
2f09e5804f80abfdf3e23718a3063e4d
a728a7438fe31178bd5b6a1484a20f099b92b0b0
describe
'2769368' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRL' 'sip-files00060.tif'
a078bb4ee838fbeaeebeddadd44b4df3
09716c6d88a097ab60e3d9b738e9410d13e77d9b
'2011-09-28T17:07:48-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRM' 'sip-files00060.txt'
3c6b5fffae2f9d5f7cace1a514c00224
3d3309017c37f6339774e4676faa5cb69fd0355f
'2011-09-28T17:07:14-04:00'
describe
'35558' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRN' 'sip-files00060thm.jpg'
4e9b2fc3cdc2ca760808765948bfea81
82ea79ea252af5565855ae749764f74fde573e86
describe
'343353' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRO' 'sip-files00061.jp2'
eaf6b9752fb3db95bb3a97a02edf8f66
b496ab9eefcf370da00c3cec2a379ab82aef9296
'2011-09-28T17:09:59-04:00'
describe
'223547' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRP' 'sip-files00061.jpg'
90494d90ee66c5861653d108004c52e6
6530726924843a4994707a04be6af1232e279f64
describe
'49947' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRQ' 'sip-files00061.pro'
9412bff699c4b6c69d57279fd5eb33c0
eeefdedbd21e5423800b53ba9b5c6f927fd335e0
describe
'85396' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRR' 'sip-files00061.QC.jpg'
009e1796ea65aa8628bcf8ba71603f9c
e0d227e12f6eaf359ec593aef87d192866b34aa1
'2011-09-28T17:11:33-04:00'
describe
'2769640' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRS' 'sip-files00061.tif'
9bb87af1d8dae440415fa9d1c6fdedca
7583aa2c2fc47fe2ba9a3bca159606e7fd2aac3b
'2011-09-28T17:12:14-04:00'
describe
'1977' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRT' 'sip-files00061.txt'
70adf444983f7d37ef1c54945330ff78
d9caab9af3f39d143d268deb1f0805bfa20d1148
describe
'36223' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRU' 'sip-files00061thm.jpg'
b7ce43779bb1197088157460236ddb68
4f948fbf0baa97b91d7d0f6fb8c057975840123c
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRV' 'sip-files00062.jp2'
268b00180a80269667a940c6c0cfa0d6
370aea54952c65029fc9d43c1bd40611bd9625e7
describe
'75797' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRW' 'sip-files00062.jpg'
97d3e3b576ad6e8352070cdd66c4c349
15e233b71499d3635fc28ec12b1dc6db86da00f1
describe
'13733' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRX' 'sip-files00062.pro'
5926e7bee9d00244310246a0049bd1a7
3f225ed4d563a781bc79fd30bf55e4a2631af8c2
'2011-09-28T17:09:33-04:00'
describe
'38553' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRY' 'sip-files00062.QC.jpg'
dbbd84e21c59fc2b8160858cc2b8dd71
a203345a4fcc9eccd0a9d2d38c4d5c98cd095fc6
describe
'2765576' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANRZ' 'sip-files00062.tif'
8022784889e8d1f3469ac87d5e00b76e
da713e6a86c9c0bfea3163fca0f038886635ec2a
'2011-09-28T17:11:56-04:00'
describe
'584' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSA' 'sip-files00062.txt'
d4c3d2d7df17b98202ba76dbee8fe14d
3c2f8cd1a62ddb4c656fc5ad86670d9d1c5c4fd5
describe
'23762' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSB' 'sip-files00062thm.jpg'
a3ddcdb350603d0947fc7298948afb7b
fbcd49c726d0ca3989db3c46205ae6c002bc68b9
'2011-09-28T17:12:46-04:00'
describe
'343361' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSC' 'sip-files00063.jp2'
6f0b49466ad51f8c82bfe8a29c4e03af
78eff4d0dd4d71ebbf01770655d385e46d565167
'2011-09-28T17:08:16-04:00'
describe
'158753' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSD' 'sip-files00063.jpg'
1d9be0164bbffe46157ca8eba7c3f690
173ca01977db0ebafaf321c876e97a690bdf0491
'2011-09-28T17:07:22-04:00'
describe
'33473' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSE' 'sip-files00063.pro'
fac853fc9850d18f49333ec0b698df43
3ddbec07dd66efb264640fd1beb364f2d6aabb96
describe
'66179' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSF' 'sip-files00063.QC.jpg'
44f1374d4401754b819b9266d304f22f
85ba5929c68cd5cb822b34a231cf821a42437687
'2011-09-28T17:07:07-04:00'
describe
'2768400' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSG' 'sip-files00063.tif'
3b06f2d699a253894abe00aec1a73a69
060b1031c740e317de101008b9f8bb9ec0e537e2
'2011-09-28T17:11:18-04:00'
describe
'1397' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSH' 'sip-files00063.txt'
65c19c7780902c6a9ec47dd75cd42202
52e1905397a0c1582dff97b7c7f1436288fde3a9
'2011-09-28T17:07:37-04:00'
describe
'31741' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSI' 'sip-files00063thm.jpg'
c32bb00a48dd90d34073e0283d76c161
b0ee2b6102e3c78c2d7bc37796065f6363061ee5
'2011-09-28T17:09:07-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSJ' 'sip-files00064.jp2'
f5f68b4e4f39e95519d9144a4a877fea
c17b811f56dafeac67af281e2a077b8701a3638b
'2011-09-28T17:12:13-04:00'
describe
'212316' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSK' 'sip-files00064.jpg'
eba479f2afe3d15168851306ec3a179e
b73bde8112732acae88caab1d3a5b0053a50037a
'2011-09-28T17:09:22-04:00'
describe
'48859' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSL' 'sip-files00064.pro'
3f947cb3bba58553fe553b5746572ed4
51dc35e27243f6ddc03cb7bba9c256565b1b8755
'2011-09-28T17:13:04-04:00'
describe
'81639' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSM' 'sip-files00064.QC.jpg'
50baa7e0a1f1d3a5b8edd9e5a1f33981
e6ec6da6ee25b31b05efa52e39ac88536d67ebdc
'2011-09-28T17:08:30-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSN' 'sip-files00064.tif'
3e190915b15a3fbd1830f6753022ca2b
c618091783ce30c86def6f185273bc721e2b25f8
describe
'1930' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSO' 'sip-files00064.txt'
2fc289ae0ce339d55a7ac9d99bbce3f6
2e5e5eb6a8846779f1075778a3a8721909b0ab96
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSP' 'sip-files00064thm.jpg'
153049b5d6a755dc1d8ad26c95220922
0a2ad7847c62ca4e9a9e070731db511f8837f96c
describe
'343310' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSQ' 'sip-files00065.jp2'
17ffd5085a01199b019ae842e01ab304
75fc4ac55925d70e356350443ffc3822dccd1fd7
'2011-09-28T17:09:58-04:00'
describe
'218354' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSR' 'sip-files00065.jpg'
3714f8bfb73538a949755e05ea876661
4f4165ae43af29786a88d1f3169141d9a9cac61f
describe
'50824' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSS' 'sip-files00065.pro'
053526578d8e7b7162461af240613a54
8fe379ca6ac28bc3754b7153d6f97146b0993237
describe
'82434' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANST' 'sip-files00065.QC.jpg'
19c6a1195324337fbfe497d0256c6337
163381aab06fb44cd0c29b53d826a7d45c1bc04e
'2011-09-28T17:10:16-04:00'
describe
'2769480' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSU' 'sip-files00065.tif'
ebb0ddd8480faa21775c2e0354ebe874
03104206f798e695dd411d80edc5d486b2a69cd1
'2011-09-28T17:08:14-04:00'
describe
'2009' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSV' 'sip-files00065.txt'
6623d60d2e0392c1a6e2055afad29e8c
39705be7956db6542b0137b86dbc27b48b2ff3f0
'2011-09-28T17:11:44-04:00'
describe
'36378' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSW' 'sip-files00065thm.jpg'
c120b6dba8f82055200d13d565854f53
cf8006457e3c6c5830a00b25249c77f6402c7954
describe
'343587' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSX' 'sip-files00066.jp2'
454831ead16b2e21b8387eae8937b647
40b354492b69a310c2fcc3e07f2a54ebca607495
'2011-09-28T17:08:02-04:00'
describe
'217204' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSY' 'sip-files00066.jpg'
29059e8b8f83eee8b146ee898a178180
c84fd437bcebb05290651081b615559cf10becff
describe
'51102' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANSZ' 'sip-files00066.pro'
42522430bcf0bbd85d662aeba08df3df
ce9c6218363d2881f4bf943eb2aa570fe48bb50e
'2011-09-28T17:08:52-04:00'
describe
'85703' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTA' 'sip-files00066.QC.jpg'
8c8f5eee00db09dd2e8582394020c064
3892c5699eafcfec7ac4d817dea1e5f5912dee5b
'2011-09-28T17:12:28-04:00'
describe
'2771816' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTB' 'sip-files00066.tif'
e85eb9d76ba0ea36e9135a61a60099b3
a2a074d73b6b3739fa924880b8f848830d65a7ad
describe
'2007' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTC' 'sip-files00066.txt'
0dbae9fd0fdbb38354336bcc1134775e
103f7ba82bd4b40d8e731a657bdb677257e7c54a
describe
'36079' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTD' 'sip-files00066thm.jpg'
f6b322d5408fedde2c661f501700787c
d853a285ba87094de065d27192e18b70795d5b68
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTE' 'sip-files00067.jp2'
3b4f72f63ea30ade65a2eedc88613668
da243da73f931dc51f7fc95bc13efa10a23820af
describe
'203091' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTF' 'sip-files00067.jpg'
7818fab4d0654442f159105f3ed3cae1
ec2256d0cec7fbfeb8d59b5aa1308e0d74b2e808
describe
'49253' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTG' 'sip-files00067.pro'
11ec77808206ae6fcc431e6d84a63289
e01807ac717d25278933768a5792d1031a969130
describe
'80676' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTH' 'sip-files00067.QC.jpg'
5596d74669158541ea60c59599d6d431
1aeed925e3b29be354a6b09feaa962c56ebc0a01
'2011-09-28T17:08:10-04:00'
describe
'2769204' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTI' 'sip-files00067.tif'
0d19a91f887d6ce04a57ae89893d8ff7
4cb5756c153c8ff58b11e41da060d55c1b6da33b
describe
'1992' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTJ' 'sip-files00067.txt'
109d783c3252f885fbc479d6772de86e
f6418d7ccd3e533412118b6f82f13bb22a7c4f69
describe
'35155' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTK' 'sip-files00067thm.jpg'
73b956ba942bdf93b86f2ca2ced52d5c
d1a5e64b060e9023748a2195b18232d2c2e1e8e3
describe
'343284' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTL' 'sip-files00068.jp2'
c9b2231d044923c7d765adfd507c7862
1cc20c85d664f6456c3e742391410dcf92015557
'2011-09-28T17:10:17-04:00'
describe
'201592' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTM' 'sip-files00068.jpg'
8f8eb7ae1ce785c9a38000459ed78446
80de661adc17da48db4b14cd7a9c8efd0a49b3e8
'2011-09-28T17:07:05-04:00'
describe
'48229' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTN' 'sip-files00068.pro'
dbe02f99e042dd20875cc0467a80afe8
e01c78414206d60eb65912fdf673e24fa44702f8
'2011-09-28T17:10:26-04:00'
describe
'79766' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTO' 'sip-files00068.QC.jpg'
797bbe4bc0a30b8cc2d09b205be91f91
ab8d1371558544a3ea9c8f6a0c883c5c1300e2fe
'2011-09-28T17:10:56-04:00'
describe
'2769028' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTP' 'sip-files00068.tif'
4191f257cf47801310983f5b41c1c3f4
28cf83589cd5d736300de35876d0c0a449290d53
'2011-09-28T17:08:58-04:00'
describe
'1895' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTQ' 'sip-files00068.txt'
a6c268e9970906706deabed428dd893d
ff2451c7300272569f601252e5c4f2d72a5f6e20
describe
'34648' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTR' 'sip-files00068thm.jpg'
33b948ff0cc9458bef640070a705d3e7
875eb8dd93e8b62ef63748361e7fa343568b9dee
describe
'343317' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTS' 'sip-files00069.jp2'
81d2d091170b9d3235186e9b0de51648
637a6e22100f9b2f09b1af6c62d6cf642afe0df5
describe
'134754' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTT' 'sip-files00069.jpg'
00a22691bc82949840cd5c3b33833f70
f6d6656b597a6f8442ef65d2118fff2bbc0eb3e8
describe
'28198' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTU' 'sip-files00069.pro'
57085a0fe682472d1cea3ae9d6a8ae66
a4d7745e4487e931fd99c07e69f35af15522a016
describe
'56104' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTV' 'sip-files00069.QC.jpg'
89a1d9ae72dc8fa855dfd7eb5c31eeb7
8fa21885e9b7e41ce2a198719896926ae990ae3b
describe
'2767052' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTW' 'sip-files00069.tif'
2e98040389704b10aef7128739b4c313
ef16764334177af4c29d848d7db284c7680b157d
'2011-09-28T17:12:16-04:00'
describe
'1125' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTX' 'sip-files00069.txt'
7a0bde61d9a08fcba2e513fd6e114b8b
f2f7d7e52d6a4a6d8923024c8b8ce53299a5c09f
'2011-09-28T17:13:44-04:00'
describe
'28473' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTY' 'sip-files00069thm.jpg'
d76ffa8db55e165d7099b89547474b8a
5d10ae324550bc74f5eccca9e5800840f5b0b33d
'2011-09-28T17:08:23-04:00'
describe
'343301' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANTZ' 'sip-files00070.jp2'
02cadbf94cf5713edd83710ba931b2ee
e758212a25122d0c088f5e5dfb1c25630461cfc0
'2011-09-28T17:13:09-04:00'
describe
'152804' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUA' 'sip-files00070.jpg'
9744a602d908bad2bfde7e0c956fe9bf
0ff8906bfe7002d7ab45ee10645d6551486ae553
describe
'32874' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUB' 'sip-files00070.pro'
4136e3d9db18ae8996da1f66bfdb1ca8
8abb8b7863fdfc0690488ac09caa0eff134af610
describe
'62706' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUC' 'sip-files00070.QC.jpg'
089f651734d0f5ba2bf85c9194a4267c
83616477cc48fbf270e67a9cd870e45f5fd29926
describe
'2767632' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUD' 'sip-files00070.tif'
a2b7508157eca0081d1b3e1c36485592
19b4845e74b346759c0c10b44d88582c182e3354
describe
'1367' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUE' 'sip-files00070.txt'
ea137e9638e70b1c026fee18425d312e
6e4ce69aed808055194910733c53556200fe1e51
describe
'30595' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUF' 'sip-files00070thm.jpg'
3b5360defcdc890de2d2b28fbb2fe190
8869b02d9a40329bae9c2235efd55bb3de9e94e4
describe
'343335' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUG' 'sip-files00071.jp2'
7ddd8c0060e231fd6b5440cf6a7be2c1
f2b2c5d4690c2febf2ec39e7692e73dd326f2f60
describe
'205472' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUH' 'sip-files00071.jpg'
77dec78110eacc764eab0d30ed738f7c
cccc1ad957ed5f429b5f69953ff2efc8a5b02c11
'2011-09-28T17:06:44-04:00'
describe
'47564' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUI' 'sip-files00071.pro'
a29cd6a986423d413146b5090bc659d0
37bff20cfc0aed7191a5411d50e21926d1aa9571
'2011-09-28T17:09:44-04:00'
describe
'80610' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUJ' 'sip-files00071.QC.jpg'
203bec480c2d9c3e963c40af046c8569
e19cf3fba4b12709c0da5489b2e43f0f167e6666
'2011-09-28T17:07:53-04:00'
describe
'2769176' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUK' 'sip-files00071.tif'
f9fbccecddb608ce1092918156b64506
243f40bfda39b42a0bc89f9b8a754893826ed564
'2011-09-28T17:13:48-04:00'
describe
'1925' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUL' 'sip-files00071.txt'
dc6a459281bfcd3764a27070fa430d47
94fcf0b204814d8f3e5c78a763b56a08f53d40c7
'2011-09-28T17:10:38-04:00'
describe
'35056' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUM' 'sip-files00071thm.jpg'
3bc5b8538e13670addcfe37237baacb2
652d3b2b7f7b85faeb7fac7008e7384b42db802d
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUN' 'sip-files00072.jp2'
0f0587eca447939ac9da77b4ca22371e
b54c2c675f23d410541d4d34c291095b5d0e7065
'2011-09-28T17:09:06-04:00'
describe
'193053' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUO' 'sip-files00072.jpg'
0d1623f1f24284f7507f1b8be81716ab
5b6b6ea0f89832daa841f729bd1d600f7a6243d2
'2011-09-28T17:09:32-04:00'
describe
'45947' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUP' 'sip-files00072.pro'
2fee97bcb21306ba8d52ecd4251c2b2e
cb806fdecaa562ed4fa2a8781269693a37ebad9a
describe
'76904' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUQ' 'sip-files00072.QC.jpg'
8e5ec6380636d1bc1982fc98b8d6b242
72dac807fc72d8b1d78ae2d8a0ea41f756b0e4e6
describe
'2768768' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUR' 'sip-files00072.tif'
4d0f0d8a5381fa9a379f451b9ffce1fc
22fec8380e7ae126b345aa8f0d53768e670040e3
describe
'1832' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUS' 'sip-files00072.txt'
dd77ab4270fcaa8c0ec294967da9ce73
55e24b8718c218858e9e4b368898aa129b429003
describe
'34431' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUT' 'sip-files00072thm.jpg'
7579db1ed03c1184ab65f763321999a2
d54ea48e87a8c6c75e4eb4e4df37f3599d76ddec
'2011-09-28T17:10:45-04:00'
describe
'343326' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUU' 'sip-files00073.jp2'
8380f94900910b1c48779201fcd8f787
315c90558b986336823d35642b1cf480db6b0a08
'2011-09-28T17:08:07-04:00'
describe
'192297' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUV' 'sip-files00073.jpg'
3f3219131951d61f253e7a3556bf3d6a
1de728989a366eef6867385d4adaaaf09b9e8354
describe
'45323' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUW' 'sip-files00073.pro'
afae2e538b078f871705d06e54397b8c
3fe68a396192d9f498e1fdf2e946faebb3cfc629
describe
'78485' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUX' 'sip-files00073.QC.jpg'
75df0e07ec1f00ac45a75d765291b79e
35ba032368b3d580f126104fc216c487175750d4
'2011-09-28T17:08:55-04:00'
describe
'2769092' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUY' 'sip-files00073.tif'
c5ad456bd7d5d6a4fdb02d32f8d57bca
07ff83278297a596dadd0d35b6c9d115e6197722
'2011-09-28T17:12:18-04:00'
describe
'1840' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANUZ' 'sip-files00073.txt'
87a2f83bfa53d25a272805ad7ea33d76
1de29dcfec165a54f22a6a99212db21afd633c2c
describe
'34896' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVA' 'sip-files00073thm.jpg'
228e17901a629186b28ec5e7fd90ea65
c83c699b22eb677ace86489826f7405e243bfe5b
'2011-09-28T17:09:24-04:00'
describe
'343289' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVB' 'sip-files00074.jp2'
ab7f36836559b976bdff54c274c80119
4718041cf789dc28bedb6510492d15021c9dcc8b
describe
'190608' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVC' 'sip-files00074.jpg'
17fd4e60c9c13a7460529c7fc623ab00
48fe77d5c8e57736052506bb3c2c81fcfb0851df
describe
'42801' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVD' 'sip-files00074.pro'
fcc3fbc1cc4775abc1e6aa0e23a1ab9f
b8ccc1c168e21635b185b1f45207070a67ce4cd3
describe
'73499' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVE' 'sip-files00074.QC.jpg'
c170dd5526660acbbefc50d2de92622a
2f8671dbc4d0fab37585e9e51703b07b34ccde1a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVF' 'sip-files00074.tif'
5724b5425c5d0e96e1c4a0ebb831dfb0
9a7e5b52051339bb2fba727c7bd825442011c365
'2011-09-28T17:06:46-04:00'
describe
'1701' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVG' 'sip-files00074.txt'
1babacfd272242e255b82626214bf602
dc8239c4f2f77de0c7b1d4a378678d2cad1fafb0
describe
'33798' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVH' 'sip-files00074thm.jpg'
d3c87f26abf55db0b69828e6f5ad2444
21c2e1cc25bd66ba192aeb7f89c01bc462b13dee
describe
'341655' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVI' 'sip-files00076.jp2'
e409f92318298a1343eee47da40a2d8d
2ee3ac4dbe14acf1fa05b292f85cc35e219b5b6a
describe
'255520' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVJ' 'sip-files00076.jpg'
45c787c6af3a377904c54e753ca4ffdc
956db02fd55ea83ecf0a31f64dafc69b313de509
'2011-09-28T17:09:35-04:00'
describe
'2781' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVK' 'sip-files00076.pro'
9ac4423e303bed68afbdfa3128fafc06
3f898472fb78d2644ce5d325b09d838511b52a10
describe
'78755' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVL' 'sip-files00076.QC.jpg'
f4ee8e9fa3b2dd54f95413f1e39a4cde
fe835751c781b62b7802fea6330219816eb0d9c5
describe
'8229420' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVM' 'sip-files00076.tif'
fd7dd055441771c64c3185d6e2f7e7db
684fa58899deede5e1e32d8294cfe807e9165059
'2011-09-28T17:10:25-04:00'
describe
'228' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVN' 'sip-files00076.txt'
b99e46898994da89eef55d1968c2f9d5
6396dc8447d12893c943c6b51e515064d6dcb5b7
'2011-09-28T17:13:46-04:00'
describe
Invalid character
'36689' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVO' 'sip-files00076thm.jpg'
71d75b8807bc37f3061a96667781b904
1b08ba0c2138fde00af4939b90eb266221055a12
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVP' 'sip-files00077.jp2'
d29b81bfcd2e11588224b104b4f58d50
8d02177516eafb3804a8faa816d246e16a4d64b8
'2011-09-28T17:11:41-04:00'
describe
'170411' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVQ' 'sip-files00077.jpg'
7ab4233525a6eea59f9e72a254f01799
644abfec04ceada924284579e9098579f651c50c
describe
'33812' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVR' 'sip-files00077.pro'
4874cd45a54c76ea6dcef2888802483c
b7dbafd41f7071cb2de771ac0feca510d9dc2390
describe
'67618' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVS' 'sip-files00077.QC.jpg'
59bdd87310d0bb125ad682c4e7879b87
c00dd5636ea68fcb68440a4136ea4a5408d8e4fa
describe
'2768576' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVT' 'sip-files00077.tif'
7c84eddffc6ebaabccfcd51791419941
07d91b86472586ad36892c60ff9e3f3bc388a5a8
describe
'1437' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVU' 'sip-files00077.txt'
a5b0acc956910aadf25a2a285cc8a265
d429294ea6bb5def9f5f7e621e927453b639c36f
describe
'32869' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVV' 'sip-files00077thm.jpg'
29440871a37aef1be58dc5b89cf81b21
64bd14837caecaac23a89bea36c91fed61fc7bc7
describe
'343322' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVW' 'sip-files00078.jp2'
b892dd2a6edd30785eccc564b6583ce7
a3be826ad143cff7b8e051a353c2883c29db9e40
describe
'226805' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVX' 'sip-files00078.jpg'
62f8d27fbad7d287a56ea213f51fa7c0
7340a401b981cd9bb51dceebec215e34d394ceba
describe
'51522' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVY' 'sip-files00078.pro'
3ae05f949402a19a3f7aca07bcb65d3f
a94a3efeb1b6916bd2c7d6e8f257b141ba7f8e3a
'2011-09-28T17:13:08-04:00'
describe
'85469' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANVZ' 'sip-files00078.QC.jpg'
0025fae2c379d677dcb85e1c0847c0ca
8503389003bdaff161ce16b1fd647da322d5924b
describe
'2769448' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWA' 'sip-files00078.tif'
f236b3cda3a5171295b6c821135288af
844f6397564d57b3de0fd947c307ea6346c2958f
'2011-09-28T17:13:20-04:00'
describe
'2028' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWB' 'sip-files00078.txt'
d658877cb9eb0d41acf99650a0d241a8
5e1cce9ddbc5412b74e3118b412152911b933013
describe
'35783' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWC' 'sip-files00078thm.jpg'
994e8be78be022a75791cabb7c33f2b3
77e08b228fbb3eca784b28b26db0de4286ab6f61
describe
'343341' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWD' 'sip-files00079.jp2'
3b362afaedf680fd26a4405369274023
87bb3316a15671deb7b78c833279be5be4527cd5
describe
'226277' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWE' 'sip-files00079.jpg'
5ba59d22e2a6f39172aa6ff75b4bf193
864441209fd2a2325024d17b30ef9bf04717f84e
'2011-09-28T17:07:24-04:00'
describe
'50613' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWF' 'sip-files00079.pro'
340d43c4cd8f21d0f57ac02f66affc28
de915d8e6599362be348702b69b7de4976a354f7
describe
'86407' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWG' 'sip-files00079.QC.jpg'
3e77fa1de0c465fcf3a989d25a54fb1f
45bd5be83daab5af67e54da2ebef0a5f057939f3
describe
'2769528' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWH' 'sip-files00079.tif'
f470fcd7fd6b75b4d377420dd877085a
19a18288bd4bd5b5f9b0d6b358b1546c83e5ae95
'2011-09-28T17:10:42-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWI' 'sip-files00079.txt'
1014e2d5d2e749276715f4c148a63e91
d9d8c4050a6dc78dbc5ea20940343ab17dc01cbb
'2011-09-28T17:12:27-04:00'
describe
'36229' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWJ' 'sip-files00079thm.jpg'
1bd965061b37b00c8ce7b31ab7dee284
687280bada85e540549dce073e830e00ed0f8059
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWK' 'sip-files00080.jp2'
5bd32761d5e9b0a2e70c41f1067d4c35
fc01c81c573f1b165471ffd62c52382737201584
describe
'229766' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWL' 'sip-files00080.jpg'
4003ad0a93a8e15ad6e5869e3f42879e
7aa4a3f6bc8c23cb5917105113bc13edc7d71a2c
describe
'50533' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWM' 'sip-files00080.pro'
0f622f29e6919d62e31c23350c45943b
55e7e409cb579b87f11ed92015c16de8d300b3d6
'2011-09-28T17:07:12-04:00'
describe
'87462' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWN' 'sip-files00080.QC.jpg'
af5e9170ea2da5ce6af46d7dccdcb6b0
50aff83247b5a2eae9a49ab4ef3914db63642de8
describe
'2769824' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWO' 'sip-files00080.tif'
448401e7a1deb330a595e8d2ca42b5d1
17ff01242a4304959c7a6405891ce9fada16baac
'2011-09-28T17:07:04-04:00'
describe
'1987' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWP' 'sip-files00080.txt'
b3c3054946724b25d8472e81f0ba06fc
9eda8ab7116b8af6e2b8707e7395522df9ffdcc5
describe
'36386' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWQ' 'sip-files00080thm.jpg'
083cf7e17ecaf2ae99e7d809c3e8ab85
da3003f1402237769328b6ab8a67fb2f8bf6b013
'2011-09-28T17:09:47-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWR' 'sip-files00081.jp2'
5ef85748f3ff07fcb8d841c3ca351a1c
1e0a39abb5035407e5af576effacaf2e49a3388b
describe
'238447' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWS' 'sip-files00081.jpg'
4e3c0dcf691f1e26c24105ca2f3a397f
074d90847da6e38bf033a2aead7c8f6eb7d4b7b7
describe
'52292' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWT' 'sip-files00081.pro'
133e338fdd811482439637d2cac39631
c511717fe7bbcc1c0856b6025191306f11c45995
'2011-09-28T17:13:38-04:00'
describe
'88418' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWU' 'sip-files00081.QC.jpg'
9eb5a9e4ae5372ac1fc9993db456b338
cb66c4d5f402292556b2a88f64ad96f3d923a935
describe
'2769872' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWV' 'sip-files00081.tif'
3f33582f7225d26d3f3f237c1ee1426e
cc771deb94380470035a613262789ac086bb257f
'2011-09-28T17:08:33-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWW' 'sip-files00081.txt'
afbca0aabd53a231c374564bfc936878
8b4b051553a24224e597decc287de0a1adebe926
describe
'37090' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWX' 'sip-files00081thm.jpg'
50b767b091f40842e3565614701fe40a
bc3bf6f2eec6a3ac0beaa8974d64530151380642
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWY' 'sip-files00082.jp2'
e989aab0f9b8be058ed463f2679b3117
bb0ffdb64028998f395958f143232ae74f400a48
describe
'219930' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANWZ' 'sip-files00082.jpg'
dbaa9cbbc411ac45dfa0ac0253865907
e0d266650d8bfdc5a63b81dfa86eb1371e1d6ff9
describe
'51062' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXA' 'sip-files00082.pro'
3eb84e305182312747c68e91df647be4
6e6e7802c9a879248e660b52450518604911ff1c
describe
'85047' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXB' 'sip-files00082.QC.jpg'
23d05636e1a1977c31a95c4855f691df
3017b7d8cbbf24f09f418aa3fc6f76e7ecbd1a5f
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXC' 'sip-files00082.tif'
f6b68593143656bcb6f66012e06e4ebf
551d4073921a0278772636ce6f0f7494e9ccb81a
describe
'2004' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXD' 'sip-files00082.txt'
4055b0cc668315bef3cedb491a4c1346
68727d8e6cd2f10371f5c850ebd5a5191386f101
'2011-09-28T17:08:29-04:00'
describe
'35830' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXE' 'sip-files00082thm.jpg'
1772892689c337bd9dfe0f9850dff9cc
73ba0f37308b2edd85950f881230734737e25b74
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXF' 'sip-files00083.jp2'
cf79064e9ee30d3699a3fdc732b5d7dc
efbf6b1a2c14cbd5c322fd9d8259bcfe1f74b5c6
describe
'219815' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXG' 'sip-files00083.jpg'
30a5c36b3974db4c0d4745d859ce18bb
4d9425f8cca986de8292c8f934308cf8652aac5d
'2011-09-28T17:14:14-04:00'
describe
'49848' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXH' 'sip-files00083.pro'
22b3fa1a13ebebc6dc13b2a5d2781581
8b1d7d03fe202bad94dcd40db00665c3b224ec2a
'2011-09-28T17:08:01-04:00'
describe
'83901' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXI' 'sip-files00083.QC.jpg'
c15eaeba6b2d7181f00c8cfa1bf3f971
a9a455f4e48b5333d33f270afa0577adc34188e5
describe
'2769524' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXJ' 'sip-files00083.tif'
fa43760d92b1ae659fd1cce57bac46a4
f2cbe71cbd47feea1ec6dbd3fe8601916085dffd
'2011-09-28T17:07:36-04:00'
describe
'1991' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXK' 'sip-files00083.txt'
5355c530957ed281867fe51fa6505aaf
b5471cc32fe4ed3eb4e06fae148cbc63cb1014c1
describe
'35905' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXL' 'sip-files00083thm.jpg'
ebb0da61633c4cde5e134539bdcaaa3d
8ca52d683c04ef0b47fe008f923fc992bf5db0e6
describe
'343329' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXM' 'sip-files00084.jp2'
d9cabc74fb8ec741967ca8a0d97a706c
1afbe958aa975c03f4aa6266543055148acc68b9
describe
'226126' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXN' 'sip-files00084.jpg'
ba10695292b0ae3e715b13bd5ec76d10
d98b6554f51bdf09851f5d6274dd636733f9b9c4
'2011-09-28T17:08:05-04:00'
describe
'48087' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXO' 'sip-files00084.pro'
ba13c84b42298fbf0b8919013d4a0623
7a87dd7cd72dc39cb173a04fe6720efabad17b3b
'2011-09-28T17:10:59-04:00'
describe
'83743' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXP' 'sip-files00084.QC.jpg'
ec6ff0cca0980009c6c0af9ab1ab779a
0f38f9a2e6595ead1d654d0effb5f473b0193bb9
describe
'2769608' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXQ' 'sip-files00084.tif'
2043a3a91c4dd804cf2ce6256ebba3af
1213ee6b73e5f2cc31466bb02c26ef3e5824bd99
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXR' 'sip-files00084.txt'
dd4cfcb5de3d743dfdc8340cd696bdb0
4112c90b20c9d6f1875023cf58c009cb5999c021
describe
'36036' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXS' 'sip-files00084thm.jpg'
e7703daa97e19646c28083080de8cdd1
46ae39ae1e8013d0138bc76f9217e7534c94ba3f
'2011-09-28T17:07:20-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXT' 'sip-files00085.jp2'
0f6ee5faf6212fd02856230ab66f2ac2
6d9a8c9210d872554b3c1305b9c03ccc727e5e00
'2011-09-28T17:07:31-04:00'
describe
'221736' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXU' 'sip-files00085.jpg'
126c4e01310598421a2bc4cb33b40e87
56b414f92b0ea23233c7f56f6df1bfb2eedb1c15
describe
'51397' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXV' 'sip-files00085.pro'
d26430728b54b66b616813031c99e46c
b964a760f2a6699713116d5cbb1590f3b97d5713
describe
'84541' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXW' 'sip-files00085.QC.jpg'
be6210e0ced9035ad5a65c1154dbc590
1131f01506bbaf66dc6c9b3e81dd2f53c736af3b
describe
'2769728' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXX' 'sip-files00085.tif'
e6add497e7b666ccb0d5fcba625bd7a5
4fe50e65491305156b772cf54ff7494681dc3fc8
describe
'2085' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXY' 'sip-files00085.txt'
9e41921935811026e3db4be6cd9bce4b
5f2d236491347c4021f9527599e53f8d0ccecf10
describe
'36514' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANXZ' 'sip-files00085thm.jpg'
71119c0a7eeaa9d1bd49530e259e6390
bd6a6be085d66da9be8e0655a7ba2b39c1953cce
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYA' 'sip-files00086.jp2'
a58dca59906cb696fd5fb5f9afc40405
a062472a45e6bedc7a4740fd8e2af91f494b6484
describe
'226780' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYB' 'sip-files00086.jpg'
2167780e907b46b94c9ab4a1d0ffd10e
9cf80e34cf078886867bd9653c33a43fe8030046
describe
'50608' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYC' 'sip-files00086.pro'
e86b0dd537911d464daa8c386578dfa4
281cb9741110f1834a0ad86ef8669490310ea8bd
describe
'82326' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYD' 'sip-files00086.QC.jpg'
6f2407ecdc4bec1b632a0146587c04be
f80d38539dd1b966e6e823dd1bac1b93f818cfe5
'2011-09-28T17:11:09-04:00'
describe
'2769404' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYE' 'sip-files00086.tif'
884a7ac9a96982ea684755cb196a4e79
58033fe582e9e407b834f482425cf2b99de68275
describe
'1998' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYF' 'sip-files00086.txt'
363207b5842c0d32ec4d280a1b5ea36f
994705402ab238e0c00b9a4c5f76be94370afcc4
describe
'35653' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYG' 'sip-files00086thm.jpg'
788b225851f3b8f3e1ebda9803faef09
53ea5ca682bd9238efdd128b8d60e8ffff1a1a2d
'2011-09-28T17:13:34-04:00'
describe
'343327' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYH' 'sip-files00087.jp2'
d4c88c0e2b2e728492e1ba34ecaff07f
9b702f641b35ceaf266f0ce9d0ae06feb979714d
'2011-09-28T17:09:42-04:00'
describe
'223291' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYI' 'sip-files00087.jpg'
e4a2c9a1611fb530cc79cb5f9bc18a69
808d0c579df749fb7cae058e86ddaa67a5f2809b
describe
'50523' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYJ' 'sip-files00087.pro'
b5c06f17691e0be5bc7f2b1958dc24f6
76de7846a28edc1479c605cd91e7a803aaa636f3
'2011-09-28T17:12:32-04:00'
describe
'85042' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYK' 'sip-files00087.QC.jpg'
c23b18570e64124b4d61ad8b97cae00b
7c1a4ffbc0946748dbaa432d080e8b8bef7683a7
describe
'2769680' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYL' 'sip-files00087.tif'
e79d85a785720924955e14ba927e2f23
7d4f1dd5cc282f2e3ab60edb6baa75dba9510087
describe
'2016' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYM' 'sip-files00087.txt'
63e660b9829ffccca8895788effd4d60
220348e803d03956c836ba0f45227e279077c7ff
describe
'36028' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYN' 'sip-files00087thm.jpg'
41567952af06522fd65a91c6310241dd
23d572b703f10084d89bfe4a213fbcb66d8dc908
'2011-09-28T17:13:29-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYO' 'sip-files00088.jp2'
6ddc897d9f04c760c9c09812169fb032
ca5eda07f4e10e21609993b87314681c2a6e77a3
'2011-09-28T17:07:17-04:00'
describe
'220116' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYP' 'sip-files00088.jpg'
54a13f73b30c04acde6fb0434438f78a
0b26a75fe59e6f1ea0e2b1ae7a38374ab32c97cc
'2011-09-28T17:09:16-04:00'
describe
'50480' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYQ' 'sip-files00088.pro'
47a58da378375f0b240912b044e92169
f546a0f0e17e2acb50280e00436dd6b18cb26366
describe
'84533' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYR' 'sip-files00088.QC.jpg'
2f1ef91efa03db687e804206e5551a00
89c3e74ecbc4e777a56e67b6f127aa845bf9d91f
describe
'2769560' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYS' 'sip-files00088.tif'
b38197d16a30cccd66f63d5ac82799a0
1f9637087a71ac289437c6e75ac1aa458f4328b4
describe
'1988' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYT' 'sip-files00088.txt'
3441a83f7626b99099b00d900edbf59c
ca4b22504aa29dac1bad251fc8875446857571a1
describe
'35773' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYU' 'sip-files00088thm.jpg'
934e934f39a814c4689b0a0787ed6835
5ed2c16f78d7edbd99baf6f1d65ddb9ea002e5de
'2011-09-28T17:07:06-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYV' 'sip-files00089.jp2'
56314068653b4d8f9f8d242e7e0d3a2b
dc57a2279e37ab03e84e82bc4e895279b4821cf0
describe
'228105' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYW' 'sip-files00089.jpg'
c6a3166877b16af79ed4894ccbd544d8
b86cbcaab8622053318ce26ce63af3193cabfbb9
'2011-09-28T17:07:55-04:00'
describe
'50453' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYX' 'sip-files00089.pro'
8711a38ff310ddca9e48c890ae93f98f
bd19d39b57bbd8371e53310d08daaef83385ec9d
describe
'83561' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYY' 'sip-files00089.QC.jpg'
5c6db3a23b2591df85394da0d432bda3
ab15d43a19ec34b43c361bcdaa3b2283b6c660fe
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANYZ' 'sip-files00089.tif'
ef3cf85ed584af3741364a802e7bd1b3
cad58713899840e9366ba7161af53a0c51bac8e6
'2011-09-28T17:08:43-04:00'
describe
'2020' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZA' 'sip-files00089.txt'
8e3a31f230fae1ba70febafc9902fcac
f33d29376399a30e94108012dec71d55d57bb939
describe
'36490' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZB' 'sip-files00089thm.jpg'
b5693ee3fd18208439eda55d2c3f0e9f
077744d0f225ead28783400bb0f6bc9f2b09d2d1
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZC' 'sip-files00090.jp2'
ed04e463d1622fc1505a2e61205378da
26392c5a772fd5f68ec3d61cee44459a98421593
'2011-09-28T17:13:35-04:00'
describe
'217124' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZD' 'sip-files00090.jpg'
6c6d6cfb4cba35c1a665e3db67c531c5
3e0d3c5f68c6a552563d88f23fa589209948a80a
describe
'48253' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZE' 'sip-files00090.pro'
e2030d747ab1fcece3b642d9da82fa52
617116328a4d059e288b8a1fdf564d320c8a434b
describe
'84111' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZF' 'sip-files00090.QC.jpg'
f900901c54e26e4415a30c16bae842ff
58d16705d037d540db9b86aa2fdbe131de763747
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZG' 'sip-files00090.tif'
da73817f8c7affef9aa9a8b3bd65ec77
c6d0f49fc4315909a3fd71727a27d845d449f8c6
describe
'1905' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZH' 'sip-files00090.txt'
60b71569a940ecea5618f535e2de1eda
0dde324fd12d472cb577f53abb0c308800491cca
'2011-09-28T17:09:34-04:00'
describe
'35794' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZI' 'sip-files00090thm.jpg'
c60abacd4e2065cbf3aced0df1e90a09
6821fd915247a1aa1af22cc5a84c0011f16c0bef
'2011-09-28T17:12:53-04:00'
describe
'343293' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZJ' 'sip-files00091.jp2'
7f427665d120f2740ef69f62c6239b3a
805cd890664873b0323d5d54b4ee4e1040bcd2df
describe
'198908' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZK' 'sip-files00091.jpg'
e43a7f27dae311e05ca6cc11e75db4dc
e132c8d3220dcffe83ad63bf1a2b8bcbf43d9957
'2011-09-28T17:11:49-04:00'
describe
'43512' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZL' 'sip-files00091.pro'
843bb11c98ff94c80cd3ff077df5e55f
4a91784258cecb216b31593fb913fb31070647cd
describe
'78419' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZM' 'sip-files00091.QC.jpg'
63e5f13bf73e6900a61c04be1c565452
46497ffdde08e8b7a03fe88f17d7464900b2f65e
'2011-09-28T17:08:53-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZN' 'sip-files00091.tif'
5e358d4c3626cd31c9f2d81c38c282ad
ac3120e823a8199eb8d2da480672a471bfd682c5
describe
'1758' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZO' 'sip-files00091.txt'
01193769354c7488a97146818eb334cd
1f65f713894bb89d683f0ff547d0f001e7958396
describe
'35819' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZP' 'sip-files00091thm.jpg'
741cb64370e662fc1c72128142f30ce9
71f951496c5c0f4087fba87f6828d0ad2f1ff363
'2011-09-28T17:13:45-04:00'
describe
'343300' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZQ' 'sip-files00092.jp2'
673ea8c07079927d794ffdcbcb4f207c
486af8b5ba1fba1e3bae12689c0c64df0437d43a
'2011-09-28T17:08:04-04:00'
describe
'203122' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZR' 'sip-files00092.jpg'
e52a94fd9dbed9d3cffe96e983c744fa
c85b943d7cc16c64ea899033a455fad381b952a8
describe
'46844' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZS' 'sip-files00092.pro'
825951fd78249bc61586d3cf94dc136d
51cee1e7214701434cd9c30ce154205cc5ce7e10
'2011-09-28T17:07:38-04:00'
describe
'80246' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZT' 'sip-files00092.QC.jpg'
468c329edefddd547a7e0806959d5d38
3253d063cb0068552b1c6bf31555f0071e4d6e54
describe
'2769104' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZU' 'sip-files00092.tif'
4e06ef3edab0332a05a25a829fe25540
b82b02dcae93339b2d4df07ed3db27d0e39880a6
describe
'1866' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZV' 'sip-files00092.txt'
61c35fbb6c10c4e24eacc47eddd3beb5
f7670d306cd733e298ed983f4508c9634e372c58
describe
'35453' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZW' 'sip-files00092thm.jpg'
ed2375d7f922811c33dc86cebbf2d47f
63f128c4bd7608a2787bf4cc7e9d81f1576633cc
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZX' 'sip-files00093.jp2'
dc74ae64004a26a2cc9d3be3a9d87ca2
25600a08612e332717000679cd714c85f1fd7a93
describe
'217991' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZY' 'sip-files00093.jpg'
b7086c7aaad693c090325c902ce39266
682934050b8faa4e124279d4126d8c7afdb08b75
'2011-09-28T17:06:58-04:00'
describe
'49704' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAANZZ' 'sip-files00093.pro'
33a9267552c8e76bdc77c195df68619f
f2bda2bac332f185c59cabc582752fc36a65dc98
describe
'83285' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAA' 'sip-files00093.QC.jpg'
854bd340949cf1f7447ed6035569919b
e29211d4f37ad71e6ea5cf0c5b75f5139f230b98
'2011-09-28T17:12:21-04:00'
describe
'2769584' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAB' 'sip-files00093.tif'
c540fb52a09e7cbe8c46d8489488e233
13eec881e8539fb4578ad42f7e7e3349703da0b1
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAC' 'sip-files00093.txt'
f19d6dd5509aad867f3e44505c26aa7c
6de759c8da9aeb53caf091ecc6a6daa2b2f13b0b
describe
'35724' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAD' 'sip-files00093thm.jpg'
be7992b1a7cd00da1baba901cfbd6b5e
812dd805f0866bc86046843edb1857a07d297c43
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAE' 'sip-files00094.jp2'
545281348b454e02d61e6b1c1961a2b0
5bda7c5293da974d9347209a1c27d7c1d6a145c0
describe
'207391' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAF' 'sip-files00094.jpg'
f4665a0fce62b4bd7db89442758bf0aa
9c6bf452396626c90cdf567f28f12650b17b781b
describe
'47917' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAG' 'sip-files00094.pro'
353aa64e0741682a5554301f10439d56
1230dd7ae8a0c46016b09d4b4aec3b710e5bec46
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAH' 'sip-files00094.QC.jpg'
86f07cf8ec991c65c41ea0cd760b4cb9
cb7dfe8937c9d11653e0ae00aa2790a871e47bab
describe
'2769168' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAI' 'sip-files00094.tif'
53bbd48b7e9d981a800982d4a9267c34
1710f7341ae2177d8a2da538ed8bb2ec99bb4973
'2011-09-28T17:07:49-04:00'
describe
'1896' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAJ' 'sip-files00094.txt'
6f4fba1dfeb526d1b2feeaa6b0f72de8
dea2ab2435350822eb805806e5f6016a6ece8c19
'2011-09-28T17:14:13-04:00'
describe
'35424' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAK' 'sip-files00094thm.jpg'
bc4e7cb838af1a772457da9d3a75f2a8
43d6c2d4dd42bc41596be4e969199aab1a4e56f5
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAL' 'sip-files00095.jp2'
a189eb85a52a9de2d03cbf3d87d8cfe7
7dcd15489d39c1ee9646f74813351277d758c4e8
describe
'214193' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAM' 'sip-files00095.jpg'
e419d0b29a96d79b7dae1e80f445a666
ff91dbb4d0e378901759f2210b1e5173f0e6f990
describe
'48912' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAN' 'sip-files00095.pro'
a8a639a49a8f39c7776f0258ff13e183
2698170ccc51e79cd8f08ec798a6542cbdd22d26
describe
'83703' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAO' 'sip-files00095.QC.jpg'
fefa5ad95dceac3371a7cdd36ca92f8e
fce06130e3b45bbc6b908624ee9514efe23f5a0a
'2011-09-28T17:08:08-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAP' 'sip-files00095.tif'
ba72f72ad1d23f021bedb00a48f53ac2
1ff88220fc3670245ed609564f7046a3ffc628b5
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAQ' 'sip-files00095.txt'
7ffee011c274a71d0ba9d1ce63743ea6
cc6fd519f76c303d8eccaad6cc9f4ccfe8cac770
'2011-09-28T17:12:49-04:00'
describe
'35840' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAR' 'sip-files00095thm.jpg'
70540a72979b2a31c193e6bc29ec33f4
89ca2112932e3ff0baccfa2bd610b5662d6688e5
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAS' 'sip-files00096.jp2'
e22a847bbf5d61f743cf9582dfc27fd1
e61a85b09e3c64c0eedbaf4f4adeef4ce746602d
describe
'214523' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAT' 'sip-files00096.jpg'
e687c5a2e4ebf2523a3c93b07afa50d1
7a2b1dcc1e44ded11c2bfddbac2b605c14231e41
describe
'51599' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAU' 'sip-files00096.pro'
855e17bc1e6e1e31f5b311ce8fae9f63
c8ca86e4631ad01435c1d52da1444d1bab0881c3
'2011-09-28T17:10:04-04:00'
describe
'83192' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAV' 'sip-files00096.QC.jpg'
d4fc2816cba5dc50e51286f986c0cf51
22755864351ab4ac3cfe9116612cc73da162fc39
describe
'2769220' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAW' 'sip-files00096.tif'
5e94030d9698cbf94592927cfcd19577
75db167e31c4f5dad8593493509dfa0db07ba732
describe
'2036' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAX' 'sip-files00096.txt'
15ce64a0fe69bf43718d6113d9a19435
257b23c3bd00689a78821555307ba205050a1e5a
'2011-09-28T17:06:45-04:00'
describe
'35789' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAY' 'sip-files00096thm.jpg'
6aed5ee707169ed12b561f4d54d168f9
c0588883a37937a785b61f6772db6d37bc75db2e
describe
'343360' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOAZ' 'sip-files00097.jp2'
d6ff5f7f3ccee0f0e3a4d16d0e67e89d
73a9ab8c269c00cfe2268c04d44655c3c622e802
describe
'209948' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBA' 'sip-files00097.jpg'
ee68fae02d4fa75bb76fa734c695201d
086a41d957c6807a261ddd0b3641e9d99bdedfad
describe
'51223' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBB' 'sip-files00097.pro'
83f1f47a42e2bead39e5b123ffec1ff8
c83d22c1b838e6eb506472f07978d645ed58d139
describe
'85289' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBC' 'sip-files00097.QC.jpg'
bbb77b0583aa77ba0e04103ee5eab6f0
7c7299e017313e5c6fb373fa1d6c54f07babc3ea
'2011-09-28T17:07:51-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBD' 'sip-files00097.tif'
86325d8de82053b14cbcea18df1fdf4f
0b72fa2a5d291508258c90fd2ba4f9c6b9d66879
'2011-09-28T17:08:41-04:00'
describe
'2045' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBE' 'sip-files00097.txt'
efd02f81ecd15e85a6e7e0cb0670a3ae
23bc39f77e227c34393af1e2868918e60e03e7f1
'2011-09-28T17:09:38-04:00'
describe
'36082' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBF' 'sip-files00097thm.jpg'
4581d3964bb093eff888e66108b48cc1
dd2c757b549efc703f2aea78ea3e5a1b313674c0
'2011-09-28T17:12:55-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBG' 'sip-files00098.jp2'
1fc51255e8fe39b867cbf862e04b70ff
9b09dfdb9659730b69e25a55ea71677c5b0c14ff
'2011-09-28T17:08:50-04:00'
describe
'212764' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBH' 'sip-files00098.jpg'
eb80df679ba4adb36dd7c2906063e97d
9cae3c4b8a1173baebe39cbcedb439b9ad2b890f
'2011-09-28T17:06:50-04:00'
describe
'51818' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBI' 'sip-files00098.pro'
666270edc6077696bfdc58827e4a7e85
5efab1b0b87bae71d012fdaeea5264a6a12cf767
describe
'84418' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBJ' 'sip-files00098.QC.jpg'
2227b32174ffb86a987f7465d6739ba4
a92a68ddd654ebb21b42f45b26f3515ae501a948
describe
'2769356' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBK' 'sip-files00098.tif'
5958bec745c37965d422acc1088b8a80
a834e0ce8b232474bf612e23c52f641143b3f630
'2011-09-28T17:06:38-04:00'
describe
'2071' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBL' 'sip-files00098.txt'
bb729a0a5e9c45d5f5b0d62e57ebee26
4027599edca7155805d728cb96e3ea8361151adc
describe
'36080' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBM' 'sip-files00098thm.jpg'
7661a024c957ec56f5fccc5af49a464c
f35c637b3ea56888f0cfab192dd6fd2f0dc37a63
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBN' 'sip-files00099.jp2'
17491a0fb2ee077cd48d601151a393ee
f4c77ee0eaa5c5673b6dc3ece54f57a411adedfe
describe
'214851' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBO' 'sip-files00099.jpg'
d39dcd9270eeaedae4eb71644738d2ce
f32e9adffe7480354ab8c2427b3a65dfa3d094ea
describe
'49490' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBP' 'sip-files00099.pro'
61f2e1a64abd33b58245f5a1cc880e79
bd91c05db28203dbb8e184b2a54096179990b570
describe
'84099' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBQ' 'sip-files00099.QC.jpg'
baffc7dd80a7599b84e687155ce3b806
b82fc4dac21adeaf348508bcd64e7173593cd277
describe
'2769476' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBR' 'sip-files00099.tif'
6a138013d4c58861987ff5dce0dbc8d0
31b5d554709f2e90f37990dbe227c31f0a405f11
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBS' 'sip-files00099.txt'
b3ec1733deff0ccf4b526c136b1a9fad
875b9a41f594d88d3faa420a9f6faa7e9135bf53
describe
'36047' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBT' 'sip-files00099thm.jpg'
e26840d2050a7aa919ca51c8b33e5582
83b446f9b0a144313461bdea45fd6a021239232b
'2011-09-28T17:08:13-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBU' 'sip-files00100.jp2'
b4a9853496a597803ecce1d91506eb30
8fdb0a312ed6a92fbd7d082d6743a7cf02f9c70c
describe
'223550' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBV' 'sip-files00100.jpg'
982c2c5811bcec5eed6c538b94bce5ca
61c9936e01823a7dcd87df822550f9846be04b12
describe
'51362' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBW' 'sip-files00100.pro'
0e2eb782467902f382224c654f5fd64e
74a70ea98c61f77846cb28eea8ef2f11c28c64c5
describe
'87815' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBX' 'sip-files00100.QC.jpg'
8f49a330e802e9933816e846f7299c9a
138e102584718565f7999a4712f58d7770272f70
'2011-09-28T17:10:47-04:00'
describe
'2769764' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBY' 'sip-files00100.tif'
d6ff4f04fca14bf8da3f262074a08e6a
219d8c1023744f85c8fbff7df3cac04ccb42d27a
describe
'2022' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOBZ' 'sip-files00100.txt'
8d2761a07f03b50550f264b2eefb3c85
0b1b6f776ac081706aafcc0fd626843c53438fdf
describe
'36641' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCA' 'sip-files00100thm.jpg'
6c11ec5908fdb6e73d4661e5186e299a
808d88e63cb3555acc33353d00c8d19c9dafc62f
describe
'343342' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCB' 'sip-files00101.jp2'
a72d196b492d711d924657b90cc75bdf
3fcb999f8e11129ddc324e5339fd04416a19b794
describe
'230093' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCC' 'sip-files00101.jpg'
9525eef066b85607d660fc294badbf53
d1f99b44d0c234d7ea4b307471fe9bd6e246416b
describe
'49750' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCD' 'sip-files00101.pro'
96acd593280908a27477e821b3fb1a53
38f56615070893733fba4c6e745af8a5422225ea
describe
'87307' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCE' 'sip-files00101.QC.jpg'
69f0144f3e53912610d5343db5e7e66a
75964a9a805f7a9690618d1d4f2d89a0f4adf8e8
describe
'2769832' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCF' 'sip-files00101.tif'
fd1d5d93464c3800cd9bf4c453fdb3cf
1e652b8f65048a99152e4a22bd13d603e3235ea8
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCG' 'sip-files00101.txt'
3ab95b3189d07fec70f1cea2ffaeb19d
d69bd8feecfd83238a9857d83e4bce4b8209f5af
describe
'36913' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCH' 'sip-files00101thm.jpg'
8b50a0569425fed17032b4865d2c7f94
360f3e54b8f758b07776ddb4f256ae1ae18f9e85
describe
'343583' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCI' 'sip-files00102.jp2'
135a55d95dfb5d9c55c56efab52d2457
99bceb42a043c7c54315e633da07678de7926347
describe
'221395' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCJ' 'sip-files00102.jpg'
28d1adba1ae9c8db04995318f4075e1d
1395629bdbaccda59c5fd2bc6703492284b61215
'2011-09-28T17:07:03-04:00'
describe
'51752' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCK' 'sip-files00102.pro'
c1fab28aaae73604dd174a00494ca634
f41d2ae9719eaee20d159fb668bbc54021a4f093
describe
'86042' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCL' 'sip-files00102.QC.jpg'
14ae85e19bd8430367c984d677abfe68
401934c63650cfc4f9effd2d7aa14b6d7b6b7968
describe
'2771788' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCM' 'sip-files00102.tif'
ea6b1916cf75c53039e7ff2c8e3e63e9
fc45b94fb1c49c910f16f14fea483fde7802507d
describe
'2039' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCN' 'sip-files00102.txt'
29c1301f5273fdfd9783104ad522c1f0
3d39e24406f68af99d490bc013d88010d04d6cb8
describe
'36311' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCO' 'sip-files00102thm.jpg'
c692b5a50715ddc32f98652f7f82c9e6
d0e63be82dc4d4b76a612f89e9762b396a15a851
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCP' 'sip-files00103.jp2'
f4315b2e96597bbd5886bb35c7344ea5
0d79cd1ba025345046024105e9aa4d4fbb10d8cb
describe
'222235' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCQ' 'sip-files00103.jpg'
d2ad90260cdedac3755475177860b39a
ee6ca903a2995d1e8f83db87ccd666f95444cbda
'2011-09-28T17:12:07-04:00'
describe
'49999' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCR' 'sip-files00103.pro'
c49bc0e5d0aef5248540dade539dd61b
2819ff4d54575ea90cf9bd2dd481d1598b65e725
describe
'84631' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCS' 'sip-files00103.QC.jpg'
9d1e08a2f52baec99699406dfe58b8ab
2363d6702419dddc7b886320b0a1460da5de96eb
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCT' 'sip-files00103.tif'
d181ac276821e915d11b1bb9a9fe68a5
268136765cf15309e2db04c77fa940271069fc7b
'2011-09-28T17:13:31-04:00'
describe
'1980' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCU' 'sip-files00103.txt'
c14018500ec4199b354fa09cd33de6e2
dab5772a5a1a0e2d9e08b8fe2fce8af2cbaa87e7
'2011-09-28T17:09:28-04:00'
describe
'36256' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCV' 'sip-files00103thm.jpg'
0db0b1a95fc62939d10523852c94ced4
9f9cc0bd0741c0ed577e000c11d654db78cb8fe1
describe
'343595' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCW' 'sip-files00104.jp2'
cf0a1989e10d20838567a9c4ce23c49f
2c2f783a22a0d45f5b8081f4adacced719fdabab
'2011-09-28T17:07:39-04:00'
describe
'222283' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCX' 'sip-files00104.jpg'
4041fc909baf0d064655127ed97e3647
4ab372cfd2a72c248d0198a21cce84551c5b319b
describe
'50573' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCY' 'sip-files00104.pro'
289c8ce53b65fdfe6f393efc4b79787b
912c7b1221bfd60f03a398068aba1f6507801651
'2011-09-28T17:08:22-04:00'
describe
'85331' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOCZ' 'sip-files00104.QC.jpg'
bcd6d23f2d1252b9fab98a66c848e0a5
3dd840e38f8597cd30a3b77b92939fa14e873f34
'2011-09-28T17:14:07-04:00'
describe
'2771840' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODA' 'sip-files00104.tif'
9f7c29b832eb84039c72b1388084847e
94911ef5370de073dbcaa8c017a98de938b26282
describe
'1993' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODB' 'sip-files00104.txt'
cd6a6c87769a57481d730989e44de78c
2b8b9c40bec18a4d4492e288c8439ac6e14d5d4c
'2011-09-28T17:07:41-04:00'
describe
'36657' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODC' 'sip-files00104thm.jpg'
d05d49ff01cecb3927968df70d4c0e97
95199a40b9a44bbb04a24a5e68f3a480d9350f09
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODD' 'sip-files00105.jp2'
71b738cf377f7d7020247b3be9d88b01
026560f415c857c782df9eb36548b39b93eb505b
describe
'213175' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODE' 'sip-files00105.jpg'
2417290dfd7044c4bd9931106da649c8
a9a89e7d6fb76b2766161d915cc92eed0d468c80
describe
'50193' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODF' 'sip-files00105.pro'
7105af0ce8ba489e0bac9197fe180491
6ceadd0bb8485553dbd4e090f95889e24ec4c20e
describe
'84276' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODG' 'sip-files00105.QC.jpg'
5281a22b1977c22aef64610dc1b72ca8
709fab2dbaeffef634b2abb1754e9c745c2c2e9a
describe
'2769700' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODH' 'sip-files00105.tif'
04207a1a10d7ec3cb2ef40079a5077b7
926a3b7091296eebe5200c2461334bac0ccd9bdb
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODI' 'sip-files00105.txt'
8d7b34d6ce8224f0c0a4490defef3431
2af9e37017401088deabb84a2e47844c90c45289
describe
'36547' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODJ' 'sip-files00105thm.jpg'
13eb4af37d3cc9977362f6b5033f4651
f760d34c61f3e5ed5067a3493a578bcce914e9ea
describe
'343616' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODK' 'sip-files00106.jp2'
2550c7c7d7bbbaf88089f261610bb1ed
d3ff286335d72a3a570d940c1c38ea5affa6df32
describe
'210509' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODL' 'sip-files00106.jpg'
58b5dbbd5fcef71740752406f1853877
3d70290afdc1c8c6a998fb99dc9cce63b3c0cb21
describe
'49757' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODM' 'sip-files00106.pro'
56d92e569223496c96e467599b58b7f8
9f0f4bcadb2a98b205e0ed036188e9da9cbb42ac
describe
'83785' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODN' 'sip-files00106.QC.jpg'
60160932e7c7d3d620f8e6a055153343
2e6ec0e781e16794589ea68e046e644cae6c4e18
describe
'2771688' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODO' 'sip-files00106.tif'
8fd1eaf26121aa598d62e5b16652c3fd
7d13ede4704c9bf9d1b3a82bf19b836ab44b98a8
describe
'1958' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODP' 'sip-files00106.txt'
94a607a83211600012812a2139d93f64
25ca49c7b0853beda069e1264a1d35df40280d4e
describe
'36228' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODQ' 'sip-files00106thm.jpg'
f9787c21ea6182186483a4db5b6062d2
5823523e5f9d15a04be7bd7e0833615d546d5514
'2011-09-28T17:08:21-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODR' 'sip-files00107.jp2'
c2cbefe324550901282520d4300db63f
d4b573b4c97d4da8be80dcfc387759aae49d4320
describe
'207874' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODS' 'sip-files00107.jpg'
ff2aaff9bb4b772ef11e95ad84fd0947
09fbe324c346aecae6752c933d2afcf0859c3f2d
describe
'44537' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODT' 'sip-files00107.pro'
45627d9a099965898eaf7faaf07d93d7
98c0ca1ecda2599e8f0d0db3374d9c0ca04a6b1c
describe
'79026' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODU' 'sip-files00107.QC.jpg'
a92d71b95c23a0883223b4d4c2f9238e
485287910c154b2c30e4936fffec8abd36ade933
describe
'2769484' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODV' 'sip-files00107.tif'
f43eeaf24fb176733eec047a8d95cd54
4d1f04b534d9029f61569672782a7459110b4c46
'2011-09-28T17:11:42-04:00'
describe
'1794' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODW' 'sip-files00107.txt'
c78bc6abf3f340adb2eac6a0c6ad65dc
e52fa31b9c74c76ee89c8d9f3b401a3eaf3933f6
describe
'35824' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODX' 'sip-files00107thm.jpg'
9865f702be7e2a7b06b37994ff6fa430
fd47d3ce4bb62e3f869070dd66b71a627c76e66a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODY' 'sip-files00108.jp2'
4d5f3f5edf82bf089006b15fec1e9b08
8088fe150bdc02028bd3fc00100d8f537e6c4f7c
describe
'104762' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAODZ' 'sip-files00108.jpg'
1f2865c60872543c876d814cc9b6623d
f5b6f19c004a8ef4466f0f4e671808b59fe550c5
'2011-09-28T17:12:09-04:00'
describe
'11144' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEA' 'sip-files00108.pro'
45e4f58878e5b42f1a68191f1efd3b84
0e5769375477e8c15189ee7a61b5cec7d17a1c46
'2011-09-28T17:11:43-04:00'
describe
'41579' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEB' 'sip-files00108.QC.jpg'
b9db0ce417c498fc3c7fe4caf2de973c
f7db8595dd815bc843023224626334ba669547cb
'2011-09-28T17:09:50-04:00'
describe
'2765848' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEC' 'sip-files00108.tif'
7acc6d215a17f3a164890b7a7beb9410
ea0c5068feadd7201022d71486b4d8dd40bb3c94
'2011-09-28T17:13:53-04:00'
describe
'452' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOED' 'sip-files00108.txt'
1718dba16335424984cf8800a7125858
d7b609444cd009253cf3c53ba27ca7f5175bc3ae
describe
'24563' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEE' 'sip-files00108thm.jpg'
66b72a709ea0b67a59f22f2d97637bab
2acbd7d189582671f29214c6d12dd63d4ec76245
describe
'342091' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEF' 'sip-files00110.jp2'
943f2ae1dd41c768c12bd80e86d486e4
27a84155edf37bfab6c74b71103259745107c5a0
describe
'259603' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEG' 'sip-files00110.jpg'
7f5dd3275f5084e8a575fa9afc5355e0
36509e47aece611b1414e01ff9b7eb7330b61052
describe
'897' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEH' 'sip-files00110.pro'
97cbe5b4dd13a65fc15c2e69b2b82d96
4793095f07e347ec9c64ade26797fe4720766c3a
describe
'80276' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEI' 'sip-files00110.QC.jpg'
f28d9a9cb9a503326f8f4dbe968bc579
03890c74af906e3f6183902db03df976af581efe
describe
'8231676' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEJ' 'sip-files00110.tif'
cacabe746ac06b9e537331a30286efa1
078b4fa53eaa2f37aa88c0137cf84c090c503743
describe
'51' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEK' 'sip-files00110.txt'
ee7a01ad3bb3a2116036be6a59c33fb9
5c0ddde79cdf9334c9ebf2c9e45d1ba46aa3fb23
describe
'36575' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEL' 'sip-files00110thm.jpg'
c81669dedc57ee519fa506c9106ca0e2
17c0269572ce7346e4dd6eecc0114468601e9122
describe
'343330' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEM' 'sip-files00111.jp2'
fe9462dbec28b2b9a7c4cecaf70267c4
597daa11ab8f9042f1073285e91624478bec6494
describe
'163018' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEN' 'sip-files00111.jpg'
91b7b6a1e36414c67ffd893b409a075d
afbadd0c08a7f7bb96e48d120b1b662daa2fa691
'2011-09-28T17:07:50-04:00'
describe
'31404' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEO' 'sip-files00111.pro'
67680119371a0951590521aa7fb4e259
b4df2b5b19fd072a989f4c30c1c14990c2b62cb9
describe
'66130' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEP' 'sip-files00111.QC.jpg'
8ce2e779d4f7355d0384777cb0a72474
187de1aef89cdae541547406882015487a5ed07b
'2011-09-28T17:14:16-04:00'
describe
'2768216' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEQ' 'sip-files00111.tif'
ec6a94648615704eaae7507044b21b16
1b68dd41c09587e2f77b67c586db9fd3575c9396
describe
'1352' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOER' 'sip-files00111.txt'
5053242ca8e570698d3289f5ab795de3
5a033096ffaaacaad0315f597767b26f4c1e53ab
'2011-09-28T17:09:55-04:00'
describe
'31960' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOES' 'sip-files00111thm.jpg'
91738677d107c73736bd466d62f0deda
fc2ea642ab1d327062dbd6ab901c34be6a852a42
describe
'343544' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOET' 'sip-files00112.jp2'
feab2f6a6d29c062aa6d84088aac8c0d
21b9b22656da7e8a389f2e95b2e90eeb1cd5b155
'2011-09-28T17:13:13-04:00'
describe
'192942' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEU' 'sip-files00112.jpg'
b4dabf862a95c04dfc29dbd32f8333fd
5d7782c0b552da486cc6794fd4bf8d50955874f3
'2011-09-28T17:10:40-04:00'
describe
'45730' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEV' 'sip-files00112.pro'
9b9c7cb65c9cc9fdb5899b05e45a0829
ee621992264981f3ef82af40d9439a7a8c451bb9
describe
'76588' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEW' 'sip-files00112.QC.jpg'
3f471c2c1186338157fa21eaaff737cb
3ab4e8f4d171c3ef0aa173fc55a500d9052b0cb0
describe
'2771144' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEX' 'sip-files00112.tif'
2f56d13751f4f538771286d9bab62277
43b9bd67779dd8f2c4f3f6be3a4e0876c1257316
describe
'1829' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEY' 'sip-files00112.txt'
6c5f840969d26b321f978bf4962754ae
d8fe8f43b85c8f6087d6e9e7b902cc9a6a1fe703
'2011-09-28T17:06:57-04:00'
describe
'34499' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOEZ' 'sip-files00112thm.jpg'
2a49291dca0cc317c347c8e8a820e400
e303feb38189d9e96b7d8ada0b0975b2a445ee34
'2011-09-28T17:08:54-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFA' 'sip-files00113.jp2'
4b1273234c374114ee28cb5194425222
bdd9d9d4e6f1a2dafb8f9fe0aac3e795f4a559f6
describe
'211738' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFB' 'sip-files00113.jpg'
83c70ada4576d09e76b57755e517ae41
9db4b6745eca98c7a6023719a120aed2252fff2d
describe
'47800' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFC' 'sip-files00113.pro'
0545617c8c6b20536ac644d58a39a9a4
c1c58ee55d3149651319175a2297ca5ace09a811
describe
'81016' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFD' 'sip-files00113.QC.jpg'
d4b82551cc4d5b15d590261d0e65b5f5
b14e76c71edeaaa99816fe9599afc95de399de6c
describe
'2769372' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFE' 'sip-files00113.tif'
574a68e953f005447214125c0ef97086
b12330d97866b42a3ae6ca1711058bde0c10f621
'2011-09-28T17:12:30-04:00'
describe
'1932' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFF' 'sip-files00113.txt'
fe4e0b817ac78bbfa977c18e8fb902cc
c074009f68d4f4ab753da5184ffc4fe4de9d0bf3
describe
'35416' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFG' 'sip-files00113thm.jpg'
7d5aea40da85129d7a62bc0f56971ff4
880f7a1951335a7ac1a85c4b1ae609c39dcbfbb4
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFH' 'sip-files00114.jp2'
68382f25a91c557a0c1bec688508fbfc
bad49329a026123ad3e1a38efd157ac4b3816f4f
describe
'209645' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFI' 'sip-files00114.jpg'
844f2fb2ef5769e5687efb6925a4e4d1
7fd362caee8b02f063c820d3ece80fd1a9aee173
describe
'48634' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFJ' 'sip-files00114.pro'
34c854ad256e7f130d33ffe6cab5e400
c8b0fa99f6ab5b37143ed1c95a6051c21bb0b934
describe
'82891' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFK' 'sip-files00114.QC.jpg'
ae743c73e86fa5e46ac7cae04d24dee8
bbfe961be39689a1c3293d7ad33c283197961792
describe
'2769216' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFL' 'sip-files00114.tif'
e198b5428b6bbbad14a33dee7a863271
8fd702a96c00e0d9ffb9f3a94e706d7516ed43a8
'2011-09-28T17:10:13-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFM' 'sip-files00114.txt'
f0c19b628f7bdc5ed8a6fbd97322c37f
7b06f9feb1ced71cbaea0be0cf4d17dc3b683643
describe
'35980' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFN' 'sip-files00114thm.jpg'
b411ced128db6e064a543b9608fa1722
75c5d892739ab14f1dc9e504ab2d4553b46383ee
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFO' 'sip-files00115.jp2'
175672e3d407d68c3e79e15b63dcae60
499a8765422820bd6ae751ff40a962ffee03c9c4
'2011-09-28T17:12:00-04:00'
describe
'212995' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFP' 'sip-files00115.jpg'
2732b5e01c9e9f1f15dc9c78274c77e2
29485110619841f13966c987465477a0a942b947
describe
'50638' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFQ' 'sip-files00115.pro'
7eed7463c32ab1b14303aa0740369a11
09b9f481330b25445a3b8f084886a795be501c44
describe
'85411' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFR' 'sip-files00115.QC.jpg'
51f325aaa7fa8f4b9904ca714889d1e2
6f17941c9f0799b80b9816c27367cfda42c9abef
describe
'2769708' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFS' 'sip-files00115.tif'
e47b9d4ca5dea13bbd3058603a2c4363
c264734e727279a93474cffdc840b86a5799330d
describe
'1996' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFT' 'sip-files00115.txt'
8fe4abefb5d6195e0880b5f3afe1ec52
9625f775e12335f4cc50b54c57402a0132d06db5
describe
'36465' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFU' 'sip-files00115thm.jpg'
1cc51514aa67d3f246608e9f0e58d642
3c768901428c619951f0194e30fa939b485e69b4
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFV' 'sip-files00116.jp2'
1a12f4994e148e874ef04948419eb6c7
d252aa842262604f752bb1f44099f3f87b894c75
describe
'210757' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFW' 'sip-files00116.jpg'
44fc29a3b7cac64cd1c437c676cdb1c7
b5d180b626a38790e9ae39488f4c1509f1ec68fc
'2011-09-28T17:13:19-04:00'
describe
'49963' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFX' 'sip-files00116.pro'
61af4f93884ba59af69f4442fca12076
c8251890072850c550e2cb4d4f14b69251b1ca22
describe
'82905' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFY' 'sip-files00116.QC.jpg'
db111c79453f4d5b22375a49505e3a1f
5aea5f616c1adc1db5508c06f42cc1e28cf63a76
describe
'2769124' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOFZ' 'sip-files00116.tif'
3fdd1f31d476a32f57c087aa91f7033a
276e814e060ffe3aec3e0f307a9406ed850601fd
describe
'1965' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGA' 'sip-files00116.txt'
d66697db04b3e0808f985f012c72ce8e
6b52a2c086bb65bd760676b84fbc3a6dfc0a3f5c
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGB' 'sip-files00116thm.jpg'
466ef72ccc7ed3855c5fae6e5304d74c
333119e38ee6fd2e98da234dae42a95dc8581918
describe
'343343' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGC' 'sip-files00117.jp2'
ca69a2db03dadca81b676bb501f5eed7
59f2eddbf611df506d943ef72bb78f80526f989f
describe
'222543' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGD' 'sip-files00117.jpg'
7910fbc823cc1135f2aba14ddbc56179
f1cd7ffec8fcff8aa1a4e2be349a9af398cd9e8c
describe
'52669' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGE' 'sip-files00117.pro'
d45bad3f389a8399ab91d15d6eb9b580
fe73f08349089dc681015cd87b575c27521ab8c5
describe
'86706' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGF' 'sip-files00117.QC.jpg'
ce168882600d9c1889d23ce383ecb2c0
e9b0e454a191d6da9aec208bdc8c9045a06fbad8
describe
'2769472' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGG' 'sip-files00117.tif'
54b01bcba0cd642076aae8b6d4209c72
d1351dfb963249c163cdcddbb7e6eecd8dbab4b9
describe
'2099' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGH' 'sip-files00117.txt'
8495da39955633805fa1e11974784eff
125604e284e2ae6de1ba018c42616ddc6c9fe51c
describe
'36275' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGI' 'sip-files00117thm.jpg'
32fd14be0b55ac4e80b737ad8e89c02f
42c09b6464b89c6e32c48410e821bbe2e73f33c4
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGJ' 'sip-files00118.jp2'
dab4dc57590d9a887cc11954462427ca
5fd9d54b7185cc995e855f283d8fe18d56f9dc6f
'2011-09-28T17:13:18-04:00'
describe
'216470' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGK' 'sip-files00118.jpg'
567a0f514d0c813e412b87ad19c22fde
4a4e140f208df3fec69f35c51c9eb386480d26fe
describe
'49446' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGL' 'sip-files00118.pro'
078386134448b728d0c597fc617a240d
bdb04713a8f9969945cdac70ffa20c6a492bd50f
describe
'84967' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGM' 'sip-files00118.QC.jpg'
162ba80216baa39dc78a84748f15c16a
2d6686857c862fc16894daa3f43f39b3a64b8206
describe
'2769724' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGN' 'sip-files00118.tif'
c0281fc14549f66cb0e9e0c849d41e36
28a207ffd7e2bf9a05ddfcd59475f572ddbc8975
describe
'1948' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGO' 'sip-files00118.txt'
90e444b08ba5adaf918745065a4eb399
f0d4f29eeb8ed5274970388cc546ab16ff4823f8
describe
'36363' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGP' 'sip-files00118thm.jpg'
9a68c67495d84e53a4e0639a1b9880ca
a24408681e7b86449f168e6627e25cd727f4f076
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGQ' 'sip-files00119.jp2'
2aa7a20674d693a010fe2aab5370a50c
8daceea023902ccae29bc851e4b5e5ac6acd2507
describe
'180042' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGR' 'sip-files00119.jpg'
711b8d988a34bb27fb31ba52d3093f97
f5d15d5fc71e72d8c91530e5f9965fd632b1729b
describe
'37113' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGS' 'sip-files00119.pro'
069c5c83c770eaa533b13d5b7001a38d
c6d2c6d83337a04f0234ee27108e0787f76c2ab7
describe
'71938' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGT' 'sip-files00119.QC.jpg'
cdae248fcd7b7c35727719840bd12053
6effb2b3f3cfe9e0e845446190856bb84879d9cc
describe
'2768880' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGU' 'sip-files00119.tif'
18727332b5fdaf42f916cc91c0afd9f5
a8021abbac42ddc4ba3d4e4ca54ca630d006c388
'2011-09-28T17:13:02-04:00'
describe
'1539' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGV' 'sip-files00119.txt'
dba85cac51ca9bf01cbb08fd528be930
aa37b801ba880e26b610ffea4f9bcbbda943b2d1
describe
'33836' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGW' 'sip-files00119thm.jpg'
7934af7aa5cfecd3c8e114221c7f5efb
355bb4fd285acc8aab47d531ddd68b5a09684a6a
'2011-09-28T17:11:29-04:00'
describe
'343598' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGX' 'sip-files00120.jp2'
f752ce7646e2fe1104a3462a147e333e
5b062825841af40704abf2d3557020f0061186bf
describe
'216727' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGY' 'sip-files00120.jpg'
06fda75b1270f6d3d482ca8db79599cc
6ab5cbbd96cb2a36446995358394cc51de90a258
describe
'47495' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOGZ' 'sip-files00120.pro'
59f28a37a6e97fdee53b7ab460f9894c
3a685dd443014fab540a8d4855bbbe73ca46072b
describe
'81999' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHA' 'sip-files00120.QC.jpg'
a811298e104c29cc3bb3d8b4d4bc7c8c
b6a4951f519f41f4395e3339e6339a786dae021c
'2011-09-28T17:13:52-04:00'
describe
'2771604' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHB' 'sip-files00120.tif'
a1c9d7687135149a339f61ea4e9c3a19
4c4b5ac671ea6dfc706517a698db1a414709c162
describe
'1888' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHC' 'sip-files00120.txt'
4cdef5de9122c18d76fadfccd6b26053
dd4ca95d5d551c609eaf8cd10b44e5cb8e47bdc4
describe
'36193' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHD' 'sip-files00120thm.jpg'
c86bc5746caccf3b53a53d44d5308735
054242e359ccd4f4854f695e5d0fefa96e9824a2
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHE' 'sip-files00121.jp2'
eb2f99b4023f4681daf0ccf361b1a67e
3b11ad6c99e17af37c0bfd8feafdff92e8ee9dfd
describe
'223294' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHF' 'sip-files00121.jpg'
1cabcad6483b74370a3f70efbc5c27d1
b50dbdf03099b249cabaaab0c6001a942f9060a2
describe
'50449' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHG' 'sip-files00121.pro'
8d7611662215315692219c9243306702
db3783bd7dc126180cc7317497848ba253776324
describe
'86823' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHH' 'sip-files00121.QC.jpg'
2ae5da95c5d5c104339043fa6bc06ebf
c7615c557e3d60eaad814913ceeee056bd5667d5
'2011-09-28T17:08:11-04:00'
describe
'2769928' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHI' 'sip-files00121.tif'
d5c38876bf06ab2a6a2e6c9d221aaf75
f41a355cf909b2fc6ad9fdd4ca538f1aee7b9754
describe
'1995' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHJ' 'sip-files00121.txt'
30b4a479ff226caa49cc7ba2c12293c4
6acdca9c087b6a0a3ee5958638b351f531b725c0
describe
'37236' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHK' 'sip-files00121thm.jpg'
e99008be408353bffc7c5b89f5d827ad
0fcb082950101a77594f8b67620db49ee7b33e68
describe
'343574' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHL' 'sip-files00122.jp2'
2a434217d51438c3079adf437b16036d
328df86e53a1ee9de89df3fd969cc6c8791f2223
describe
'204260' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHM' 'sip-files00122.jpg'
6bc2fe1b5ef0cc1d4d677b2a0a567cc0
74e22df57e91582a0e3915e9dd0f398c3bb19e00
describe
'45562' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHN' 'sip-files00122.pro'
739b7149c30e5ad82867e20e87559b70
3117976b1a07b4203b79de36efc8fdf09bba1029
describe
'78814' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHO' 'sip-files00122.QC.jpg'
0dc2b4f616ba878ed8b2645d049f035a
310de0950006a8a8efc7bb246d8def1bfa3bc62d
describe
'2771236' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHP' 'sip-files00122.tif'
c020da2c81d4f636c81e6eb796a1c81d
65e6e1555bdf4ed68fbbcc36769c39b608c64dca
'2011-09-28T17:11:39-04:00'
describe
'1816' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHQ' 'sip-files00122.txt'
d32c563093601b075cf6e86cbaa5aa58
5605b1f97eb41810a42d78fecca1ea25df17e38f
'2011-09-28T17:10:18-04:00'
describe
'35312' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHR' 'sip-files00122thm.jpg'
05cdb929e8cae96bca9e2e1a2c808cb4
e7a6d3ef27dd8549f7983c194e0958b6cd85c5d2
'2011-09-28T17:13:40-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHS' 'sip-files00123.jp2'
a862e7040e47043f9c0dc4b2d11ba610
b395e59643b4b5084b52b04616ff166c3cf658fb
'2011-09-28T17:11:45-04:00'
describe
'214025' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHT' 'sip-files00123.jpg'
66fc87d2515c3d7fb06e47137c8e8f73
f467a850e60b1cbe0f28679ec134382677869a38
describe
'47761' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHU' 'sip-files00123.pro'
a1d04964b9b775e04958afcde7e7c91a
1421f1ae87d1ea743c3dc42b8284f372041f90c0
describe
'82781' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHV' 'sip-files00123.QC.jpg'
4a8a13ff7051bb0035463cfb25cca20d
91c60e659211f7206f95ec83c224f2a86e3ecf3c
describe
'2769712' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHW' 'sip-files00123.tif'
84669be3e7aa9880eb5672a00bd7cc73
786d2d5cfb98c8c5f889038ec1806ea250d8764f
'2011-09-28T17:08:51-04:00'
describe
'1906' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHX' 'sip-files00123.txt'
ecc767406a56a3b5014de7068268e97a
a2150b0c7731a319bc4f78e2c6f0ec4f01d8e7fd
describe
'36528' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHY' 'sip-files00123thm.jpg'
5c76b5e6a40bf7f603864a7c86478d4c
d2933ea97e89f9c9ae46288182fdc88266a0d0eb
describe
'343561' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOHZ' 'sip-files00124.jp2'
cbe4ae8d6e10f2d4577a135023ddaecd
1cd379eea5652275a1f5773137aa728b573751bb
describe
'212423' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIA' 'sip-files00124.jpg'
338e9d3f23b781ae0e08baa31d3a94c7
e5f9a8d0b71dd0c981d1c9145d756fef282e7c57
describe
'48881' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIB' 'sip-files00124.pro'
6517f164f8a8049b91dbc964d2c2cf03
cbde16ad202dbf1d19123d23e6efb72e85d8ef51
describe
'84485' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIC' 'sip-files00124.QC.jpg'
55506a53e032a51c6329b7fa14b574b2
b38eb7c1b4e89e5a976880fd299adc1e3c6ad541
describe
'2771860' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOID' 'sip-files00124.tif'
ef40b54000cebe43daee0573791cb6c3
1c54cd19ff3ea7577385c16d0444ee8feefcfdab
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIE' 'sip-files00124.txt'
dc9bc78af435c4c46b957e248edbf881
0a4e434e6a91b3d675a17477a0a12548f68f85e2
describe
'36370' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIF' 'sip-files00124thm.jpg'
c10c24db5680a86fa90b3778d795dfc4
2ba3eebff0045010c31cbc01c06b5417c4b911f6
'2011-09-28T17:07:02-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIG' 'sip-files00125.jp2'
38307e7cd5595c0cfaec6acc8d6fbaf0
7cb29b9c16f9111692495a110207d8a939c6e5d8
describe
'203663' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIH' 'sip-files00125.jpg'
447aa9013d10b923dd991dcb06e116c1
5ba6927ad9d3426697b680ff8cc84f5f426b8835
describe
'44975' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOII' 'sip-files00125.pro'
4e734106b2ee9c2a51c2c70185ca5cf1
d523122a19de9ad6ff779f517903a09c0b82ba7a
describe
'82113' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIJ' 'sip-files00125.QC.jpg'
db2316d52a1269f43ddddac4aace1837
1f3e3f1eb2ea922f518bc6ed1830b87de677a849
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIK' 'sip-files00125.tif'
10e9d0525c660c7216effb0b888598ad
ba903276722a8b6e4adcd8c653e8ab5331cab086
'2011-09-28T17:10:01-04:00'
describe
'1789' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIL' 'sip-files00125.txt'
99f9debe9ce99d2480863b9c7c0c3ce5
8a780a88b4fae96f78cd0603c02fb283cf996181
describe
'36272' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIM' 'sip-files00125thm.jpg'
c6201a20e815a3f8bf2059b979a52d83
059de640c85abb75a504bc20ca1697cca099ad8f
describe
'343597' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIN' 'sip-files00126.jp2'
d3178bcab75830b2fbc87fcf8e3ea7a5
d0e26027fdb8c1fd552f9313f0750485f65476f6
'2011-09-28T17:13:05-04:00'
describe
'225848' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIO' 'sip-files00126.jpg'
9b2e3039975ce37cccc855fc2a51131e
e18c90a3ceb221c6787fec8c7e3bcbaaf0b5b17f
describe
'48618' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIP' 'sip-files00126.pro'
bb08d32e794be5217bfe064eece27886
42d054f7475fe8459f984fdea9d05a944414b7ea
describe
'85898' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIQ' 'sip-files00126.QC.jpg'
31e9b2328a1bbc70d11e60e863d8723b
1cfddb63cfd54f3498f13fee669a62919f4d9a90
describe
'2771616' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIR' 'sip-files00126.tif'
c7b1f30d6feb3ba3b11e44884d01c971
20d459ea10198ef3fab202e5a99dc8e11eb3cd7d
'2011-09-28T17:11:02-04:00'
describe
'1938' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIS' 'sip-files00126.txt'
8ba44e5a414c3b17648089d48575cc03
86f414821f53677fc2232f7779d37d09ab01f5e9
describe
'36645' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIT' 'sip-files00126thm.jpg'
8334ca89b01c919882d9e1b6555f00d2
117f849382411ccf0d4a0aeeefc10d4ecdf1063f
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIU' 'sip-files00127.jp2'
7ee3377ff4bb1f346eca7560ca9f497f
aee857b9329cd6847fbf0015a97f91c25a4c6bcd
describe
'226969' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIV' 'sip-files00127.jpg'
e666e3f14a562bff3007f30a26e74763
29b5ff05d34042ab66a15900ca29b3eef1707597
describe
'49984' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIW' 'sip-files00127.pro'
30ebfb639aa8bf2543dc74bc6bed743a
be7f09847b66d56de71f36c49440b8b5d9dc7682
describe
'86519' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIX' 'sip-files00127.QC.jpg'
95b9003f202a6ab4fb801f789d9e030f
ce6e3a2c797a174e138eca2b274eced67fdf2004
'2011-09-28T17:12:57-04:00'
describe
'2769880' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIY' 'sip-files00127.tif'
6b7d00202fa2ac343a2953318ed0fe58
28aff18a3f9328c54c59e4d49ff102d7eed7deaf
describe
'1989' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOIZ' 'sip-files00127.txt'
d2c132b0eaca9b71d614a210c0328ce8
0aaa7647e33baea886699dc78610abda07e14467
describe
'36706' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJA' 'sip-files00127thm.jpg'
fdb347b135fe21053b090933b91ab285
c447968c08ff44e31fa2a9065de9e73b5e07301c
describe
'343567' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJB' 'sip-files00128.jp2'
221b2e7faec59f5dc0d1bed5f3efcf0a
8af8a9157da00cfd9ac06d7f26b86461fc8fcf64
describe
'180083' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJC' 'sip-files00128.jpg'
6052ab11f32bcbd99f7e1d6669fddf44
eb67cd7cf48028e5f7003f3a873809fef02db009
describe
'40320' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJD' 'sip-files00128.pro'
bba65eab7664e0b4b069e676046a13f2
1922082a0d04a1c4d0fc3a022945ac49b4169cbb
describe
'75472' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJE' 'sip-files00128.QC.jpg'
a0463a32e39ce28d54146ad2d02579be
2bcc27cc04633d4a347558e8c14ed677caebb840
describe
'2771480' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJF' 'sip-files00128.tif'
83602478df6fa32c1791614a5753f909
83c3bc02626f27503850454ee1132129c5520169
describe
'1632' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJG' 'sip-files00128.txt'
6e5ae3d37b77ca044d777142c22dc207
15d50e76019449c37ae32d71eab2eb37cadece10
describe
'35091' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJH' 'sip-files00128thm.jpg'
e29465fdb8c91b7bd64b1655090bd5c7
f70197c4e43e2a8a6cdc747c8a15ef655c7ff566
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJI' 'sip-files00129.jp2'
158ef144041f6816cec239448b7d71bb
d3830f915e2f607195e7de092a9adc1bee9a653f
describe
'209592' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJJ' 'sip-files00129.jpg'
ca3399ccfb28592704d2c3ad667d59bc
666695365888030096d2f7d7d0a272b9834c1aa3
describe
'47947' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJK' 'sip-files00129.pro'
626eadec649b821be1b2c51f75de65f3
4ebe91dbda063a73c3464ae5d4ecb38798bfd690
describe
'80400' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJL' 'sip-files00129.QC.jpg'
0a952297d6854ca0d611bcd91c48753e
877e509b2fae6ce0f90b0b423c1787c358e964a4
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJM' 'sip-files00129.tif'
b1139b704a1a2a2ed9c7b138d3d885c6
b9e53b4a2bd2067408e158576e774d511fe36bf4
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJN' 'sip-files00129.txt'
42c83bc8980df220f13fe5ae39d4be5c
74e8fecf8564926b5e4ee52f3f31f13e32a0b0e9
describe
'36224' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJO' 'sip-files00129thm.jpg'
bc75892acc0fc60299fc7bc7ca96de20
35bf41d3d018244add5644c59a7f04170138707d
describe
'343621' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJP' 'sip-files00130.jp2'
e57ecba77cf8bed9de7867f8206d2ec4
e57a711917bccbd322c8391ee93c2a425c879e9e
describe
'226650' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJQ' 'sip-files00130.jpg'
3e0aa26ae896fa8ab0fc8ff838c82c3f
37ab1a6aa27d925361fcd88e5605c5cc3bb6875a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJR' 'sip-files00130.pro'
cf36165722e80c300cffd7a888531673
acf70fd6b08c547ab872c5837e3a8130914e50a9
describe
'86920' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJS' 'sip-files00130.QC.jpg'
395b6a37d89a478d42f9758d6dca2d86
d8b7321dbdf0a363bd08711357465370c18e6890
describe
'2771772' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJT' 'sip-files00130.tif'
5e7f1739de6da7343a4082f3815b4575
ec2509f09c1e814ee01f18002b1548ab37c9b7c2
describe
'2024' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJU' 'sip-files00130.txt'
be31e3c83b826537a8c1b06828c4967f
4d35a02d78fa8d4375484f21c5157098a4a2fcc7
describe
'36179' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJV' 'sip-files00130thm.jpg'
f312b00d51ae871d2fca6da0e1f4fe28
e445274ae30567ed80c51714e6869b4a364e67f2
describe
'343348' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJW' 'sip-files00131.jp2'
ba8018e03e9d731243fc138bdaebca4a
000b0248b847f6b0bdcdbdfb5d5cd02a00f79658
describe
'188093' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJX' 'sip-files00131.jpg'
b327ee00e62b5a5bafd26ee8c186049e
98c82890afe0b0d1e6e4ac54a14f9e5d6d5db42d
describe
'40673' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJY' 'sip-files00131.pro'
3d6d1c4218b64c522ff8fa3c60dd51de
ee6622676f29160b93206d7b0db9f35bfc5f43a9
describe
'75215' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOJZ' 'sip-files00131.QC.jpg'
606fe3a94fb42f7344b94e65330d5870
1bbb82ab5324497529aaa144ea0e83d04ab77488
describe
'2769024' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKA' 'sip-files00131.tif'
ba18482e8871aa9bb3eeb1c08025fe31
0851ee6a3baa2f6f8ad62032bba33c410cb78ce3
describe
'1649' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKB' 'sip-files00131.txt'
06973cf7866e4ba68cd73bca5dd51d86
fb2c16c8c4138e06510c0f9639d45698cfcc47f4
describe
'34352' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKC' 'sip-files00131thm.jpg'
0c612dbf216f42db4856d70807c87405
f48359aff8b8da22402b135fc80d5524ac0f36f3
'2011-09-28T17:13:24-04:00'
describe
'343578' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKD' 'sip-files00132.jp2'
bfce1fd13fe471d112371fd5f1825068
966af830e65aa9bd5598dbea16d63da19d47b086
describe
'206811' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKE' 'sip-files00132.jpg'
d078e8cd12e098a1531e482d10075f23
921a8b65346619db12d51c240f69ced93a35ca7f
describe
'48523' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKF' 'sip-files00132.pro'
1fc3c6c1c68bdc60db1bcd61db8f6151
6a6bd8a86372613193bebc089c24f82b3f593024
describe
'82050' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKG' 'sip-files00132.QC.jpg'
c2f2af08faea56fe6ebca49e9e4d0cb2
0aafdead23fba73edeaf55ac374bfd7c360cace2
describe
'2771572' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKH' 'sip-files00132.tif'
ee121f3295da578a5a7218ba0f63bb88
2fc3bee24176019cd18c3bdaea6e1764c1f9a81a
describe
'1923' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKI' 'sip-files00132.txt'
6de31bee9be5b575043b47920f665510
ced1634a44cdc90417df7611cc3974108103fac1
describe
'35836' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKJ' 'sip-files00132thm.jpg'
4e8c7313fe9c73a79a41c499709ca5c5
d1824660ca6f7279cfdc0c1007cb0b9253f27b93
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKK' 'sip-files00133.jp2'
2c28fcd46af19e38ed9bd7475a8bc234
6ce4c290836f9147c7868cc1fd73e71e50cf65f0
describe
'219718' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKL' 'sip-files00133.jpg'
2cb5a1fb8f3e1878bb0d10a764a7414f
dd0c5f5bdce1cc1a84b912aafb327ca478f6056b
describe
'48829' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKM' 'sip-files00133.pro'
4c0fb7eca5f21fdd5a40101b1cc50576
d8311c8668345af0c712c4a76f5c205882ef1c7e
describe
'84901' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKN' 'sip-files00133.QC.jpg'
d3dc9a1f5d512bbee5e1454b8901e6b5
b737d9743b43cc0e9fd798d8a17775e2049e5eb8
describe
'2769956' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKO' 'sip-files00133.tif'
b4c7e9a6c602d9ffc4f454baba592d9d
089c94629b7528e7a435ecdab61af9c07c96bf62
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKP' 'sip-files00133.txt'
0bc43274c19eb2989868bfc982ae6c9d
d48f6d33b2a5de9566c699b430537dac4c673395
describe
'36935' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKQ' 'sip-files00133thm.jpg'
f081a9c40dee3575cb1e393ba1fc0481
181f6b91e9dc27a5df2158305b1dfa10b3ecabf0
describe
'343534' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKR' 'sip-files00134.jp2'
2ffb05854f70bfb88ef3cb5c1bf10de4
b7849a5b1b999c482ac88f91a2679051aefa0517
describe
'203267' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKS' 'sip-files00134.jpg'
e9c05bf9c6e2367c7228a7088f72263e
9922b68e0b56d642136198264241c46f1443087a
describe
'45704' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKT' 'sip-files00134.pro'
d6e8e2a897ce8572dddd02dbb81f123b
120e5d651aef128ce4b6b5b21caaee599eeb27f0
'2011-09-28T17:06:53-04:00'
describe
'79748' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKU' 'sip-files00134.QC.jpg'
222fe68dbce73867a394bf5d20e2606c
6b2dd6d7fc900d0b3964f357bee3245d86c307c0
describe
'2771344' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKV' 'sip-files00134.tif'
567cdd74a635980d5897177edfde62e6
1ac0363d28542f1783b53359f7adedadb8d1234d
describe
'1825' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKW' 'sip-files00134.txt'
98f3d02057af58fe4ab736b1114714ce
1f4f303ab021fd6bfdec2d1df36109eea8c5d6d5
'2011-09-28T17:11:57-04:00'
describe
'35089' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKX' 'sip-files00134thm.jpg'
88494b2a18ac27fe9861c9b8e0d293e7
448a4ff2d11d0e7194e9ae3a393b12af1ea7d0cf
describe
'343311' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKY' 'sip-files00135.jp2'
5df835f74825cd51893e94d684e4a060
bfe947a87c67b94590fd9ae66b8dd31388513617
describe
'187773' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOKZ' 'sip-files00135.jpg'
cf85308242028a73caca173df519b5db
cf0f52eeb5f43cd59bbe9201083ca3279689f7f7
describe
'41700' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLA' 'sip-files00135.pro'
9f233045031ee37dd035ae8c06885937
44512d84e1a22958928d69879fc92e52a5900516
describe
'75787' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLB' 'sip-files00135.QC.jpg'
93ab87411662deabb88f298456547ad3
a5f8408bf9f2e289502050fb0a7e07156f35b03c
'2011-09-28T17:10:57-04:00'
describe
'2769288' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLC' 'sip-files00135.tif'
eda167b6fb8e7059e0b233192b394e17
fe0e7d004a281f8fbeb18a390d5b652991c7122e
describe
'1679' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLD' 'sip-files00135.txt'
d6463a779861ab4395fbf53e354b8106
4243871dc22863d18b739ebbe695b3815f4aa9ee
describe
'35411' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLE' 'sip-files00135thm.jpg'
84800e9b612ab8078accf375ae515752
bc23193ed57a92bb3e2df6767050e2b515e2b945
'2011-09-28T17:09:14-04:00'
describe
'343557' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLF' 'sip-files00136.jp2'
50922e0eddbab36deb9dfb776f5692e5
42b6e6141e7726695963f49f01f2741e6eea10f5
describe
'194711' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLG' 'sip-files00136.jpg'
ff6355d31bace745a495f2ebd4051802
418cdf2e9181e10e5c268457ed8d6a6488c2c6d3
describe
'44235' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLH' 'sip-files00136.pro'
dbea0100494e4ac34411fced474b01bc
dd189288beb8dacd4d68ebd2e0394a65dbf4fb5d
describe
'78550' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLI' 'sip-files00136.QC.jpg'
80663d0f6f2fa587d9e3c6918cdde0e7
8af3c30b6844cf581093dc859bebbbfc64b58685
describe
'2771244' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLJ' 'sip-files00136.tif'
7c88d65897aa74b74e17f69f589846da
d0bfebbb16c0ce053eca5a71b105315f6b2aba4e
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLK' 'sip-files00136.txt'
64abae36a48d0f735dde28c5291b760b
78f3d0f7936d533c4fa93dade38b832122d48d06
describe
'34861' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLL' 'sip-files00136thm.jpg'
5b12cf7586e687d534e4250fb716dd62
09757b07cc9e40e18636850a193462c957e8f74c
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLM' 'sip-files00137.jp2'
5de55fd4183538c56385ca6d54807b8d
8a5c89543972e4d8dbafaff6116ff57def970718
describe
'189051' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLN' 'sip-files00137.jpg'
e5e734ea8173debf9b7a0f6066ad1b43
5043f418b0ae131047ad113a332f25ecef4b1814
'2011-09-28T17:13:36-04:00'
describe
'42762' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLO' 'sip-files00137.pro'
233f04310ee41db27edfd8c48a43c490
235d4703b1ffceaa909a46a67daa737ffb654e35
describe
'75917' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLP' 'sip-files00137.QC.jpg'
ac7e4b066426ba6ee685e1c38b47f19d
72a41effdf8aac9e43154c22d4d065d7eb3db20a
describe
'2768860' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLQ' 'sip-files00137.tif'
2e1beb8bcff0ba1732c3246cbcd3eb89
19d33fb3c2694d4533dafdb8b943a7633a575446
'2011-09-28T17:12:44-04:00'
describe
'1719' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLR' 'sip-files00137.txt'
628addab8dae0d7cbea322d6fd120379
58745b7854f526b338555de544854671928612f4
describe
'34756' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLS' 'sip-files00137thm.jpg'
91a07cbfc5d9a21fd7c1037eb19688fa
e70cc8df9fbc9937b3ba989512c05cc3a4101711
describe
'343581' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLT' 'sip-files00138.jp2'
23270287a04fc35ae5ab565cb0859c94
121116ff6dceb74a95e3c24ff575a17a97ed0eb6
describe
'209304' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLU' 'sip-files00138.jpg'
0aaeab915b6700d02d5761ccbd16790f
7964c37a3a1762c0b4900eb939c6c7d239d395a9
'2011-09-28T17:12:19-04:00'
describe
'48344' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLV' 'sip-files00138.pro'
70ad5d0c26462062224553f07a6b0dd7
a37136881235c91c9887dfff18d83bdffc8b2bc1
describe
'81933' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLW' 'sip-files00138.QC.jpg'
81336c48fba4934a813f05d799e9527d
786409fd35329e9d204be4b7a7e4e283d5e7ea72
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLX' 'sip-files00138.tif'
b1efd0224584ca9ee3d5017a57c036d3
12e11412cedde4b97f0301f40b93ca746e42130a
describe
'1915' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLY' 'sip-files00138.txt'
bd7c18e938b55b57e7002b18617ee680
b22c4d2de5731f9b88c8719773543c003edaeeb8
describe
'35968' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOLZ' 'sip-files00138thm.jpg'
dfda191bfb03ca072cab6018251b1c59
6f7729eeb75357e85e55bfe95c69d9396a1660d5
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMA' 'sip-files00139.jp2'
17d0a091a848fce81d06fe680e8622b8
57939ae717b26ce503639c4d8da360c14d551ebc
describe
'215235' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMB' 'sip-files00139.jpg'
4bcbdc69ea015b15c90763e2a0b940d8
7e40a8a420441c58a05ae8536982c5f15d019e6b
describe
'49183' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMC' 'sip-files00139.pro'
de3d01aa66eb435a57e2d7906d10c2b8
4455c0f17a762eb10ac5d5e5d539d9978a42fbdb
describe
'82825' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMD' 'sip-files00139.QC.jpg'
c0c8fd538f50b438f28673b8ae141418
daf26fcd2721b41d4a452cd44264693fb42dbbbc
describe
'2769392' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOME' 'sip-files00139.tif'
18da25cbd5173b1f1f90403e6019d16e
919343cada175dc7f5243c374b2fbac107e32780
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMF' 'sip-files00139.txt'
e4ade424b8b78b141983b92997cb28ec
0a4450f09642faefe972ef1b8f45c03a73befd8c
describe
'36071' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMG' 'sip-files00139thm.jpg'
7a7a09129400c597985d09903d342196
e047590216c291ff007a4d1caa3f033d5c70ccf3
describe
'343611' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMH' 'sip-files00140.jp2'
9217a1cd9642ea674e39f194d43d0b3d
b360982a069c1487c32e4f92ecf51ccc13f9ab51
describe
'212910' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMI' 'sip-files00140.jpg'
4a9b152b33532a222c53c2967831858c
f305fff7f4e7b471661f5be4de268104f0caca0e
describe
'48855' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMJ' 'sip-files00140.pro'
4e34aad35cab8a7ec498876192273e3d
feb1fc4c9a4aca35a34c7d7321f97801083beecc
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMK' 'sip-files00140.QC.jpg'
bedd3e7937836b6208d34eb06cec4af1
c4ae40492037dd91741dbccf786d89bf18ae2aa7
describe
'2771420' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOML' 'sip-files00140.tif'
db9a34de122cc64575814727a3ac99c1
b58127d7c43b4d97af825a4725413c1f7e6b1a20
'2011-09-28T17:12:39-04:00'
describe
'1924' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMM' 'sip-files00140.txt'
46a5c6737b3946a240895cc808f621e5
8495b71c74af56a6b5026ba4ee7e4462e67ec2b6
describe
'35659' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMN' 'sip-files00140thm.jpg'
546b2150ccbbe59d17bc1ba3b42c2a98
e1ddfe0c04a1d4b98b52cbdd10c7a279b7621178
describe
'343254' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMO' 'sip-files00141.jp2'
d7d6a162bbb61fbc297c55cfb6d62a87
daaa34a49682a4e3072baeab585e57db2cbd7ad7
describe
'198995' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMP' 'sip-files00141.jpg'
c34b33130287cb240140519eb91a90cb
8c7e496ab81bcb0a9f3597fb3abe03b627115bab
describe
'46122' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMQ' 'sip-files00141.pro'
a65d00b86876e92a5a84cb2b38d4f3a3
0ffd46fe59c91777075fe109159ffed01268cce0
describe
'80086' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMR' 'sip-files00141.QC.jpg'
140be5a9dcf0d4e688bb2b790939a4fe
063665119a755c98e0117b49eb2cecfee0eef198
describe
'2769304' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMS' 'sip-files00141.tif'
00c8ff0edda347098697d4dc70bbb4b9
9965ce3fae9e1efda83515049a50893b5e6f70e3
'2011-09-28T17:12:45-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMT' 'sip-files00141.txt'
e7d506977a33b464652b1d103933a3de
5f9a36135f3dd0531d0a66598ce958e65c499421
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMU' 'sip-files00141thm.jpg'
01040ad0c3a43fc85d1013778094928b
34c66064ec6ebdef7f69d10d2d251db4ebbb4a27
describe
'343600' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMV' 'sip-files00142.jp2'
972bfb81042a9095a8efffbb2344bcde
ad282f6d91d8bce9e7b5217bbb78a565ce5d263e
'2011-09-28T17:08:47-04:00'
describe
'124287' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMW' 'sip-files00142.jpg'
2c0e0d10a6627b8f0f7a2cce2bb4dcae
e755611f0665ed48066576ab14b81588753f0405
describe
'24586' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMX' 'sip-files00142.pro'
cadfbd0ad28acbb205c4643fe639b6f4
97ad1cf6ce1ec1a99c2707e474bf309c40f0b058
describe
'53743' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMY' 'sip-files00142.QC.jpg'
e810f5bbf4074f8fde554a2f04adae1f
0ba7674c5502395a7b1ba1d76ca96c7c1dac3fe4
describe
'2769244' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOMZ' 'sip-files00142.tif'
20f88122e6cad8bf721b38f99acca714
0553f3b5bc343220e0dc39a194a6b0d8c4c5f3f7
describe
'987' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONA' 'sip-files00142.txt'
2fa74381b63365605b9ced98b04bc2a2
a93e97839b1444019b8df714b56c81f968566859
describe
'27986' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONB' 'sip-files00142thm.jpg'
867228166f93e54b24c5e654150283fb
be3775dec5b75796fc5a0b9b8e3583b3d060af1e
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONC' 'sip-files00143.jp2'
8472737e21c13799905b0ea2ba8183dc
72180cb2d7cb8b6a63609a01abcb4ba1e3234983
describe
'180275' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOND' 'sip-files00143.jpg'
aa96febfa6db26aafcc055492198ff71
fcd6d61fa84e38046fc1d3725ecab3ce17a215ce
describe
'37154' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONE' 'sip-files00143.pro'
5531d0b2427c2640df22376eba0bdad2
ada203cc1cddf97eb32d7e9043a93a6a60e7dad9
describe
'69504' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONF' 'sip-files00143.QC.jpg'
d0a5d7045c05c9e49945a59898bd8b00
e44a656f8df9c6c0183951152dc19f6926bb02b9
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONG' 'sip-files00143.tif'
997f09ca8c0764b73602d6690254754a
a77ec7e00e7cacbf213ee12bc13bbfa9ca927148
describe
'1681' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONH' 'sip-files00143.txt'
3730644765c09c1202026f91e503af12
ccea350c6c0a3f24b63a8bed1480ea540b842ea3
'2011-09-28T17:12:15-04:00'
describe
'34808' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONI' 'sip-files00143thm.jpg'
e47d1289ab17727b44ddfeca7730b279
6d8599449a1934bfebd3ea5aba2c1c7f2d1a7cb6
describe
'343609' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONJ' 'sip-files00144.jp2'
cf92ed8597536009948997efd1a2680d
1fe877a98cb4600b302bc6afdd7567bdb766f3a8
describe
'215153' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONK' 'sip-files00144.jpg'
ef82d6fb8fc8cc87e94dbe9f0124bbc7
d35dcd5b33b63cd14dd55bdeb6464905309ec4f1
describe
'55581' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONL' 'sip-files00144.pro'
c4981ebcc819d991e345635d92c6d94f
602e0fb0dac3c2e6886e0387a2cb53f5467a7abe
describe
'80578' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONM' 'sip-files00144.QC.jpg'
9dbfd5780ea395d8c436279b46d0a70f
94bd7d1e3ad5a7a79b2a41da9c1fc81c36d707f0
describe
'2772160' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONN' 'sip-files00144.tif'
a1442191f0c1ed3379193b6deb9600bf
18cfd6083d2b3d8ed0892a9da49f99c0a56ca354
describe
'2602' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONO' 'sip-files00144.txt'
bed26ac527ee6c9d8006999e1051d364
d0451951cd7cb476f2e336208759feebf7a0374c
describe
'37336' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONP' 'sip-files00144thm.jpg'
6be991ef22c2f230bef6dd1247de0567
e805d162877f9a9b3f31d53c0c33d0ceedb57586
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONQ' 'sip-files00145.jp2'
25efb8a9bcc0dd05f00cba34a174b05d
4d551d5e82dddab75ca44459ab36b67ee25e93ff
describe
'206203' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONR' 'sip-files00145.jpg'
2323dfe4f17ffa3a4f7bd6a0c4d0720f
67b38c7bb811c55d1f18a0860766c9b70504c6e9
'2011-09-28T17:08:06-04:00'
describe
'49527' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONS' 'sip-files00145.pro'
177dd9c481a79b90f018976284be3c31
7c8e256f742e0fc4ce1d34f2c409982b6e9919dd
describe
'77974' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONT' 'sip-files00145.QC.jpg'
edfb03e31e215d650a203106beeff5c3
6b277fe9fb32778a5e0dfbd736c225ebfadd6646
describe
'2769564' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONU' 'sip-files00145.tif'
c7fd16bf1c2cafa1453543d33cb4e638
c10086af2835dec62cd68130f5caa51ebd51965b
'2011-09-28T17:08:34-04:00'
describe
'2257' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONV' 'sip-files00145.txt'
bd677c10960b4689576ef8290be42444
181fc06a09ebabbfee851836b4686a0c1ad7a484
describe
'36176' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONW' 'sip-files00145thm.jpg'
c821095be21a3188003e92ae4da65d74
d7157e5b875412180546b3c542197d68144462a0
describe
'343585' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONX' 'sip-files00146.jp2'
79983a0af029e8553c364efde31fd152
41ec48b59a733ad15aba86755fba67d3a5ed9630
describe
'199874' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONY' 'sip-files00146.jpg'
f9656423df9b34305d9fd9d8d756edaa
17510546447c0331baec2f36ca25e46e42da343c
'2011-09-28T17:13:37-04:00'
describe
'49987' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAONZ' 'sip-files00146.pro'
92a82b856654e9f4cc08bf15a78987f5
b5a8df95ae7da51eab33f3152778a8da897d7a0c
describe
'77949' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOA' 'sip-files00146.QC.jpg'
7fa3309811e752e59da5b0bcc9432c79
852879b90d758a2aca7624bbebf2870cd4ac48bc
describe
'2772108' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOB' 'sip-files00146.tif'
10beca1f04567d40b189534dad79a05c
218e2d6552869ddec9325458a1614010938716f7
describe
'2363' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOC' 'sip-files00146.txt'
4c107c39413e2aca0644b2dbf6133790
11d5a77fa5b0bf1bd03b06f43b5e96ac9edc6477
describe
'37364' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOD' 'sip-files00146thm.jpg'
6e126188ff964b5a2a1a7415238ca0c1
e9c74165b8b5f2a7ff07b7f0b5d78d7c0cfc6361
describe
'343266' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOE' 'sip-files00147.jp2'
46b6e65fad31a47bf81504c21cef82d9
42d8833c086b1b3257da5644dd47e9223e55c448
describe
'205556' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOF' 'sip-files00147.jpg'
13802a39356454dcb51c5fdd60907863
030ee29cdd8f4d208803d6c12bca3a6fd08b7e24
describe
'47714' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOG' 'sip-files00147.pro'
1642afbe153d8c85db15fa7975c9aa26
9fc36fae4b0cb82e496bc127552d7c3295c937fa
describe
'77713' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOH' 'sip-files00147.QC.jpg'
3b484b527d2d5e6541cdf08f83473c7d
cd85e40c4cd8abd7de5a65827fc23508546feee7
describe
'2769916' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOI' 'sip-files00147.tif'
6d919606c15ff843de13eaa6eac7b130
b5d0764886b3223078b5c761e9687e29c7253676
describe
'2224' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOJ' 'sip-files00147.txt'
38d5d8dafcd0dd335cc9b4604e7460ba
edd34128271bce233675446c91c880e3e3d85019
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOK' 'sip-files00147thm.jpg'
88a477470bb03c1b4be5ffb2d9d8aedb
ecc89cf4ceea9e9a00d404f1dddbe6c9ee1b4742
describe
'343555' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOL' 'sip-files00148.jp2'
bab8a1e687f3d76da2fc88de449abcf1
e9fbc6b1687a385ebe9d09977a95f3b97da0f35c
describe
'200917' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOM' 'sip-files00148.jpg'
9b4651cc9f7e78bea28df1e28ba906a2
624e7824223c41601265438abad8cdabc108985d
describe
'54149' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOON' 'sip-files00148.pro'
de651c8f21f0245e3c87efe454cc2e94
dc6210ee48cf6c6dc3697efc6bfda57933296740
describe
'72505' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOO' 'sip-files00148.QC.jpg'
93cf9237ded9b2f7bf1934d99177e56c
0d13c460755c4614c04b6cdd3a0747508f8d7237
describe
'2771112' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOP' 'sip-files00148.tif'
1a23950051d216e55adef21c36bd5537
777f8b76541b35a108692371638130a1e7a6080b
describe
'2585' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOQ' 'sip-files00148.txt'
722e0e938dcc50d2ff3ca82c5e75572d
3e77685b8978dc9a4637f08f22fc37a1359f3944
describe
'34534' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOR' 'sip-files00148thm.jpg'
8cf33435d75cde83342f2a975bc042f6
733550238d95d0e846be5e92f822e70b1f32f26a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOS' 'sip-files00149.jp2'
5ff988db1ca4aeac315e5a5489a6b361
22fc0417d7719c23d4325fdfb6f0f40bb095f72d
'2011-09-28T17:11:30-04:00'
describe
'219255' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOT' 'sip-files00149.jpg'
c7c7b879636c6a129cff2aaf2a258374
ee853f56e994a7a2ecd9c0f05a76e445eddaa9a6
describe
'53800' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOU' 'sip-files00149.pro'
ba9b18f7e9bec3632f5e26fdbe07d8a2
ebbb393c755d9ce76df59afa8dc49769ed8aab91
describe
'83750' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOV' 'sip-files00149.QC.jpg'
48f402f2026cc306e7a948500eb51b75
d75c2a1e11885a400e81f6755b3b4fa5084e7a11
describe
'2770164' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOW' 'sip-files00149.tif'
f1199291e1c8deb62673d22f1e67887f
62f2d2649676b91d22c4bc16e741540b9d5b0884
describe
'2493' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOX' 'sip-files00149.txt'
5fd5c5455d2a6df4df7abc260ca94b72
460bc0cc9395c25a5968484e8e9cc0094c47275c
describe
'37887' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOY' 'sip-files00149thm.jpg'
638afbe846864ce9d5af7a6ac0e1c82c
53f0a236f2db24a67dc17d38ed4a32976b59a452
describe
'343543' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOOZ' 'sip-files00150.jp2'
b91d6ff2c16c5df41f2fd286b5e52dc5
91484e16cbc150a46fe35ff2fce8824799d62c09
describe
'204892' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPA' 'sip-files00150.jpg'
88359abca7c33d6e8d9d54eb7cdfa29d
86e7b2a412b44196a9f0a20a7ce9a25b5c6e5c47
describe
'53131' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPB' 'sip-files00150.pro'
2f157cd8743e2fc8ca272c21802a814f
acb52a07adf3eba624b4fbdda50c4e1a08415006
describe
'74712' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPC' 'sip-files00150.QC.jpg'
53e065ac77d7fd89f96b8a3b5c3106cc
e6f46b2a8a8b1cd31fb009e255f9c231956ca57e
describe
'2771868' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPD' 'sip-files00150.tif'
c19b6259e47b74ab136665c87f9dd941
194365f0a1ac1d1099dd2633495fdc61538b908b
describe
'2465' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPE' 'sip-files00150.txt'
f8dc98b3c68cdd26e0d9a7b2051bb5ba
dd27209d9978f8324912ea72bae7a6fd0c4062a0
describe
'35995' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPF' 'sip-files00150thm.jpg'
78dc1e74a8d8d00c8b932bac5da6578f
6cdbcdb382c461bd883b982708fcd5411ac4a144
describe
'343292' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPG' 'sip-files00151.jp2'
132020adf414b71afe3661785ed9233c
d266d2da8bea07b27664acfefb67685bc7bc8851
describe
'205102' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPH' 'sip-files00151.jpg'
7fc2249d23b6c7ebbe1549df03564ce4
a6f9203721bffd1d516b1bfc526406c2df07ff0d
'2011-09-28T17:11:47-04:00'
describe
'48641' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPI' 'sip-files00151.pro'
a8d40d026ef2a8ad58d0a4b65347e25d
84447e0fc72aa2696318b33bddbd2bc5f2425497
describe
'75364' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPJ' 'sip-files00151.QC.jpg'
f10e2061d5f2ff0ea366d140319f3122
337ccf47953ccb6e07cff7754e0a6909a1b2d757
describe
'2770056' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPK' 'sip-files00151.tif'
889ef7d624c281c8f841d49f06ddbffe
1d682abefa19761a508b7c9ef6cad19d97e6081a
describe
'2293' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPL' 'sip-files00151.txt'
bf4a89bbfe810f29df3d92cee7881eb6
beead18ff7ce5cc796aa599f594ea5add27f619c
describe
'37382' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPM' 'sip-files00151thm.jpg'
b3062bc56a21583122f887cfc51b7390
1cb6777da0712997fd77aa649f3749800089f4f0
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPN' 'sip-files00152.jp2'
19d510b79a8e4ef497f1fd98a647af4b
88454a7846604e1293579b75201b40024505011a
'2011-09-28T17:12:43-04:00'
describe
'189386' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPO' 'sip-files00152.jpg'
72cb6e5c8e17ec7439a7af4b26fc9222
d48a1b7ac17eed07976856a44151d8b513c75a5a
describe
'47394' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPP' 'sip-files00152.pro'
025af2b31f2e8f6b1675ab5c4b99a2b7
2234c890fdec9a3f343d66372d12a94b5a480511
describe
'70628' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPQ' 'sip-files00152.QC.jpg'
ab65c6983493735382e76c70e321c0f9
9da585d74ba16ef83d1bb4901b133bba89fc6aa6
describe
'2771728' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPR' 'sip-files00152.tif'
0dc27a3e015cb52fd0a1b4048e937293
62c6dbd1f8bc19599f6bbc72ffc9d7d72a5e7c21
describe
'2181' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPS' 'sip-files00152.txt'
c2cb84f5bff871ec65fd658128dbcb69
7ea9e02a1ac9dbebefe2389619c888d8bf1ea39c
describe
'35994' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPT' 'sip-files00152thm.jpg'
1340ab061909f1ae89ff998edc845e76
d4b601d502a805176272e001a2ae9e3f2824734a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPU' 'sip-files00153.jp2'
1d1296cdd26f1b09831c56998390ad67
5b988254e4f35a8ec67b804e09bf3ada67da57fd
describe
'216251' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPV' 'sip-files00153.jpg'
6722eef2dd6c54ea2590744b3841a6ff
928e56b5f25e2ff13e91afa8ee384442a0363f50
describe
'56463' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPW' 'sip-files00153.pro'
6ec1ba872e839df009cc57dab1dce42d
7b18e0fa3ae77c47056fe0dae496a280078fdaca
describe
'80840' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPX' 'sip-files00153.QC.jpg'
4f4f727b800844bb8c5daaabe06adff2
f536024a66cdccff088944fd29a2e7a1bb0d8498
describe
'2769932' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPY' 'sip-files00153.tif'
24da3c940ce24591e9b42a0eaa94752b
ca9d776fdac58cf5b753ed1104adf4d8cf5a8dac
'2011-09-28T17:09:48-04:00'
describe
'2678' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOPZ' 'sip-files00153.txt'
e9dcc3f3470d4caa59447c9697560873
bb8e6bb9b3f7c70da3d54d681985b916cebae937
describe
'37466' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQA' 'sip-files00153thm.jpg'
7628ed285d6dab31b6180633b0ac68f9
d43294fd24f69333e75d64826a3aff08982f6de1
describe
'343586' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQB' 'sip-files00154.jp2'
12fbae3332322ed7ebb761c2ad2e6b91
085bb54b48b89654729bba278079e34ea0c4393c
describe
'201315' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQC' 'sip-files00154.jpg'
a3a26766c67d8731fa0fe215d71d5fc6
e2d817b4b0d64bf8ddcbe9429e2e8d3df79a95df
describe
'48951' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQD' 'sip-files00154.pro'
f7eb4b956d3626c086bee57e38467e1d
23d0183358640d4af57f325707163859dfecc223
describe
'79713' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQE' 'sip-files00154.QC.jpg'
cfb33fd4da315dfd7b35fcf8adc842c8
e97f1ffa721aff72a836b91494984b639457fbb6
describe
'2772076' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQF' 'sip-files00154.tif'
3c04c548493f4661d58cb4955e68ef26
e3e119a647ea25044e149b3540de80586cb848f7
describe
'2371' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQG' 'sip-files00154.txt'
72456bd7bbcbd04f269308e3f9f0d145
5611ea86163f4fded061237c779122ae29627ddd
describe
'37156' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQH' 'sip-files00154thm.jpg'
7ced2339ef13e525fd0e461c11e8fbfe
203d389cfcbc8539003185867b3035a5bfb0aac1
describe
'343260' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQI' 'sip-files00155.jp2'
707ff01d5d224914020c095bbdc189b6
4b73de23e1748d18485e0b33391b5f3b663158a0
describe
'211334' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQJ' 'sip-files00155.jpg'
462ebf5f59e918633a5df38cf3a605a8
3220fb0cbd88ecb3acafb8e86dd1170608eddb72
describe
'45420' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQK' 'sip-files00155.pro'
287c99254f729f619fd22cd6b0858b8c
d84a3bc01607237c7f95b5e40ad51e2d5371d209
describe
'82146' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQL' 'sip-files00155.QC.jpg'
657171b306c866f5bc750946470ba40f
842313cd202ff4b7e888fdd0f18bfb90a0097e25
describe
'2769804' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQM' 'sip-files00155.tif'
88339db660d3f22d10ff6667af6273c6
45a79ffe53aed2899a4611e8b037fffa87c643f9
describe
'2061' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQN' 'sip-files00155.txt'
ac90a793a7da510845e895c4348ac15c
6bb638143e0c20b78680cae029ab039e45eb7071
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQO' 'sip-files00155thm.jpg'
6260e5f7827648ceea1b536abe446475
0b1f9729dda584f356196bffb1c8ea543230b1b5
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQP' 'sip-files00156.jp2'
c6c6aa02d8ac852bc5ae33a493f23e6b
1a91f31a816a37d6cb482a8eee66b7577b5bb34f
'2011-09-28T17:14:06-04:00'
describe
'202683' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQQ' 'sip-files00156.jpg'
569bdc488cbb47b5256bc2045236902f
283d53935baaa4b6fdd91dfee36568f22582508d
describe
'53472' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQR' 'sip-files00156.pro'
3a842712798c87d7090cf5b2ca76a476
d5d788e574b4d03db25c1d6e844eb004b83ce0eb
describe
'77569' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQS' 'sip-files00156.QC.jpg'
8f6649b2b23fb99d27e59758d9e4bc4b
4a1a2e793e712be3d7b29c7710e0e2585b4bba73
describe
'2771900' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQT' 'sip-files00156.tif'
f0d070a420bb20041de543acc6de0a1f
4416766a2b109a6832bda56ae35e6cdfd2940fff
describe
'2614' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQU' 'sip-files00156.txt'
5b160d6fa3e067b3d8fd8fac01e7e5d7
48cfad13e5b7e77156ba8e6227864445505d6110
describe
'36812' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQV' 'sip-files00156thm.jpg'
9537227e0940cda990e1c9e24273fcca
3afc500c642f292bdee4c15e5995d6eb4491b9ba
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQW' 'sip-files00157.jp2'
ae5346bc8f3c8bf34a5491803b55fd65
d215fcf381fccd50397c8220b9abddcb35629e5b
describe
'204187' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQX' 'sip-files00157.jpg'
9bcc3b3afbc399f695fcfec48cf3038c
3188006503b766fa518e9c64e441759a5a508ed3
describe
'53986' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQY' 'sip-files00157.pro'
b727e75dcfe9adb8bda4a0076fb796c4
52184382288aea84e2063ffc969ade8e92c5a561
describe
'79980' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOQZ' 'sip-files00157.QC.jpg'
7a55fe20fcfbc3a2b27afa484965bf2c
5c249e747142268cc6f815046130927e8e47d0e4
describe
'2769844' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORA' 'sip-files00157.tif'
6c45e593fdd4835095fcace6d373049f
de4ddf36e350426cf8844b6ad0e1cdd5f836f776
describe
'2642' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORB' 'sip-files00157.txt'
a1adff94f578890b13c1b104b1cda730
f57e23888f28393e60d3ff3d706aa0b6c2b2a58d
describe
'36795' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORC' 'sip-files00157thm.jpg'
150f6c41badfcb4613815b59653d088d
7e595d9f9fc10d9742a37d0892d6949f5b7acea3
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORD' 'sip-files00158.jp2'
f78cb3f80a6093b7a70751c079f7ea31
3693754ea21a45cfd486b7358ca297662eebd745
describe
'201706' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORE' 'sip-files00158.jpg'
545acb55cf0e88242538f0ea2532a47f
f531d85585998a013310bf9ca1d85f53a58cf47b
describe
'47965' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORF' 'sip-files00158.pro'
be7865741a476ee54693db83cf1dfaf9
34975a956a401d2b8f9ca8a7f7902f1db22463d4
describe
'78562' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORG' 'sip-files00158.QC.jpg'
92bddd604a63fea85081f3ffedbf92ce
ea4a325acdd7b6d40a9c77c2af90279d1a76a720
describe
'2771844' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORH' 'sip-files00158.tif'
32cb6b836948591780140f5c655aa1d7
5c7c1303d6789993a26040bc9b6d471da1b12c85
'2011-09-28T17:11:10-04:00'
describe
'2232' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORI' 'sip-files00158.txt'
144e9664e002d2f09c10e667bf710dae
d3da0d6a1bbdf65c6006311a19b8782efb41f32b
describe
'36549' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORJ' 'sip-files00158thm.jpg'
0779d65ffd2701e563e03db0bcb2cedf
0cd44c6d3369d3d665fc6e923b4d86b3575dca2c
describe
'343285' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORK' 'sip-files00159.jp2'
79aa0614840d689d7bdc09cf1969590a
57edf07ce30a34e4d831332f71837133f5364f3d
describe
'203917' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORL' 'sip-files00159.jpg'
6b9cea6ca7ccd9425f2fdad8cec6eb72
bba934595a873a564d42825c64a17eb62fe389fa
describe
'51035' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORM' 'sip-files00159.pro'
4d00ec2e4d2cf60795afcd1529357a9e
d041074871ebfc5021fe379e3965773ab8249bbd
describe
'76936' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORN' 'sip-files00159.QC.jpg'
1f3aac8d04a437f8f8c0f7b70bf6e663
d3122aac85098eaed3c57365eb95001860f60e87
describe
'2769808' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORO' 'sip-files00159.tif'
15238fc3cab9d39440a51766f628fb75
76897a331c8675a8934b35ceace3aadb92d5478f
describe
'2315' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORP' 'sip-files00159.txt'
79a5374a660b47cc1b844de66d8b407f
f4f00b42232ea2e9a511b2e855eb182015aed7c1
describe
'36011' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORQ' 'sip-files00159thm.jpg'
36c94fc1d51d4775468523c28586cca5
05d35d32bfbdfb11c989fbd1f08d2e25ef8842a1
describe
'343602' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORR' 'sip-files00160.jp2'
449e3fa92cfbf3f80197763e0bb139ac
e18bdd04e7fbb86dd2c25b25e37fe1c767654d06
describe
'185540' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORS' 'sip-files00160.jpg'
a460e14427eae377501fd2f5ce863830
484080dd840e909a01c6c9bc46a9b042d4864759
describe
'44424' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORT' 'sip-files00160.pro'
4383f00897bda969df926b8a825c6573
36d97d05f4fc77a02dc640e1096b5e8d967c905d
describe
'73463' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORU' 'sip-files00160.QC.jpg'
4c66a8d0dca9a5852f3d57bcf0c9613d
c4ab648d18a521e08e5fa8e78f235d0d2736f5cf
describe
'2771948' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORV' 'sip-files00160.tif'
d406705a923f44a96dfa435e6a8f507f
05f9272252418b1ee0ed530d2acc22182e773471
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORW' 'sip-files00160.txt'
207cce0f556955f6972cd8092ffa9403
0da104b8a05621cf3ab6b292aa9c7768ddda5e91
describe
'35769' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORX' 'sip-files00160thm.jpg'
6a634680d3db69488c4b09f6f35b0d59
a40ddc96c8f3718ee64b989d29ca283c091db291
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORY' 'sip-files00161.jp2'
eed9896cbd2cbf7da58d7aa65f1f2183
8f600d36381f890a27cf1114d6dfe2bc56ef112f
describe
'189109' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAORZ' 'sip-files00161.jpg'
42d4772df4e41bd829b3b95f797c2153
65c3523e5a8710c7707bda262d063835413cae10
describe
'44659' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSA' 'sip-files00161.pro'
4462df7dc3d76daa9fe77b238b676541
6ce08f051669d99276f904969150bc3fc493151a
describe
'73816' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSB' 'sip-files00161.QC.jpg'
a204cd269e06a76c537d0571735e46dc
99c981e0bb94ffd2be8b435ce28fe68aa3ea7290
describe
'2769624' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSC' 'sip-files00161.tif'
c60ed9fd518a6f8649b22f4912f0cb9a
d9c00cce5d5b3cc09b4c7a1d1c431d9436f0b18b
'2011-09-28T17:11:11-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSD' 'sip-files00161.txt'
490166f805c1424be19ecd7460a8de2e
40dc45ff966828d8bf00b169b65afe71b0fdbb72
describe
'35185' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSE' 'sip-files00161thm.jpg'
85dddb16c9092e97c7399e2dbfbe206c
d5279f7f17e897aee58a15d3b3f457202a91219a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSF' 'sip-files00162.jp2'
884b2ef315ca1f838a5fafd98fb2f111
1586da9de2586238586d96388950fa2cf3349f21
describe
'201802' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSG' 'sip-files00162.jpg'
375d01f62c06f484b717a3258652b65d
bc3ae19be933809fd0413ec60b588f077326c74e
describe
'45915' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSH' 'sip-files00162.pro'
6d502dbbbc2b470de4e0729b9b5989c8
28122734f2b477133e6ad48d83e587753cffe201
describe
'76274' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSI' 'sip-files00162.QC.jpg'
c4ce46c78d6b1ca748b989e3879366a9
e6f205eed6d2cdd16e103de4db4b18c63229ff3a
describe
'2769900' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSJ' 'sip-files00162.tif'
552ad021e16a73e838483a8c37e30d48
9944aa27a28a03d046ca0c89a180b4d55c215948
describe
'2063' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSK' 'sip-files00162.txt'
47c57ac02aa50f97fd829c2267273670
cd3129b68a64c2ad8770b74329b79023d5509c50
describe
'37192' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSL' 'sip-files00162thm.jpg'
42080fbfa5a3302688843a1ff3c9f97c
c7595a42ba856d2afec9f4c0dde789a8fac010a9
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSM' 'sip-files00163.jp2'
4f798c0f4cc3be314da29961c4960e15
fe849c1ccb9493e9a96b9781cd6c49be2b4c37b7
describe
'191135' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSN' 'sip-files00163.jpg'
824bb50475b6ec0004060528e4410e6c
ff01e8be276ab053edb013862bdc36f714a21504
describe
'43582' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSO' 'sip-files00163.pro'
6e0c1b0953e9009bc1951e48fbee079b
e68907cfb1230577fe9aff88143225c1a4a9d8dc
describe
'73703' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSP' 'sip-files00163.QC.jpg'
01066f4ccc90764924b62c25481e5610
0f35af4ae47c10a0409abf558061ed21c89ce29d
describe
'2769988' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSQ' 'sip-files00163.tif'
0ecdd32bda762fe357404f463eab8970
a4cd1c7bb3d7d8004175c2fce0d8983ed86d956a
describe
'2119' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSR' 'sip-files00163.txt'
5fefd866d161112e29ad8b7bf65b8b98
dacec2642ea7df0e4ac00a2ad3b11120a4581c03
describe
'36601' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSS' 'sip-files00163thm.jpg'
b851190e690f2e4e2ca490a97da8a7b8
d0eb21465576f16097d830ec1627dfea46294074
'2011-09-28T17:07:26-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOST' 'sip-files00164.jp2'
488d1fb78bc505174c875731d8baa7f4
3c44a2bc89b64bb2d1a3fc97f54f61445cd2f0a1
describe
'180128' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSU' 'sip-files00164.jpg'
69c7fa33b5b415edfc213e4c43502261
e415b20266e8ccc41855a9276bf9310e0c1ee97f
describe
'44738' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSV' 'sip-files00164.pro'
9c8de315950e4bc75927a55319259b31
ad814b6e9711643d1714497af4ae9e74715c5689
describe
'70192' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSW' 'sip-files00164.QC.jpg'
48701f080b1b3a27f9deb98a3a4e4bec
246687d3859fb8bde0abe7bf2e22bfcc1d930519
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSX' 'sip-files00164.tif'
5a92620f4969641caa8c61cae4a503ce
7e6520b469541e4137ec4083507065a3cab64a0c
describe
'2044' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSY' 'sip-files00164.txt'
c2ce88bdcbb23f2fff35e2f8e9fe1284
ad492db845e948a525b3c49ef3a47829b83a732f
describe
'34606' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOSZ' 'sip-files00164thm.jpg'
858838cc1d4f4afe048a2304dfb63c12
269f46e1b2b38ed90c975839baf393e683b76e46
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTA' 'sip-files00165.jp2'
9da92e709172394a710569543d442750
867e1fb35523cfbb7d61c3c9c23643c64ffd90fd
describe
'179126' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTB' 'sip-files00165.jpg'
17b2ce90318ee4f48189d393668d6e92
481a491c316f6458fb92a5b1e8153c04ce38072a
describe
'43522' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTC' 'sip-files00165.pro'
a8d75063c4be581593cbcedd8e386ac9
41f67753c99791de135753a670653cfc5587def7
describe
'70123' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTD' 'sip-files00165.QC.jpg'
53db72b6e186bf3847ad83ac1fe1d6be
016d0c8a1ec459f1f76b94e863a84b029e23dede
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTE' 'sip-files00165.tif'
b25d28e713e46d4b210c197f6ccab03a
fe1b41d912afce379f296b911c3ad5adab582349
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTF' 'sip-files00165.txt'
a5f2004aba3815e9b543c59b8ea67c35
6924c6b3d2df1a6328608cb1ad259423da4f375c
describe
'34339' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTG' 'sip-files00165thm.jpg'
6e6045116048991f5ecddc00e435d21e
deabe0ddda8999384f06c4518a39d1642f4665c0
'2011-09-28T17:13:50-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTH' 'sip-files00166.jp2'
09d49701a961ef647f59c666180ae40c
e5ce01fd95e29638459ab1b045f3108f3e7157d9
describe
'190356' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTI' 'sip-files00166.jpg'
649cefe12bc933aeefb500af7a6ace91
a79da266ed467dbd873d5df7c37437feb6201c36
describe
'49676' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTJ' 'sip-files00166.pro'
a766e8460102d272e8c794d03676e5bd
3fbb5df4a1ff223ab3065e6d011b0c3b1d79ed1b
describe
'72023' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTK' 'sip-files00166.QC.jpg'
cde4ca50285e5202e10eeee98ab5f03e
457706e2a2d591adbe66583ea3aacbc1364959a1
describe
'2769136' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTL' 'sip-files00166.tif'
1cc4c6dc80b892d2aa10dc2095cd95dc
b5ec3ff735baad8b20fc98bf8863363643e428b3
describe
'2248' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTM' 'sip-files00166.txt'
fe2883c633b5d67aba624b74c9b43518
ce4a04d1c6fe5331d76cb7f17c37260dad61a60b
describe
'34826' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTN' 'sip-files00166thm.jpg'
8fd4f127fb6b9182ab8dbaa5b167e704
9e781d14bd33e1a8b9e90c5227b6a7027adfda22
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTO' 'sip-files00167.jp2'
8959268dbb0cf5b637d00d521c10d07c
3e3a582f89f8b99220af37b1cf1f6a9cc58581c8
describe
'181073' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTP' 'sip-files00167.jpg'
83167fa432a72e36dddcda5cf3ebaee8
8fd3a4c38f56401eee86e3445826ae4a6966b7c6
describe
'37882' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTQ' 'sip-files00167.pro'
88c6436e789769f39e07727a74e79fc1
3689cacc0284acb08264a9cb736f05570e2e4229
describe
'70886' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTR' 'sip-files00167.QC.jpg'
788026aba448c945819c84491e0d19e0
dab7aa62da6186ca281f7100f7957c086f28d3c5
describe
'2769936' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTS' 'sip-files00167.tif'
c58334382debf3736dc7cf3bc6fa5b98
8eaa7674263c8d17d7a68ae473ab6c5f7fbe79d0
describe
'1760' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTT' 'sip-files00167.txt'
bb59bc89f93888d000754baaeb3abb5e
a92132eec21bc7743a5bfce5b179bc6855f75ba2
describe
'36580' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTU' 'sip-files00167thm.jpg'
79a7f8d19e888995a30ecb61eb4ca743
f25ec03c0968f75aec3224f4ddaeae9bd83d4ff6
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTV' 'sip-files00168.jp2'
20bc0e7ea5cd11d227d028281702721a
38c3eea9d823c5e9f958ec2d55169303bbaa22f4
describe
'214549' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTW' 'sip-files00168.jpg'
c61ff512109c14ca8c9b03ad13ed4c4e
e3a3c4b0bb727b1138aea564a1f300a398627442
describe
'57200' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTX' 'sip-files00168.pro'
af9138846dc4c77940063390e456dc47
363a3c09c2730f90beb972a7676836aed4605974
describe
'80374' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTY' 'sip-files00168.QC.jpg'
3d87b5732f356caa3fd882c8776e87d8
55a86a67f1faf9b65bf2c38c5c35efb18c32a4a8
describe
'2769952' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOTZ' 'sip-files00168.tif'
f2357427b41df7d888b3308b593a082c
fc6d0f4f9e0223c9b8e6714f7ded993a401ab1ff
describe
'2640' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUA' 'sip-files00168.txt'
45b0ad63f8f489a27479c2383fadd8f5
f82667fa39633b92aaf98a21a9b7e61f0e4fdb14
describe
'37046' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUB' 'sip-files00168thm.jpg'
5672a2d7adea1272ead85e604419475f
5253d0c92b1f5bad52a57fe6fd51404a6e46dc35
describe
'343314' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUC' 'sip-files00169.jp2'
8ea8394fe62b61bf2c01c22a6ed3484c
bf826a17a774dd966bf113c66b136be4243ea5c1
describe
'203353' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUD' 'sip-files00169.jpg'
cb57ec43dae2588ae252cee70f0b8755
2368fbd5aa610fb08a20dff3e0ea473e4c13254f
'2011-09-28T17:10:07-04:00'
describe
'47355' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUE' 'sip-files00169.pro'
8effb13c81e9bd8e7ab30d67d06536d6
2a29b644965cf405015e3cf838c08ec1eaed2acc
describe
'77883' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUF' 'sip-files00169.QC.jpg'
0f2f32a17a8785dfd9ab59e51fbb2290
fa544f59c0846bc28d5501dc3f21aa2e9e2fb1ad
describe
'2770096' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUG' 'sip-files00169.tif'
5deef3c33b359d49078f41c449e20f16
7c14a4b11a5ab5081c59cae1db951c3b39b3c91b
describe
'2259' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUH' 'sip-files00169.txt'
ecf8e464c550041cae194badb0978b3c
026430b158859eeef22c3fc3b1d16d1df0a2d6ea
describe
'37107' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUI' 'sip-files00169thm.jpg'
3a3b879b82dd93ae9048d8d6908ba477
30fd40844f7e19ec50b9844ba5972ff4fde89d8d
describe
'343620' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUJ' 'sip-files00170.jp2'
58d11181e01c1df1376329c3df104413
ad2f93962fb2e0dc2113f0e67852f6ce68c4a757
describe
'217452' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUK' 'sip-files00170.jpg'
d53823f6d94838e314a807698a7569ab
77b65e8cdf1a0402190dfb6461d2180d61fa93a2
describe
'58689' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUL' 'sip-files00170.pro'
6c065c9c450b5d41da23c9683fbb03ae
efcf813980b0d1af4e634d63fe4d9801e0a91d2f
describe
'81141' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUM' 'sip-files00170.QC.jpg'
b1499fa34b1fea15e7001e4bed1d3486
561ff7cad2bc9261a16f28f480fdea7a197adb61
describe
'2772228' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUN' 'sip-files00170.tif'
0596092ab2b1c847b0e8e45fe222ebd8
8164847ced648c3cc8bd708ad353a21e4a4e58b9
describe
'2660' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUO' 'sip-files00170.txt'
3865a730cbde6f2cf6aae8dd77638211
cba7b60d3da47e5e2e2e69be13906bc54e83b628
describe
'37490' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUP' 'sip-files00170thm.jpg'
5b2c4330cef8e409dd19458251b46e6e
336caaf7521c2e265bb6e58d2225a1d9f1596686
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUQ' 'sip-files00171.jp2'
9b8969ee02f8466426e9e167bfde783f
0025736f4633a6b7db35f1fc1377e1b01e9547ed
describe
'234735' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUR' 'sip-files00171.jpg'
66be9caf99919820ab8fe5cf889dcbde
2234c1277058c85563df4a16daa18f43a6bc0cd5
describe
'62782' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUS' 'sip-files00171.pro'
89d6cbca42ece6858f40290cc34b47ef
ab8882d594a37c2910de66d69d5c3e6bd6ce856c
describe
'85790' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUT' 'sip-files00171.QC.jpg'
cdb7ae576a9d56dbc8a3ad6574b3c64f
b2e9c3da5280dff6d449d94c0a74f1163c4209e9
describe
'2770344' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUU' 'sip-files00171.tif'
b2d405f7c937ab6822b8623057c628ba
a69dc52dc9c3594800b16a84458e3447f38602a3
describe
'2899' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUV' 'sip-files00171.txt'
911db616906218097eb140b831d5b328
23129bc62d81ccc938d69c2e00ebb91a81c6264b
describe
'38155' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUW' 'sip-files00171thm.jpg'
6597abd3dc217bfbce3a8fd4c2dc36bb
d5f98eafbdb28eb34c87b119c81e7aa0ef541e9d
describe
'343590' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUX' 'sip-files00172.jp2'
624c27b0805875cd257030d2672af4d8
c7e963720158b67f29e3d5c6fdfd3045f317c4c6
describe
'217118' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUY' 'sip-files00172.jpg'
0f60a4d57ceabb82099daa797603557a
91e561816fbe428f310c1b8ba8bb607b3eeed077
describe
'55232' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOUZ' 'sip-files00172.pro'
1044c25b9488c123087717eeeb9b0523
1a975ef5190b63a0a93ae34154ea3410eaefe4fa
describe
'82723' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVA' 'sip-files00172.QC.jpg'
c6573679462a6d40518be5aa32522672
e2cfa87dc87320cbc206940986736065e7b73f56
describe
'2772336' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVB' 'sip-files00172.tif'
4498ff7fa7a8b57e484df9c80765636a
cdf54800693635399d410e7163f5dbe2478ca28c
describe
'2562' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVC' 'sip-files00172.txt'
524889bd937cb8f56fe8744ea146eac3
d28d6187fce33d544896cd9565ee7991943308b9
describe
'37812' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVD' 'sip-files00172thm.jpg'
28143a3c84da3761cc90598dac7ab289
d4698edd783ac040dcb31385be067d9e705e8a95
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVE' 'sip-files00173.jp2'
70b342b32a77f95b76e79ed2e8bf075f
fe5ce21a298c70e032d58866824f30a12ac8ef86
describe
'218736' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVF' 'sip-files00173.jpg'
580fcbf995a8a18359064916ce2eb652
7321b808f20cb89eb83f2daad004650347047a1d
describe
'59159' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVG' 'sip-files00173.pro'
891bc129b9a9f95fda82469c17fca51c
5d188df6a03f5635157cdf9ea7d1e686f54fa546
describe
'81303' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVH' 'sip-files00173.QC.jpg'
599f9d7dc3d5d6ad035c20ad6329f5b1
a7631f2ed653b2ea7fb9a80c746d0277bb785c2a
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVI' 'sip-files00173.tif'
0f2e907ab92edf52d647aff0b18e3473
171c734c3ca4a7bf9987f0469a8b1ddcbb36af43
describe
'2758' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVJ' 'sip-files00173.txt'
1cb0fc2495f44ce72cdd24f01024eb7f
ec9788647940ecc34d83ba49ebcdd42a2b816672
describe
'36480' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVK' 'sip-files00173thm.jpg'
2946cea144c6e2c6d039615bda81fc06
29bcf30db01269298bb5fed0692b5c49a46516a2
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVL' 'sip-files00174.jp2'
8154d531321be22c7c8acf4ed40c1230
1f8da6058bee3fd92f6c84688850dc6612b1c1a3
describe
'207273' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVM' 'sip-files00174.jpg'
8b94d9ad05b72c141c4e6b94b903211a
cc7e69e0a2f49f8e691aeefa76539c8e2a5fd691
describe
'45189' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVN' 'sip-files00174.pro'
7adadf9173cb91388fa3cda5aa2d3a60
40d2917e84de374723c878278585cb9ab461b198
describe
'82601' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVO' 'sip-files00174.QC.jpg'
7b02818df341352851ce59fc39183251
12be2cdb0ea1fc350c05cb04f44c113f6678743d
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVP' 'sip-files00174.tif'
1da27ec19158404f1b5b2c82bbbd6b57
894d463c4999d8714b31d4434e881ee961ebc309
describe
'2227' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVQ' 'sip-files00174.txt'
0f3d07ab6f00ed7ded5adc1705d405c4
9fe2c0bfd2704b07465324e4156fdec0be80e091
describe
'37671' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVR' 'sip-files00174thm.jpg'
3e71296f2b5eaa733ff663a389e00b39
e2d151d0b490d0392dd0131f9e049800deeffb2c
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVS' 'sip-files00175.jp2'
878b83a5ab6e485ccbe96b525f30784c
b6445e3223077518ce3fddc0bb27fd8b0e266fd3
describe
'218164' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVT' 'sip-files00175.jpg'
994f8425dc3e88bdd8c27a80d262c7aa
14249c03ee052f7f9a7f22ce76b40b272ebd68d0
describe
'54138' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVU' 'sip-files00175.pro'
86497d5bf6f754649f2195466ac27fa2
ce0f36c03be904ffb812a13818ed441ddd4e5381
describe
'81148' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVV' 'sip-files00175.QC.jpg'
1abb917795fc2b19a1e6b8d19d0a55e1
de70e6c4de56e199ec583a43c9b2e00a605207a5
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVW' 'sip-files00175.tif'
c81a7536c43d8dc46f9ad18a44be7cbe
94028157bf328c60e72c7c017082dfde17612a8d
describe
'2506' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVX' 'sip-files00175.txt'
58f5e39f21e792fe257602c0208a7711
eb80aa34fc23eaefa0ba9e31e299d50f902f558b
describe
'37998' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVY' 'sip-files00175thm.jpg'
9fcff803607435c488239fa14745dc0f
1287ddeefa0802a2de7a501be06774c2ba339f7e
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOVZ' 'sip-files00176.jp2'
923f3a187b58ec3673411f641ee9785d
ccd4b0ee2610a5629dde8bfaf410124c1c77fb55
describe
'219151' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWA' 'sip-files00176.jpg'
6601d9ba53ea350e53cbdf31e5630884
36d66dff9b77fd39c54570d4f06b682dacb89da8
describe
'97482' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWB' 'sip-files00176.pro'
3c66101331b213933edf78da1500062f
d53997beaa2d5423071b84c8366ac746bdd93132
describe
'78973' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWC' 'sip-files00176.QC.jpg'
2872b4c4b26fddecd56035866ffabb78
60f36bff0408eab7ab8bba854c58642c3fbe8400
describe
'2771280' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWD' 'sip-files00176.tif'
57d768d9def6fe721b912a9c43116ea9
5021cdad28987d8866bd14a74edcfa42d7b18aeb
describe
'4415' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWE' 'sip-files00176.txt'
b32eb1e8dfa6772b206468de54751e94
5bbc01d2a216617998a56bd533233456b45a9559
describe
Invalid character
'35490' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWF' 'sip-files00176thm.jpg'
6a538bbbd7a824315d0da7d9dba251ed
f63ba0034f1441097fbce8505f78e4dcaed43da6
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWG' 'sip-files00177.jp2'
c6b8a2f8590d48dfedfad0d2a758800e
790af93bbb015eb813487c9c3410b9146a74251f
describe
'228639' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWH' 'sip-files00177.jpg'
0e7e2112708804070a45823d1e607f50
70c8e3349aa2f0d6da57493a7abc2fec9dc8da16
describe
'116817' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWI' 'sip-files00177.pro'
ada605ae843c07fe33028769cfa797e4
f17afa48ed20b2af77d55d407239c29f30c7b0da
describe
'81385' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWJ' 'sip-files00177.QC.jpg'
c8e83f62c3959ba9d3e0936277fb5a36
46b8a99657a160bc8a15b72a87abef17890e6aaf
describe
'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWK' 'sip-files00177.tif'
52d752777a346a07643518649e548a35
748629609846eec5f75f9a14427983cad572a914
describe
'5733' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWL' 'sip-files00177.txt'
e2f5104d7e34b2037d56a6fb68c841e4
0972d67aec8fb1a4eb10eb14f213888aa966193d
describe
Invalid character
'36511' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWM' 'sip-files00177thm.jpg'
0be97967c806f92c3cafecc5499d8609
fec1381c7d6c35704faa1c6cbae108f221a3e56b
describe
'343334' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWN' 'sip-files00178.jp2'
edb0550b70ac0c80c5388844c4cb6099
a783a2cf6f46b3e12eba8d5e1c83704dc4bbe045
describe
'195691' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWO' 'sip-files00178.jpg'
fb8d1556fc7b6033f17de5e169bf60f7
454571e8ecd16deeb8255544521efb9045dd8aee
describe
'63670' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWP' 'sip-files00178.pro'
c318763cb32176a1967f0877f3c65767
a29e44508605d3ee1695d73fe15d06b52025478d
describe
'71509' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWQ' 'sip-files00178.QC.jpg'
0f88d1db357d813213623b4b63d3a071
d7124b81493f119e13291b2d360a949588397ab0
describe
'2768528' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWR' 'sip-files00178.tif'
0417ef8d6b038287698aed896901e3f2
0543c43d72e794ca2e51f98d0a7a09fa27c9dbb8
describe
'2816' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWS' 'sip-files00178.txt'
81d2438b89e6ee9013c823f1574964ac
a56ae1bdafaf44283603aea244d05302393e59ca
describe
'33401' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWT' 'sip-files00178thm.jpg'
e6c38ba482bf90d0db0a7ea2fc7e6833
dceef308fd108a4647fa16e263acde805b64cb2d
describe
'388739' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWU' 'sip-files00181.jp2'
d875c27a0fb798aea7925d6441579c6f
b7820b304b731f1c51471384c01b3eef2c8eacd3
describe
'91748' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWV' 'sip-files00181.jpg'
dd0c9a60a2adf5e6373f4214eb386eee
d34606c2a5c05c678963841d53108be42d19feae
describe
'34421' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWW' 'sip-files00181.QC.jpg'
8ebfee9aedc8c03c4cc937f8ca010318
4cce3cb6045b8f48fba7fab66d5b3c83db65c0d5
describe
'9346428' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWX' 'sip-files00181.tif'
35b9dbd5681da8e9271895e0bc97247c
01d68fbf984c03a051cb7175a9ff1f552cf2875b
describe
'22684' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWY' 'sip-files00181thm.jpg'
1a96b40b61b1c92075801de97ca49fe5
8a89bb3d35e488f27099dedc742e0c248e0bb90c
describe
'384820' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOWZ' 'sip-files00182.jp2'
89b5e5abb90f0b39e415bda60348504a
abd924581cfda9e84b05d7623c16c9f2af56b556
describe
'113355' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOXA' 'sip-files00182.jpg'
9ecd4b9dd24d196dbdeeb7874c3f6a0e
dd505e50d0f63b526a9659ace13b08818322a253
describe
'31298' 'info:fdaE20080318_AAAAAZfileF20080319_AAAOXB' 'sip-files00182.QC.jpg'
84ae22de74dc98ad35927821e84b2544
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describe
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GOOD STORIES.

ILLUSTRATED.



LONDON:

WELLS GARDNER, DARTON & CO,
2, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS.






“TRIED AND TRUE."

LUCY HUTCHINSON.

the year 1619, when King James I.’s reion was
drawing to a close, our heroine, Lucy Apsley,
afterwards to become Lucy Hutchinson, was
born in the Tower of London, :

Her father, Sir Allen Apsley, was Lieutenant
of the Tower, a position of no little importance in those days,
when the Tower was used as a state prison, and the cells and
rooms were but too closely occupied. Those were troublous
times for England; poets, warriors, and nobles, as well as
country boors, were in turn committed to this prison.
Queen Elizabeth herself was during her sister Mary’s reign
a prisoner within these walls; and many were the great and
noble names who (less fortunate than the Maiden Queen)
only left their prison to suffer death on the little green of
Tower Hill. Sir Walter Raleigh was one of these. He
was for twelve years a prisoner in the Tower; but this
great man showed to the world that

“Stone walls do not a prison make, ~
Nor iron bars a cage.”



He used his cell as a study, and finding himself com-
pelled to retire from the world, he employed his leisure in
writing books, which at this very day are remarkable for

(221) A


2 “ Tried and True.”



the learning and knowledge they display. Besides this, he
made various experiments in chemistry, the materials for
which were provided by the generosity of the Lieutenant’s
wife, the Lady Apsley. In return for this and many other
services which Sir Walter received from the hands of his .
kind and humane keeper, he taught Lady Apsley all he knew
of surgery and the science of medicine, and by these means
she becamé skilful in the healing of wounds and concoct-
ing of simple remedies for the sick. It is said that she
was as a mother to all the prisoners that came to the
Tower. In sickness she would herself make them broth
and dainty dishes, and would minister to their wants with
her own hands; whilst those who were sick with sorrow—
and this was no uncommon disease amongst the Tower
-prisoners—she would console and comfort as best she could,
and endeavour to let them feel none of the inconvenience
of a prison.

We must not forget that the people who were sent to
the Tower were very different to the class of criminals who
now fill our jails. Instead of being people of bad character,
who had offended both God and man, the inmates of this
fortress were then, as a rule, people of exalted station and
gentle manners, and were generally imprisoned because
they were believed to be opposed to the Government of the
day; for at this time opinions that were in favour one
week were declared to be seditious and dangerous the next,
and a man who was once high in favour would suddenly
find himself deprived of liberty for crimes of which he was
often wholly unconscious.

No wonder, then, that the gentle wife of the keeper of
the Tower felt much womanly pity for the prisoners under
her husband’s charge; and when her daughter Lucy was
old enough, she would accompany her mother on her visits
of mercy to the various cells. A childhood passed amid
“ Tried and True.” 3

such scenes made an early woman of the little maid, She
says that at the age of four she could read English per-
fectly, whilst at seven years old she had eight tutors, who
taught her various languages, music, dancing, writing, and
needlework. . Naturally enough this child-woman did not
much care for other children ; their games and toys seemed
puerile to her who had already seen the dark side of life.
She appears indeed to have been most precocious in many
ways. Inthe short history of her life that she has left
behind her, she says that before she had reached her teens,
she was “the confidant in all the loves that were managed
among my mother’s young women;” and she quaintly adds,
“There was none of them but had many lovers.” When
Lucy had reached her seventeenth year, the moment arrived
when she was to have a lover of her own ; she had hitherto
cared little for notice or attention from the gallants of the
day ; probably the experience gained in childhood amongst
her mother’s young women had warned her that—

“Men were deceivers ever.”

But now a grave divinity student fell deeply in love with
her, and she on her part felt an equal affection for him.
The friends on both sides were pleased, and the course of
true love for once ran smoothly until the day of the be-
trothal, when Lucy, gentle pretty Lucy, sickened with the
small-pox. We in these days can hardly imagine what a
dreadful disease small-pox was before the discovery of vac-
cination, which has robbed it of half its terrors. At that
time thousands of persons died yearly of its ravages, and
those whose lives were spared were generally so disfigured
that they were repulsive to look upon. Such was Lucy’s
fate. When she recovered, she was, to use her own
words, “the most deformed person that could be seen.”
But John Hutchinson cared not for that; it was Lucy her-
4 “ Tried and True.”



self, not her face, that he loved. “He was little troubled
at it,” she writes, “but married her as soon as she was able
to quit the chamber, when the priest and all that saw her
were affrichted to look on her.” It is pleasing to know that
in time she regained her good looks, though it was some years
before she quite lost all traces of the malady.

The early years of Lucy’s married life were passed quietly
and happily, first in London, and then at her husband’s
house of Owthorpe, in Nottinghamshire. Two sons were
born, and Lucy then found her chief pleasure in the care of
her babies and the society of her husband. He was much
in his library, but those were troublous times for England,
and soon the books of “school divinity” had to be put aside,
and John Hutchinson set himself to understand the matters
in dispute between the King and the Parliament. Civil
war was then raging in our land; the people were divided
into Cavaliers and Roundheads, so called on account of the
different way in which the opposing armies wore their hair.
The Cavaliers, who belonged to the King’s party, were
adorned by the long flowing ringlets which we know so
well in the pictures of Charles II, whilst the Roundheads
prided themselves on keeping their hair short and close
cropped. Mr, Hutchinson decided in his mind that the
cause of the Parliament (or the Roundheads) was the most
righteous one; but he had no wish to be concerned with
the fighting on either side, and contented himself with
praying for peace. His wife, however, did not like the
term Roundhead to be given to her husband. She says:
“Tt was very ill applied to Mr. Hutchinson, who, having
naturally a very fine thick-set head of hair, kept it clean
and handsome, so that it was a great ornament to him,
although the godly of those days, when he embraced their
party, would not allow him to be religious because his hair
is not in their cut.” Zhe godly was a name by which the


“ Tried and True.” 5

Roundheads frequently called themselves; and such was
their bigotry, that it was deemed impossible for any one to
be considered godly who varied in any way, either in dress
or opinions, from the rules they had made.

John Hutchinson seems, however, whilst espousing the
cause of the Parliament, to have ever remained moderate
and humane; and in this he differed so much from the rest
of his party, that we are surprised to find him chosen as
the governor of the old castle of Nottingham, and from
henceforth he is always known as Colonel Hutchinson.
In his new post he displayed both courage and skill; the
castle, almost a ruin, is by his orders changed into a strong
fortress, and for five days and nights it is held successfully
against a large army of Cavaliers, who are at last driven
from the town with great losses.

Now is the time for Lucy to show of what stuff she is
made. She has now the opportunity of putting into practice
those lessons of surgery and medicine learnt as a little
child in that prim old fortress of the Tower. We will give
the historian’s own words on this matter :—

“There was a large room, which was the chapel, in the
castle; this they had filled full of prisoners, besides a very
bad prison, which was no better than a dungeon, called the
Lion’s Den. The new Captain Palmer and another minister,
having nothing else to do, walked up and down the castle
yard, insulting and beating the poor prisoners as they were
brought up. In the encounter one of the Derby captains
was slain and five of our men hurt, who, for want of another
surgeon, were brought to the governor's wife, and she having
some excellent balsams and plasters in her closet, with the
assistance of a gentleman that had some skill, dressed all
their wounds, whereof some were dangerous, being all shots,
with such good success that they were all well cured in con-
venient time. After our wounded men were dressed, as she


6 “ Tried and True.”

stood at her chamber door, seeing three of the prisoners
sorely cut, and carried down bleeding into the Lion’s Den,
she desired the marshal to bring them in to her, and bound
up and dressed their wounds also; which while she was
doing Captain Palmer came in and told her his soul ab-
horred to see this favour to the enemies of God. She replied,
she had done nothing but what she thought was her duty
in humanity to them as fellow-creatures, not as enemies.
But he was very ill satisfied with her.” Surely we have
improved in Christian charity since those narrow-minded
days. Now, like Lucy Hutchinson, we deem it a duty, nay,
a pleasure, to nurse and feed our prisoners, and make no
difference between them and the wounded of our own
people.

When peace was at length restored to this country,
Colonel Hutchinson and his brave wife returned in thank-
fulness to their country home at Owthorpe. They found if
plundered of all that could be moved, and the building
itself much damaged by the successive regiments that had
passed that way. This was unfortunately the case with
many other country houses, and Colonel Hutchinson wasted
no time in idle regrets, but set at once to work to restore his
home to its former comfort. He now led the useful life of an
English country gentleman. The poor of the neighbour-
hood ever found in him a trusty friend, one to whom they
could apply in all their troubles, and whose time and money
were ever at the service of those who most needed them.
In all his undertakings, Lucy was ever his helper and
wisest counsellor. She was as willing to assist with the
laying out of a cottage garden as she had formerly been to
succour the wounded; nothing that could help a fellow-
creature came amiss to her womanly heart, and both she
and her husband were greatly beloved by all their neigh-
bours. Yet there were those who regarded with disfavour


“ Tried and True.” 7



that quiet household at Owthorpe. The Puritans (to which
party the Hutchinsons nominally belonged) looked with
suspicion and dislike on the family where innocent joys
and open hospitality were daily indulged in; while, on the
other hand, the Cavaliers could not forget or forgive the
persevering way in which the Colonel had held Nottingham
Castle against the fierce attacks of their soldiery.

For a time, however, the Hutchinsons were left undis-
turbed in their retired life, occupying themselves chiefly
with draining and planting the estate, and thus giving
employment to many labourers who otherwise would have
suffered great hardships. Other children were born to
them, and their two eldest sons grew up to man’s estate,
and showed themselves not unworthy of their parents.

The Restoration, however, brought about a new order of
things, and now the gallant defender of Nottingham Castle
is summoned to London to appear before his enemies.
Colonel Hutchinson seems to have been little surprised at
this command, but prepared cheerfully to obey the sum-
mons; and having a presentiment that he should never
return to his happy Nottinghamshire home, he called
together his labourers, and paid them off with kind words
of farewell. They, honest fellows, wept bitterly at the
thought of losing their good and generous master, but he
comforted them with a smiling resignation; and, accom-
panied as he had ever been by his devoted wife, he entered
his coach and left Owthorpe, never to return.

The journey to London took four long days; sad and
dreary ones they must have been to the loving wife who
was so soon to be separated from him whom she had
devotedly followed during five-and-twenty years of good

and evil days. Yet through them all the Colonel was |

cheerful, nay, almost merry, telling his wife “It would
blemish his innucence for her to appear afflicted, and if she
8 “ Tyted and True.”

had but patience to wait the event, she would see it was all
for the best, and bade her be thankful for the mercy that
she was permitted this comfort to accompany him in the
journey.”

The journey ended at the Tower Gates, and here, in the
fortress where Lucy had first seen the light, was Colonel
Hutchinson imprisoned.

It was a bitter parting for the poor wife, and none the
less bitter that she knew the harsh and exacting character
of the present governor of the Tower.

Lucy’s father had long since gone to his rest, and bad
times had arisen for the prisoners. All things within the
walls were now changed, and there was no longer any care
or thought for the unhappy captives, except indeed the con-
sideration of how much money could be wrung out of them.
Colonel Hutchinson’s room was in the Bloody Tower; it was
said to be the very room in which the young King Edward
V. and his brother had been so foully murdered by their
uncle’s orders, and just below was the chamber in which the
Duke of Clarence had suffered death by being drowned in
a cask of wine; so that that portion of the building certainly
deserved its name.

It was some time before Mrs. Hutchinson was allowed to
visit her husband, who was as strictly guarded as if he had
been some violent malefactor instead of an English gentle-
man who had served his country to the best of his ability.
He was frequently brought before his judges, and at last was
sentenced to be imprisoned in the Isle of Man. This, to
the poor wife, sounded as dreadful as banishment to New
Zealand would appear to us, and she used all her influence
to get the place of his imprisonment changed to one in a less
unknown spot. She was so far successful that Sandown Castle
in Kent was finally chosen for her husband’s prison, and
certainly a more wretched spot could scarcely have been




“ Tried and True.” 9



found. The castle stands about a mile from the town of
Deal, on a low, flat, marshy shore, and every tide washed
the foot of the castle walls. Naturally enough this made
the rooms damp, whilst a broken roof and dilapidated
walls completed the wretchedness of this dwelling. Still
the Colonel kept up a brave heart, though every indignity was
heaped upon him, and a low-minded man (also a prisoner)
was lodged in his room. His faithful wife begged hard to
be allowed to share his prison, but her loving request was
rudely refused. She was, however, permitted to visit him
during the day; so she and her eldest son and daughter
took lodgings at Deal, and every day, through the rains of
winter or the scorching summer sun, did the heavy-hearted
trio trudge the weary road from Deal to visit the patient
prisoner. They endeavoured, also, as far as lay in their
power, to provide amusement for the lagging hours, which
must doubtless have seemed doubly long to one who, like
Colonel Hutchinson, had previously lived so much of his
life in the open air. His wife and daughter picked up, on
their daily walk to Sandown, the common shells which lay
scattered on the sands, and these the Colonel would arrange
and classify with a simple pleasure, in the same spirit as at

Owthorpe he had taken delight in his beautiful collection —

of agates and onyxes. These Kentish cockles were, it is
true, common and worthless in the ordinary estimation of
things, but they were, notwithstanding, the creation of
the same God who had formed the ruby and the diamond,
and not less worthy than these of man’s admiration and
study.

This was, however, merely the diversion of his leisure
hours. His chief occupation was the study of God’s book,
the Bible; and though his wife had, with some pains, ob-
tained one or two of his favourite volumes for him to
amuse himself with, he thanked her much, but told her

(221) A2
10 “ Tried and True.”
“that as long as he lived in prison he would read nothing
there but his Bible.”

After eleven months of this life, Mrs. Hutchinson was
obliged to leave her husband to make arrangements for her
younger children, who remained at Owthorpe. She quitted
him with many forebodings, dreading lest, during her
absence, he might be shipped off to some “ barbarous place.”
It is, however, invariably the unexpected that happens. It
was no rude jailer who carried the Colonel from his wife’s
sight, but God’s gentlest angel. The Angel of Death came
for the prisoner, and bore him far away from this world of
strifes and dungeons. His last words were, “Alas! how
will she be surprised!” and then with a gentle sigh his
spirit fled.

As soon as possible the news of his death was sent to
Owthorpe, and the Colonel’s two eldest sons and all his
household servants, with a hearse and six horses, went to
the prison, and after some difficulty obtained permission to
convey Colonel Hutchinson’s body to the family vault at
Owthorpe.

Thus ended the life of a good and brave Englishman.

We may not agree with his political opinions, and we
must certainly regret that he should ever have been so
mistaken as to consent to sign the death-warrant of his
lawful sovereign, King Charles I.; but, nevertheless, we
cannot but feel as we read his life that, whether in bright or
dark days, he was ever a mau strict in duty and patient in
suffering. Above all, he displayed a childlike gladness of
heart amid his many trials, and his religion was ever gentle
and loving—a rare quality in those days of narrow creeds
and religious intolerance. And Lucy, his devoted wife, a
fitting helpmeet, what became of her? She long survived
ber husband and ever mourned his memory—not idly, with
clasped hands and useless tears, but wisely and lovingly.
“ Tried and True.” II



She erected a monument to his memory, and not content
with graving his virtues on senseless stone, she fixed them
firmly in the hearts of her children, so that they grew up
endeavouring to imitate as well as revere the actions of
their father. She wrote a history of his life for their
benefit, and this book is one of the best of our English
biographies. It is from its pages that this simple story has
been taken.

MADAME DE LAVALETTE,

On the return of the Bourbons to the throne of France
after the battle of Waterloo, the Count de Lavalette was
imprisoned on the accusation of being an accomplice in
_Bonaparte’s treason against the royal authority.

As there was no hope of the captive being liberated
alive, Madame de Lavalette proposed to her husband a
desperate scheme of escape disguised in female apparel.
Lavalette was at first disposed to reject the idea as utterly
“impracticable, but the tears and anguish of his wife induced
him finally to consent to it.

It wanted only forty-eight hours to the time appointed
for his execution, when this devoted, though almost heart-
broken, woman presented herself in her sedan chair at the
prison, requesting to be permitted to bid a last farewell to
her husband. Her young daughter was with her, and the
guards permitted them to pass on with looks of sympathy
for the anguish before them.

Madame de Lavalette was clad from head to foot in one of
the rich pelisses which noble ladies wore in that day, while
on her head was the towering erection of silk and feathers
which did duty as a bonnet; underneath these garments,
12 * Tried and True.”



which she shortly intended handing over to her husband,
she wore her usual indoor dress.

There was little time to be lost when once she had been
ushered into the prisoner’s cell; a few words more were
needed to induce the Count to allow his wife to incur the
risk of abetting his escape, a trembling adjustment of the
cloak and bonnet, a fond committal of her treasure to God,
and a recapitulation of directions, and then the brave woman
gave directions to poor little Josephine, who had already
been much agitated by bidding adieu for ever, as she thought,
to papa. The mother had intended to dismiss the child
before the critical moment of escape arrived, but now she
thought that ber presence might direct the attention of the
guards away from the disguised man, and with that view
she retained her to accompany her father out of the prison.

When Lavalette was dressed in the disguise provided
for him, the mother asked Josephine—

“What do you think of your papa?”

The poor little girl only smiled sadly.

“But will he do, dear?” demanded the anxious wife,
obliged at last to make a confidante of the young girl and
to claim her assistance at this agonising crisis.

“Not very badly,” said the child, but her tones were not
hopeful.

Then Lavalette charged the brave woman he was leaving
in the prison to go behind the screen in his room, and make
some little noise as if moving the furniture, so that the
jailer might imagine the prisoner was there still when his
visitors had left.

After that there was but time for one hasty adieu, and
the prison doors were unlocked, and the relatives of the
condemned man must leave him to his fate. Out went
first Lavalette himself, greatly embarrassed by the strange
dress and nodding feathers which were meant to personate
“ Tried and True.” 13



his wife, but treading calmly, daring all for the sake of life
and liberty and dear ones. After him stepped his little girl,
her face pale with terror.

In the next room he had to face a file of five seated
jailers. Of course he was holding his handkerchief to his
eyes ; but, to make matters more alarming, poor little trem-
bling Josephine forgot her mother’s directions, and walked
on the wrong side of her father. She should have been
between him and the jailer; instead of which, the man came
up as usual close to the supposed lady and laid his hand
on her arm, a token of sympathy at the parting he supposed
had taken place.

“ You leave early to-night, madame?” he said; but neither
the disguised man nor his daughter dare answer a word.
Happily the jailer put it down to their intense grief.

Then they arrived at a closed door, where sat the jailer
who kept the keys. He looked steadily at Lavalette,
but presently unlocked the gates, and they were outside
the prison.

But not safe! There was a staircase of twelve steps to
traverse to reach a court where the sedan-chair was waiting
for the fugitive, and at the foot of the steps stood twenty
soldiers with an officer at their head, within three paces,
waiting to see Madame de Lavalette go by. That was-an awful
moment! Lavalette and the child got into the chair, but a
bearer had failed. A sentry was staring at him, on whom
Lavalette also fixed his eye, determining, on the least sign
of suspicion or agitation, to wrest his musket from him and
defend his recovered liberty unto death. Just then, how-
ever, his faithful servant appeared, and the chair was taken
up and carried down a street or two. When it stopped, a
gentleman—Monsieur Baudres—came forward, and offering
his arm to the supposed lady, said aloud, “ Madame, you
know you have a visit to make to the President.” The
14 “ Tried and True.”

chair porters had yet to be kept in ignorance of the burden
they carried.

In a little dark street close oe stood a cabriolet, into
which Lavalette now sprang, dashing away for dear life.

Poor Josephine stood watching her father for a moment
with clasped hands, praying for his safety; and then, when
she had lost sight of him, she got into the sedan-chair by
herself, Very shortly after it was stopped and searched for
the escaped prisoner ; but finding only the child in it, it was
speedily abandoned.

Lavalette discovered that the driver of the cabriolet was
his friend the Count de Chassenon, and M. Baudres soon
joined them again. The fur cloak and bonnet were changed
in transit for a groom’s dress; and when the party alighted
from the cabriolet, Lavalette found he was to be hidden in
the very house of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Duke
de Richelieu. A strange place of safety, and one to which
he was indebted to the kindness of the wife of the cashier,
Madame de Brisson, who, while he remained there, literally
stole food from her own table for him, it being necessary to
conceal his existence in the house from all save a very
chosen few.

From the windows of his room Lavalette could hear the
price of his apprehension and the denunciations on those
who harboured him shouted by the town-criers.

Assisted by some Englishmen, Lavalette at last escaped
from Paris disguised as a British general. He passed through
many dangers before he found himself safely out of French
territory, finally taking refuge in Switzerland.

Some may wish to know how fared Madame de Lavalette
after the success of her daring scheme. No sooner was her
husband beyond the gates of the prison than the jailer
peeped as usual into the room, but hearing some one be-
hind the screen, went out satisfied. He returned in five
“ Tyted and True.” 15

minutes, however, and still perceiving no one, pushed.aside
a leaf of the screen, and seeing only Madame de Lavalette,
gave a loud cry and ran towards the door. She flew to
prevent him, and in her despair held his coat so tightly
that he left part of it in her hands.

“You have ruined me, madame,” he exclaimed in his
rage; and then burst from her, crying, “ The prisoner has
escaped’ [e

Immediately the closest and widest ssaaeh was made for
the captive. Mounted gendarmes galloped wildly about,
passing even the cabriolet in which Lavalette was seated ;
but to no effect. Paris was baffled.

Madame de Lavalette was questioned, reproached, in-
sulted, an kept in harsh captivity for some time. The
poor thing, in weak health, and now in a perpetual agony
of suspense lest her husband should be retaken, suffered so
severely at this time that her mind failed her; and though
in after years she was restored to her husband, and he en-
deavoured by the tenderest care to make up for her past.
terrors and sufferings, she never entirely enjoyed her
former health. Still, as her husband said, she was ever
good, gentle, and amiable, and able to find enjoyment in
the country. After an exile of six years, Lavalette was
pardoned and allowed to return to France. It is pleasant .
to add, after this tale of trouble, that little Josephine
grew up and married happily, passing the later years of
her life in a calmer atmosphere than she had known in
youth,
16 “ Tried and True.”

A HOSPITAL NURSE.

HAvE you ever heard of the town of Walsall in Stafford-
shire? Nearly all the men there are employed in coal or
iron mines, or in the great foundries where the iron is
wrought into shape. Many accidents naturally befall them
in this their daily work. Broken bones, burns, and scalds
of a terrible nature are perhaps among the most frequent of
these ills. It was soon found to be inconvenient, as well
as cruel, that these poor sufferers should be sent all the
way to Birmingham to the hospitals. So in the year 1863
a Cottage Hospital was established in Walsall, and a lady
called “Sister Dora” was placed in charge of it.

There was no flourish of drums or trumpets when the
little hospital was opened. No one knew much about
Sister Dora, who with one friend, an old servant, managed
the entire concern—not much, at least, beyond the fact
that she was a real lady, who for love of sick people had
left her own comfortable pleasant home. But by-and-by
people lying ill in dismal alleys, and miners struck down
suddenly by some accident, found that a quiet sunny-faced
woman asked permission to enter their houses. And she
invariably brought with her hope and comfort. She did
not say, “This broken limb must be bandaged; this angry
wound must be bathed and attended to;” but she got out
the bandages and fetched the kettle of water, and never left
the poor sufferer till he was eased and refreshed. Then
she would hurry back to her hospital home. There were
eight beds at first in it, but there were sixteen and twenty
very shortly afterwards. Besides this, there was a crowd of
out-patients pressing daily for her attention. Sister Dora
had not been brought up to this life. She had had very
little to do with sick people till now, but she was determined
“ Tried and True.” iF

to learn all she could of doctoring and nursing, so as best
to help her poor friends in Walsall. Her own words at
this time were, “Nobody could possibly be more ignorant
than I was; I had everything to learn.” Yet in a very
few years she became so clever in surgery that she could
bandage a broken leg, draw teeth, and plaster broken heads
as well as the doctor himself.

She possessed at the same time one more valuable quality
still, that of being able to make everybody trust her. In
a very short time her patients came almost to adore her.
Rough men and lads, they had never in their lives had such
a sweet bright-faced woman moving about their sick-beds,
doing the commonest work in such tender cheerful fashion
as almost to make it seem that an angel had come down to
comfort them in their trouble. The little hospital which
saw the beginning of Sister Dora’s work in Walsall soon
became too small for the increasing needs of that great
town, and a larger hospital was built on a hill called “ The
Mount.” To this Sister Dora contributed liberally in money,
but that was little compared to her after gifts—her work
and her life. The larger hospital contained twenty-eight
beds in three large wards, so arranged that the sister could
read prayers and be heard in all the three wards at one
and the same time. The windows of the building looked
on a fair-sized lawn and garden, where vegetables and
shrubs managed to grow in spite of bleak winds and per-
petual smoke, and beyond all this somewhat tarnished
greenery stood out boldly the tall chimneys and great work-
shops on which her patients gazed familiarly as the scenes
to which they would return when restored to health, One
more interesting object too met their eyes, the line of the
South Staffordshire Railway, and many a sick man, especi-
ally such as belonged in any way to the railroad, amused
himself in watching the trains whiz by, and in speculating
18 “ Tried and True.”



whether Jack or Bill were driving the engine. Jack and
Bill too knew all about the eager white faces pressed
against those hospital windows, and each had his special
whistle by which he might be known.

And so Sister Dora was comfortably settled at last in her
new hospital, with her own good helper and servant Mrs. H.,
and two under-servants to do the scrubbing and cooking.

Terrible cases were sometimes brought to that house on
the hill. One fine healthy young man came with his arm
so torn and mangled by a machine that the doctor declared
the arm must be taken off immediately. The poor fellow
looked first at the doctor and then at the Sister; and seeing,
as he thought, something in her face that gave him hope,
he cried out earnestly, “Oh, Sister, save my arm for me;
it’s my right arm!” Working men and women know what
aright arm means to a poor man. It means the power of
making a living in this busy, pushing world of ours.
Sister Dora had meantime looked the young fellow well
over, and noticed his clear eyes and strong frame. She
could save his arm, she fancied, if she might only try. The
doctor thought her mad to dream of such a thing. But the
poor lad hopefully clung to the suggestion. He was not
afraid of pain, but he was afraid of being crippled in his
youth, At last the doctor gave in so far as to say to the
Sister, “Well, remember it’s your arm; if you choose to
have the young man’s death on your conscience, I shall not
interfere, but I wash my hands of him. Don’t think I’m
going to help you.” After that speech a weaker woman
would have given in; but Sister Dora was anything but
weak, and she set. to work with a-will to save her arm.
For three weeks she watched and tended it day and night.
Do not think she was not cruelly anxious, strong-hearted
though she was. “How I prayed over that arm!” she
used to say afterwards. At the end of a month she way-
“ Trted and True.” 19



laid the doctor and displayed to him “her arm,” straightened,
healing, and in a fair way to become as good an arm as the
uninjured one. “Why, you have saved it!” said the good
man, “and it will be a useful arm to him for many a long
year yet.” Sister Dora was bursting with joy and thank-
fulness; she went away and cried, she was so happy.
“Sister's arm” they called this man in the hospital. As
you may imagine, he became one of his nurse’s most faith-
ful admirers. She would not let him go back to his work
till he was completely cured. Even after that he seized
every opportunity to come up to the hospital and “let
Sister have a look at his arm,” a proceeding which merely
meant that he wanted to have a look at the woman who
had done so much for him.

Many of the Sister’s patients were not decent young
fellows like this, but drunken brawlers, who in a street
fight would get badly knocked about, and at any hour of
the night would make their way to the hospital and ring
the bell which stood over her bed-head. Then the Sister
would rise, saying to herself, “The Master calleth for thee,”
and flinging on her clothes, cap, and apron, would hasten
down to let in her visitors. Not pleasant ones perhaps,
but she would dress their wounds and sew up their cuts as
gently and carefully as possible. Then, when they were a
little more comfortable and sobered, she asked them “ why
they did not behave like respectable members of society in-
stead of fighting in the streets, and then getting her up at
unearthly hours of the night to mend their broken heads
and bones ?”

When in hospital she always endeavoured to make an
impression on these poor drunkards. One lad, brought in
with a badly broken limb, the result of a drunken fray,
faithfully promised her for the future never to touch drink
any more. On his first day out of hospital he forgot him-
20 “ Tried and True.”



self and came back very drunk, reeling up against the
Sister herself. She laid her head down on the table and
cried bitterly. But she was seldom so cruelly disappointed
as this. Many men openly said that they owed the begin-
ning of a better life to the time spent in hospital with
Sister Dora. She not only gave general care and advice
to all, but she went separately to each, praying for a man
by his own bedside, and assuring him that even when he
had left the hospital she should still go on caring for him.
Neither was it all prayer and serious talk; as I have told
you before, she was a woman of a sunny nature, whose
jokes and laughter rippled like a stream in the hospital
wards. “She'd make you laugh when you were dying!”
said a big Irishman, delighted with his cheery nurse.

No bad words or low conversation, however, were tolerated
by this happy-natured woman. One man badly hurt swore
terribly the whole time she was attending-to his wounds.
“Stop that!” she said, shortly and sharply. The man did
stop, but began again as the pain came on afresh. “What's
the good of that?” said Sister Dora; “that won’t make
it easier to bear.” “No, but I must say something when
it comes so bad on me, Sister.” “Very well then; say,
‘Poker and tongs!’” she answered, and ever after that if
the Sister, walking up and down her ward, heard low mutter-
ings coming from that bed, she would call out, “ Poker and
tongs, mind! nothing else.” Another day, in the out-
patients’ room, a pretty baby girl was brought to her with
a badly set arm which would not mend. When the Sister
began to undo the bandage the tiny thing broke out into
a torrent of curses. The man who had carried the child to
the hospital put his hand over her lips, saying, “Sister
must not hear such words,” and would have silenced her
more roughly if the Sister had not stopped him. Alas! it
ig much to be feared that the small creature had learned
“ Tried and True,” aI



the language from him, though he had the decency to be
ashamed of it before a good woman. When the child had
gone, Sister Dora turned to the other out-patients, rough
men and women too, and asked them with flashing eyes,
“Which was worse, that she should hear such language,
or that innocent baby lips should be taught to repeat it?”
Some of the patients slunk away, feeling guilty and crest-
fallen, and let us hope determined to keep a guard over
their lips for the future.

But Sister Dora was not one to condemn a sinner.
She generally found some gentler way of bringing him to
a sense of his misdeeds. A patient gave her much trouble
by trying to throw contempt on the religious observances
of the hospital, talking during prayers, and rustling a news-
paper to the disturbance of the rest. He was discontented
too, and a grumbler, who infected the others in the ward
with his complaints. As it happened, he took a bad turn
and became very ill, and Sister Dora, always ready for
the hardest work, sat by his bed’ night after night, turning
his pillows, supporting the poor racked body, and trying in
every way to relieve his suffering. He never thanked her,
but one night he suddenly said, “I hope they pay you well
for this.” “Yes,” she replied, “very well.” “Come now,”
he went on, “what do they give you; I really want to
know?” And then Sister Dora told him that she nursed the
sick for her Master’s sake, and that her payment was the com-
forting of the bodies of His poor, the saving of their souls for
Him. No earthly gold went into her pocket for this loving
service. The man said little then, but afterwards, instead
of being noisy at prayers, he actually went so far as to say
Amen to them, meaning to please Sister Dora. What was
better, he tried to give as little trouble as he could for the
rest of the time that he continued in the hospital.

It is not every one who has so much bodily strength at
a0 “ Tried and True.”

command as Sister Dora was gifted with. She possessed,
too, the largest share of good spirits and merriment ever
probably bestowed upon woman. One minute she laughed
so much while relating some anecdote concerning her
sick, that one might almost think she must be heartless,
yet the next she was choking with tears over the mention
of some deserted children found starving in a lonely house
with their dead mother. There was a poor servant girl
in the hospital who had lost her leg by the old foolish
trick of playing with a gun that she thought was unloaded.
She was very deaf, and when Sister Dora put her lips close
to her ear, the girl threw her arm round her neck, and
pulled her down to kiss her, in a way that made one feel
ashamed of ever thinking the Sister unfeeling. Sister Dora
had other patients than servant girls, however. At this
very time she was nursing a young man brought to her at
midnight, having cut his own throat after attempting his
sweetheart’s life in the same way. The doctors were all
with the poor girl, and when the young fellow was found,
and brought to the hospital, only the Sister was there; the
man was all but dead, so they laid him in the hall, and
thought there was an end of it, but Sister Dora did not
think so, She sewed up his wound, and presently he began
to breathe, so that by-and-by he could be moved into a
bed. Once there she took him in hand body and soul,
though a policeman watched him also day and night, and
when on his recovery he was sent to prison, she wrote him
several letters, begging him to behave well, and avoid bad
company, and promising when he should leave the prison
to lend him a helping hand.

But I must tell you how much the Sister loved little
children, and how well she managed them. She felt like a
mother to such as were brought to her hospital, not liking
to trust them to any one’s care but her own, constantly tak-
“ Tried and True.” 23

ing one, sometimes two children into her own bed, and once
sleeping with a burnt baby on each arm! You, who know
what it is to soothe and comfort one sick child, may guess how
clever the person must be who could attempt this. One
day a little girl nine years old was carried to the hospital
so terribly burnt that to look at her was to see that cure was
impossible. She was very quiet; there was no suffering now,
but the child was frightened at the strange weakness she
felt creeping over her. Perhaps she guessed it meant the
approach of death. It was a case for quieting and comfort-
ing, as Sister Dora at once saw, so she gave over her other
patients to her helpers, and sat by the bed of the dying child,
telling her about the loving Jesus and the happy heaven
. above, in which He waited for little children, till the poor
little thing left off trembling, and looking wistfully at the
flowers on the table in the ward, murmured, “ When you
come to heaven, Sister, I’ meet you at the gates with a
bunch of flowers.” And so she died. A boy of ten with

a diseased arm she kept happy and cheerful, by making him ~
of use in fetching the various articles she needed when go-
ing her rounds, such as cotton-wool bandages, old linen, and
so forth, One day his poor arm pained him so that he
remained in bed crying softly under the clothes. This
would do no good, his kind friend knew. So she bustled
about her work, collecting her own materials, but saying so
that he could hear it, “How I do miss Sam!” ‘The tears
ceased immediately, Sam dressed himself in all haste, and
came to help his dear mistress. ‘“ Now then, Sam, what do
you recommend for this patient ?” Sister Dora would ask,
half in fun. But Sam was always ready with a grave answer,
and sometimes a right one. “Iodine paint,” he would say,
or perhaps “ Zinc ointment.” He had seen these things
used very often, and had got to know all about them. Of
course Sister Dora nicknanied him “ Doctor:” she gave all
24 “ Tried and True.”



her patients names of some sort; if amused them, and made
a little fun in the sick-room.

“ Cockney” was a London boy with a leg hurt in a coal-
pit; “ King Charles” was a man whose face reminded the
Sister of the picture of Charles the First—he had that name
written on the egg brought up for his breakfast. Then there
were Darkey, and Pat, and Stumpy, who all knew their names
and answered to them. I really must put in here a letter
she wrote to her dear patients in the hospital when she
was away from them for many weeks, nay months, nursing
even worse sufferers than themselves, those stricken with
small-pox. . Here it is. Remember it is written to men,
women, and children, all sorts of people :—

“My DEAR CHILDREN,—What did you say to your
mother running away? I dared not tell you, and I could
not trust myself to come and bid you good-bye. You know
how I love you all and care for you, and it is for this
very love that I have left you. The small-pox was spread-
ing in the town, and might have spread to your wives and
families ; the patients would not come to this hospital until
they heard I would nurse them, and then they were all
willing tocome. There is not one who has come in that does
not know me. I have got a lad here who is always wanting
something just to keep me by his side. Tell my Irish
friend in the corner, that I have a country-woman of his,
and she is the plague of my life. Tells such accounts of
cases of small-pox as would make your hair stand on end—
how a cat can take it from one ward toanother. Tell John
Dawson that to-morrow afternoon Sister must give him some
paper, and he is to write me a letter, with a message from
each of my children, and with it to send word how his foot
is. Remember me to Isaac; he is not to leave ‘the Darkey’
too much. ‘ Everlasting’ is not to dance about. ‘ Delicate
Man’ is to tell me how he sleeps, and if he does not miss me
“ Tried and True.” 25

to arrange his leg and look after him. Tell my Irishman
I miss his blessing—the man by the door: I will soon come
and starch him (ae, his leg). Mr. Baker, I hope, is atten-
tive to his duties and has broken no more pink cups. I hope
‘Leg’ is getting on grandly, not sitting up toolong; ‘ Head’
is better; and ‘Thumb’ easier; ‘ Michael’ is as contented
as ever. What shall I say to my beloved Sam? I wish I
had my boy here. I send him twenty kisses, and hope he
has been at church to-day and in time. He must not sulk
all the time I am away. I have two blessed babies who
alternately keep up music all day and night accompanied
by my Irishman’s tongue, so I am not dull. Have you
been singing to-day? You must sing, particularly ‘Safe in
the arms of Jesus, and think of me. Living or dying, I am
His. Oh, my children, you all love me for the very little I
do for you; but oh, if you would only think what Jesus
has done, and is doing for you, your hearts would soon be
full of love for Him, and’ you would all choose Him for
your Master. Now whilst you are on your beds read and
study His life; see the road He went, and follow Him. I
know you all want to go to heaven, but wishing will not
get you there. You must choose now in this life; you can-
not choose hereafter when you die. That great multitude
St. John saw round the throne had washed their robes and
made them white in the blood of the Lamb, which was shed
for each one of you. God loves you; I know it by His
letting you get hurt, and bringing you to the hospital. ‘As
many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.’ Think over these
things, my dear children; your mother is thinking of you
and praying for you. And if it please God you should
never see her again, will you make up your minds to walk
in the narrow way, so that we may all meet in the green
fields above? May God bring you all safe there, is the
earnest prayer of your faithful friend, Sister Dora.”
26 “ Tried and True.”

I have given you the whole of this letter, because I think
it best explains to you, not alone Sister Dora’s work, but
her character. She tells you in it why for the moment she
had changed the place of her labours; but she does not make
you fully realise the sort of hospital she has now under-
taken. On the outskirts of the town of Walsall it stood,
its only scenery huge cinder-heaps, its only neighbours the
poorest and most wretched you could find, At the first
sight of the spot even brave Sister Dora shuddered and said
to the surgeon who conducted her there, “ Take me back, I
cannot bear this dreadful place.” But he knew better, and
answered, “Come in.” And she came, never going out
again till she had learned to call it “ That dear Small-Pox
Hospital!” She was a woman, you see, who always did
her work so well, that in time she musé come to love it.

The twenty-eight beds were soon filled with sick people
in every stage of that dreadful disease; her helpers here
were two workhouse old women to do the washing, and the
porter, an old man who, though kind and attentive when
sober, had a habit of too often going off “on the drink.” It
would not do, however, to be too particular, as it was not
every one who dare undertake work in a small-pox
hospital ; so Sister Dora put up cheerfully with every one’s
shortcomings, and did not complain in a hurry. Her bed-
room was a tiny chamber between the two great wards of
sick. Her patients, coming chiefly from among the lowest
class in the town, were dreadfully dirty, and could only
have their faces and hands washed because they were so
ill; but the Sister does not mind. She says, “I cannot
get a decent woman to come and help, though we pay well.
One man is so delirious, I cannot keep my eye off him or
else he is out of bed.” He did get away once, and Sister
Dora thought he had run home, but they found him in an
empty ward. Another woman was so wild with the fever
“ Tried and True.” 27

that it took the porter as well as Sister Dora to hold her
down. The Sister’s letters are so delightful to read, and
they tell you so much about her work, in plain, simple lan-
guage, that I should have liked you tohear them all. How-
ever, I must give you some more extracts from them. This
is to a friend of her own :—

“You would laugh to see me washing my babies. Poor
things, they are smothered in pox! I am obliged to put
them into a warm bath. They are getting quite fond of me..
We have all the washing to do beside the night-nursing.
Iam writing this while waiting for my potatoes to boil.
My bedroom and sitting-room is getting to look quite gay
with flowers. I find time to read to my patients. They
have scarcely ever heard of Jesus, and they are so ill they
cannot attend to much. I have no one to speak to, no time
to read for myself, and my letters are my only company at
meal-time.” To another friend she says:—“I have got a
servant the plague of my life. It is good to have some
cross, so I take her as such.” And later comes the news,
“The servant walked off this afternoon, and went drinking,
actually, in the middle of washing! It is now past seven,
and she left me at two, and a boy raving. I am sure he
will die, poor fellow.” Her porter, too, was often “at his
tricks,” as Sister Dora called it, and once left all alone with
a big, strong, delirious man, she had a hand-to-hand struggle
with him to force him back into bed, and hold him there
till the doctor came.

When the last day of April found her yet in the hospital
(she came there in February), she writes :—“I am stilla
prisoner, surounded by lepers. I do feel so thankful that
I came. ... I have had time and opportunity to spread
the ‘glad tidings’ to many an ignorant soul who has been
brought in here. I was quite touched the other night when
one little boy said, ‘Please tell me some more of Jesus,’
28 ; “ Tried and True.”



and his face lighted up as he -caught the idea of the
wonderful redemption, and said, ‘Did He really die for me ?’
I thank God daily for my life here. I feel He sent me,
and He has blessed it to my own soul; and I hope from
henceforth that I shall indeed serve Him better, and be more
zealous and earnest in winning souls for Christ. Oh, how
sorry we shall be (if there be sorrow in heaven) if we should
enter in at the gate, and enjoy ourselves to all eternity, to
think how little we did to help others on the narrow way.
When I think of it I feel as if I could be all day long on
my knees praying for poor sinners; and I am overwhelmed
with regret when I think of the hours I have wasted, the
souls that have come and gone out of the hospital, and
that I have not led to Christ. I thank Him for sparing my
life a little longer, that 1 may do better.”

Till the middle of August Sister Dora remained at her
post, and then the last patient departed, the small-pox
epidemic vanished out of the town, and she returned thank-
fully to her own work in the Cottage Hospital. Hard work
that was too; if not quite such trying or solitary work as
the Small-Pox Hospital involved, it was sometimes quite as
appalling. In the October of that very same year a fearful
accident happened near Walsall. An explosion took place
in some iron-works, and in a moment eleven men were
covered with the molten metal. In their terror and pain
they jumped into a canal that ran close by, from which they
were with difficulty rescued, and borne all, save one, to
Sister Dora's hospital, Such an incoming was surely never
seen there! All but very serious cases were turned into
the passages to make room for the poor burnt creatures,
who cried, “ Water! Water!” in their agony. Some were
already dying, others begging the Sister pitifully to dress
them first, they were so bad. She answered tenderly, “ Oh,
my poor men, I'll dress you all if you'll give me time.”
“ Tried and True.” 29



One poor fellow, seeing her perplexity, hushed his moans
to say, “Sister Dora, I want to be dressed very bad, but if
there’s any wants you worse, go and do them first.” And
then this unselfish sufferer was turned on his face; he was
burnt so badly he could only lie thus, and died in the night!
Another died in two days’ time, some lingered ten days ;
only two of the number recovered.

During all this sad time Sister Dora never left her patients,
never went to bed even; many people offered to help her |
and really meant to do so, but the foul air of the ward
drove them away faint and sick, if the horrors of the scene
did not do so, It is said that many of the poor fellows
were more like charred logs of wood than human beings.
One of the survivors tells of Sister Dora going from bed to
bed talking, laughing, even joking with the poor men, tell-
ing them stories to divert their pain, feeding them, comfort-
ing them, and always pointing out to them the way to
heaven. “ What we felt for her,” adds the man, “ I couldn’t
tell you, my tongue won’t say it.” Every time he pro-
nounced her name, he pulled his forelock, as though it were
of some saint or angel that he spoke. Sister Dora called
him “Burnty.” It was twelve months before he did another
stroke of work, and then she paid for a special pair of boots
for the shrivelled, distorted feet.

I do not think I have told you a story which will show
you how clever Sister. Dora was in small surgical cases.
One day a boy came to her, having just chopped off one of
his fingers. “Where's the finger?” inquired Sister Dora,
quietly. “It’s at home,” replied the lad. “You stupid
fellow! go and fetch it this moment, and mind you are
quick.” Off he hurried, returning with the missing tip,
when Sister Dora pieced it on, bound it up, and in process
of time it healed perfectly, and became good for use.
Amongst her hospital patients it was her sunshiny face
30 “ Tried and True.”



and ready wit that first gained her a hearing, and once
dear to her patients, it was easy to slip in the more serious
words. Never, however, did Sister Dora try to cram religion
down the throats of her poor sick, she would patiently wait
for what seemed to be the right moment for speaking of
holy things.

A patient who had never thought much of his soul or of
the world to come, woke one night to find Sister Dora
kneeling by his bedside, and praying softly, yet fervently
for his salvation. He was deeply touched; her great love
and his own apathy forced themselves upon his attention.
Many men who came into the hospital unbelievers or
scoffers,; went out convinced that Jesus was the Christ, and
it was the example of this one faithful servant of His that
had worked upon them. As we have seen before, Sister
Dora was a firm believer in the power of prayer; she
always read prayers aloud in the ward, even if most of the
patients had fallen asleep. “The prayers go up for them
all the same,” she would say. She fully believed that
what she prayed for would be granted, and if a poor fellow
were brought to the hospital insensible from an accident,
and unlikely to recover his senses, “ Well,” she would say,
“we must pray.” And by-and-by, when every one else was
in bed and sleeping, she would herself steal up to the
dying man, and make her petition by his bedside. Her old
servant who slept near her says she used to hear her pray-
ing aloud for hours at night. No wonder that in the day
her face shone with the light of these vigils, the light that
is neither of the sun nor of the moon, but comes straight
from the throne of God.

And now I must skip a great deal of the story of Sister
Dora’s working days to tell you of those when she too
came to lie sick unto death waiting for her summons. A
new hospital, a larger and better one, was to be built in
“ Tried and True.” 31
Walsall; and when the old one had to be left, the Sister
took so much pains in separating her possessions from those
of the hospital that several of the Committee were surprised’
and said, “ Why, sister, one would think you were neve’
coming back to work the new hospital.” “Perhaps I never
may,” she said shortly. She knew that, despite her seem-
ingly undiminished strength, she bore about with her the
seeds of a disease that must be fatal in the end, and
might be fatal soon. She never did resume work in
Walsall. She enjoyed a short pleasant summer holiday ;
she went to Paris to become learned in sundry surgical
matters, she came back to London to study under a celebrated
surgeon, and then her health suddenly failed, and she
learned that very shortly she was-to die. “Let me die
among my own people,’ was now her cry. So they took
her back to Walsall. She writes to a friend at this time :—
“T wonder what you will say when you hear the decree
has gone forth—Sister, put thy house in order, for thou
shalt die, and not live. Such has been the verdict of the
doctors, such is my own feeling this time... There
is only Mount Calvary to climb by the ladder of sick-
ness. . . . I have not had two hours’ sleep for four days
and nights, but in the midst of the fiery furnace there was
a form like unto the Son of God.”

Yes, the busy, hardworking Sister-nurse was now to lie
helpless on a bed of racking pain, her work in this world taken
utterly out of her folded hands. “No hope, only a question
of time,” that was the doctor’s verdict. And still sunshine
lingered on the bright face, still laughter echoed from the
sick-chamber. “I have so longed to go home,” are the
last written words that mark the state of mind of the
dying woman, “I am so happy. . . . God has taken away
the fear of death and all sorrow at parting with life.”
And though clouds now and again darkened her soul, she
32 “ Tried and True.”



ever clung like a drowning man to the Saviour she had
leaned on in life, and no billows were suffered to overwhelm
her. To the last her hospital, her patients, her friends
were dear to her, and she could take the deepest interest in
all. Ags she lay a-dying, a Royal life ebbed away in such
pitiful fashion that rich and poor alike grieved over the
tidings. Our Princess Alice !

Sister Dora raised herself in her bed to speak her sym-
pathy with the sorrowing Queen-mother, and then with a
gleam of her old interest in all cases of sickness to ask
particulars of the terrible disease that carried off the precious
life. Ten days later she said, “I am dying.” It was
early in the morning. While one attendant ran to summon
aid, the other spake words of comfort—* Our Lord is stand-
ing at the gates of Heaven to open them for you.” The reply
came confidently, “I srz HIM THERE; THE GATES ARE OPENED
WIDE.” She lingered a few hours, and then on that Christ-
mas Eve her spirit winged its way to the country whose
inhabitants no more say, “I am sick.”

Her last wish was gratified, “I hope I shall sing my
Christmas carol in Heaven.”

Her funeral was a public one. She had specially asked
that it should be very quiet and plain. How then came it
that her wishes were so neglected? It is easy to explain, and
perhaps Sister Dora herself would not have objected to the
change, for the great crowd who would follow that flower-
covered coffin to its last resting-place were those poor who
had loved the Sister in life, who mourned her in death.

The rich and great were there too; but the poor held
the chief place among that weeping multitude. They
had come to say “Good-bye” to the best friend they had
ever known.




GEFF RAYNER’S STORY.


GEFF RAYNER’S POSY.



CHAPTER L

“These are Thy wonders hourly wroughé,
Thou Lord of time and thought,
Lifting and lowering souls at will,
Crowding a world of good or ill
Into a moment’s vision ; e’en as light
Mounts o’er a cloudy ridge and all is bright ;
From west to east one thrilling ray
Turning a wintry world to May.”—The “ Christian Year.”
ET me show you a pleasant scene——A long room,
with a window at either end; half of it carpeted
with dark crimson, and furnished with a round
table on which stands an orange-tree; a sofa,
an old-fashioned writing-table in the window,
and arm-chairs of all sorts and kinds; the walls of the
room are hung with pictures, china, bookshelves, and
knick-knacks from many lands, making it look much like
what it is—the young ladies’ sitting-room. The half of
the floor which remains uncarpeted is coloured dark brown,
and that portion of the room is simply provided with
an ancient many-legged table, some quaint high-backed
chairs, a huge cupboard, and an old oak chest; just now,
however, it is furnished with something more—girls and
primroses. Girls and primroses everywhere—the latter

strew the floor, the chairs, the table, the piano, mixed up
(222) A


2 Geff Rayners Posy.



with bowls of water, cotton-wool, and little squares of
illuminated card. And larger and larger there grows out
of the medley a store of primrose bunches with their feet
wrapped round with wet cotton wool, and text-cards hung
round their necks all ready for the two workers who are
laying them carefully in a large hamper. ~Business goes
’ on steadily, for the hamper must be packed and ready to
send off by the five o’clock train if the flowers are to reach
their destination fresh and unwithered ; and as all are work-
ing in good earnest, there is not much time for talking.
The conversation is something of this kind—

“Where is:the cotton-reel ? ”

“Oh! I am sitting on it.”

“Do you want more cotton-wool, Annie ?”

“These bunches must be dipped, but do not leave them
too wet.”

“Will somebody put the texts on to this heap?”

“How are we getting on? Four o’clock:!—there! the
hamper is ready, now we can send it off and go down-to
tea!”

It is not- about any of these girls that I am going to
write. I have only given you a glimpse of them at their
work as a contrast to the next place to which I am going
to take you,—in

THE BLACK COUNTRY.

Black indeed it is, above, below, around. Over the sky
is drawn a murky veil of smoke through which the sun
shows, when it does show at all, round and yellow as
through a piece of smoked glass; the roads are black, the
grass and such poor plants as attempt a sickly existence in
. the blackened soil are dull and grimy; the new red brick
of the houses is dimmed, the very window-blinds look more
grey than white, and on the doorsteps are the blackened
Geff Rayner’s Posy. - 2B



footmarks of husbands and brothers who wring their daily
bread from dark depths far from the light of day. Yes,
truly, it is a black country.

The cleanest spot, perhaps, for miles round the little
town of Minely is the interior of the hospital which stands
on a desolate-looking bit of ground not far from where a
cluster of huge furnaces and chimneys pour forth volumes
of smoke by day and a wide-spreading glare of red light
by night. The outside of the hospital partakes of the
general dinginess, but inside things are very different. Spot-
less walls, well-scrubbed boards, clean sheets and bright _
coverlets, make the accident ward a more cheerful place
than might at first be thought possible. But here one is
reminded even more sadly than by the smoke outside that
one is in the “ Black Country,” for in many of those beds
lie strong men who have been struck down in an instant,
never, it may be, to rise again in health and strength, by
the falling of a block of coal, the bursting of a boiler, or
one of the thousand accidents which put the life of a miner
or iron-worker in continual jeopardy. Poor fellows! to
them the cheerful hospital-ward seems little better than a
dreary prison cell, and the hours are long and tedious as
they creep painfully by. How welcome is any little in-
cident that breaks the ‘monotony—anything or anybody
that gives them something to think about. There is a
something and a somebody coming now.

The glass door at the end of the ward is slowly pushed
open, and a figure enters in a neat dress and a white cap
half covering the smooth brown hair, Under the cap
is a beautiful face with grey eyes, lighted up just now
with a joyous smile; in her arms she carries a large basket
piled up with primrose bunches, a perfect foam of yellow
flowers. It is Sister Grace, the Sister who has the charge
of the hospital; she is known by no other name. She, has
4 Geff Rayner’s Posy.

given up family and friends, and all the comforts of a rich
home, that she may be a friend and helper to the sick and
suffering, and to all who need care and sympathy, and so
she is just called by everybody, “Sister Grace.” As she
comes in, heads are turned towards the door, and a look of
expectation lichts up many a face on which but a moment
before weary lines of pain had been traced ; and as she begins
distributing the sweet bunches, eager hands are stretched
out with, “Give us a posy, Sister,’ and a stir and murmur
arise as the-texts are spelt out. And so from bed to bed
Sister Grace makes her way slowly round the ward with
the wonderful, delicious scent gradually filling the room, till,
at the foot of one of the beds she pauses a moment, as if in
doubt, and looks at the figure of a man of about. five-and-
thirty lying there, still and motionless, a hard fixed look
on his face, even though his eyes are closed. If the Sister
had not been so occupied she might have seen how intently
those eyes had been watching her progress; but now they
are shut, and she stands, doubting whether to offer her flowers
here or no,—for Geff Rayner is the “hardest” case in the
ward, the hardest indeed that Sister Grace has ever had to
deal with. Rough and uncouth her patients might often
be, but they were almost always grateful for her care, and
she well understood all the odd little ways and signs by
which they endeavoured to show their appreciation of her
services; but from Geff Rayner came no such signs. He
did not complain or grumble; he never spoke of the pain he
suffered from a shoulder crushed in the mine, but, at the
same time, he never expressed any gratitude for services
rendered, and invariably refused all the gentle ministrations
by which Sister Grace tried to help the souls of her patients,
while she tended their bodies. Her efforts were always
met by short and decided negatives, and the chaplain’s offer
of prayer or reading had been opposed with such fierce
Geff Rayner’s Posy. 5



determination, that there seemed nothing for it but to wait
and see whether time and tender nursing would soften the
poor fellow’s antagonism; and earnestly did Sister Grace
pray for Geff, whose silent endurance of his sufferings and
rejection of the comfort she was longing to give, made her
grieve doubly over her stubborn charge.

It was not surprising, then, that she paused, wondering
whether her flowers sould meet with the same reception as
her other attempts at consolation; and she stood a moment
with her head bent over the nosegay she held in her hand,
considering. Lifting her eyes she suddenly encountered
Geff’s, and saw in them a look of actual suspense and longing.

“Will you have one?” she said.

A movement of his head answered in the affirmative, and
she placed in his one free hand the bunch she had been
holding. Geff caught sight of the little card hanging to
the flowers.

“What's this?” he said, “I don’t want no texts; you
may take it off.”

“No,” she answered quietly, “I don’t think I can do
that—those who sent the flowers sent the text ; it wouldn’t
be fair to cut it off,’ and she moved on, disregarding the
scowl of displeasure on Rayner’s face. For a moment or
two Geff tried in childish anger to detach the card, but it
was fastened securely, and he had only one available hand ;
he was weak too, and it seemed a good deal of trouble,
so he contented himself with crumpling it up in his hand
as he smelt the blossoms and laid their cool fresh heads
against his face. Then he lay quite still as before, resting
after hours of pain. His arm was easier, and there was
something wonderfully soothing in the perfume of the
flowers. It was so long—years and years—since he had had
a primrose in his: hand, and ah, what memories came back
with the scent !—vague at first, and confused, only bringing
6 Geff Rayners Posy.



a feeling of freshness and sweetness and a dim sense that
there had been a time far back in his existence when things
were different, when the air was pure, and there were
green fields, and hedgerows, and waving woods, and when
he himself—surely it could not be himself of whom he
was thinking, it could never be himself, hard and wearied,
black in body and soul! Yet he sees some one living
in those sweet old days that can have been no one else,
and ever more and more clearly the figure comes out till
he can watch it living and moving in that far-back life.
He sees a boy—a very small boy, arrayed in corduroy, his
first suit, which, having been so made as to allow for
growth, is, very baggy, and but for the honour of the
thing, much more cumbersome than the discarded petti-
coats. The trousers are far too large, and are inclined to
swallow up the remainder of his apparel, being tightly
buttoned almost on the top of his shoulders, allowing no
appearance of waist—still they are trousers and not petti-
coats, and that makes all the difference ; the boots too, being
made on the same foreseeing principle, are a world too wide,
but then are they not made as nearly as possible on the
model of “father’s” boots, with real nails and laces? The
boy is happy and flops contentedly along through the long
grass as, with eyes round and fixed, he skirts the hedgerow
in search of spoil or prey.

A nest! a chaffinch’s nest trim and neat, no disappoint-
ing wreck of last year, but bran new and with egos, no-
doubt, in its soft woolly cup. The ground is marshy under
the hedge, and the big boots sink deep into the clay, and are
dragged out with a clammy squeaking sound,—one iron-
shod toe is stuck firmly into the bank, and the small body
is hurled recklessly up against the hedge with hands clutch-
ing wildly at the twigs. For a second anything may
happen—success or failure are equal chances—then the
Geff Rayner's Posy. 7



toe on which all depends begins to plough its way, slowly
at first but quickening as it goes, through the loose soil of
the bank, quicker and quicker, the arms plunge helplessly
forward, and behold, there is only a yard of corduroy lying
prone in the quagmire with its scratched face buried in a
root of primroses.

Something very like a laugh coming from Geff Rayner! 8
bed astonished his Seeing on ene side.

The boy picks himself up at last, and even in that
moment of desolation has presence of mind to make a grab
~at the primroses. “He’s a terrible one for flowers, is our
Geff!” his mother used to say, and he finds time to take
sobbing sniffs at the blossoms and to press them against his
hot smarting cheeks as he stumps home howling dismally,
to receive a cuff and a kiss—a cuff for the muddied clothes,
and a kiss for his own scratched face.

And that boy was himself—Geff Rayner! Another
recollection is brought by the primrose scent.

An old church, dark and dim and cool within, and a boy’s
start of surprised delight at finding it all decked out in
spring flowers-—reading-desk, font, and pulpit, all transformed
by the bunches of white and purple violets, red buttons and
golden daffodils fastened on them; the very benches are
adorned with posies of faint yellow primroses. There is a
moment’s suspense as to whether “our bench” will have a
bunch on it. Yes, it has; and what is more, the boy, kneeling
at his mother’s side at the outermost end of the seat, finds
it possible, by quietly protruding his head round the corner,
to smell the flowers at intervals during the service. Easter
Day it is—he knows that because of his own’ wisp of
new tie and his mother’s bonnet strings—the words have
conveyed little to his mind as yet, but to-day there is
brought to Geff’s boy-soul an unusually joyous sensation,
and the Easter anthem, “Christ our Passover is sacrificed
8 Geff Rayner’s Posy.



for us,” gets somehow mixed up with the primroses and the
scent of violets, and he feels a thrill of happiness quite in-
comprehensible to himself. Very far away did that Sunday
seem to Geff Rayner lying in his hospital bed—further off
even than the birdnesting day. Surely the old flower-
scented church and the organ swelling the chant “ Christ
our Passover is sacrificed for us,” can be only a dream, and
the boy, who under their influence felt himself “a good
boy,” must have died long since.

Another scene.

A young man—the handsomest young fellow in the
village, people’ call him—leaning against the side of a
cottage gate, with his dark eyes fixed on the downcast face
of a girl; a fair, pretty face all aglow just now with
blushes.

“Yowll never say me nay, Nancy.”

There is no answer, and Geff bends down and grasps both
her hands in his.

“Tell me, Nancy. Don’t keep a fellow like this—you
love me, don’t you, little Nan?”

The biushing face is slightly raised and a whisper
comes —

“Tm half afeared, Geff.” :

“ Afeared! never say it, Nancy—what should fear you?”

““Geff, yowll be good to me, won’t you?” and the half-
frightened blue eyes were raised to the young man’s eager
face.

“Good to you? aye, that I will, dear lass, as long as I
live. Why, I love you, Nancy, more than a fellow can say
as hasn’t many words with him. Come, say the word, tell
me as you'll take me, or just give me the posy you've got
there, and J’ll know that you love me and will be my wife.”

With trembling hands Nancy took the bunch of primroses
out of her apron string, and put it into Geff’s strong brown
Geff Rayners Posy. 9

hand; then she turned and fled up the garden path between
the gooseberry bushes, and into the house.

Who so proud and happy then as Geff Rayner! He
watched the figure of his little love till it disappeared, and
then he strode away exulting. Did ever primroses smell so
sweet as those he stuck in his button-hole? Did ever sun
shine so brightly, or blackbirds sing so gaily, as on that May
morning when he won his little Nan? Geff’s heart beat
high with happiness and pride, for many and many a fellow
had been after Nancy, and now he had beaten them all. Little
did he guess how much this had to-do with his happiness,
how much thought of self there was in the heart he fancied
he had wholly given to Nancy. Very different scenes came
crowding now into his mind; but it was not the scent of
the primroses that brought them, they have nothing to do
with sweet country life.

He can see Nancy worn down into a pinched, sickly-
looking woman, and her voice grown querulous and fretful
as she upbraids him with having taken her from her country
home, tempted by miner’s wages. And what is she the
better for the high wages? the ugly little house already
lacks some of the comforts they brought with them——where
does the money go ?

Things get worse and worse, times are bad, wages go
down, and poor Nancy gets less and less for herself and her
delicate boy. There are loud, angry words, too. Nancy has
come to talk like the women about her, and uses lancuage
which Geff would little have thought once to hear from his
sweet little Nan ; now, however, he scarcely notices it; and he
gives her back rude, violent words when he comes home
from the public-house. Words! ah! if it had been no
more than that! but Geff can remember times when,
half mad with fury, he had—the recollection makes him

shrink, and the words spoken on that May morning come
(222) A2
10 Geff Rayner's Posy.



back, “ Good to you ?—Aye, that I will, dear lass, as long as
I live!” A nurse passing by Rayner’s bed notices the
expression of his face, and stops to ask if his arm is worse.
She gets a rough “No,” and goes on, thinking, “ What a
strange man that Rayner is, I don’t believe he has a spark
of feeling in him.” You see people are sometimes mis-
taken.

And now Geff sees himself sitting idly smoking—
tobacco has not failed, whatever wife and child have had to
go without—beside the empty grate. A faint voice comes
from the bed in the corner—

“ Geff, I reckon I’m dying; could you get a parson to me,
think you?”

“A parson ?—I’'ll have no parson here! youll do well
enough without parsons.” Geff said to himself that he
wouldn’t have any one coming and preaching and frighten-
ing the poor girl now ;—it would have been more true if
he had said he didn’t want any one to come and frighten
him about his wife.

The faint voice spoke again—

“T’ve been bad, Geff—I partly think it was you that
made me bad—but now as I’m going I'd like to make it up.
i-forgive you, lad; won’t you kiss me once as you used to
do?”

Geff rose and kissed the poor pale face, then returned to
his seat, turning his back to the bed on which the boy sat
huddled up, ready to give his mother the mug of water for
which she kept asking. Selfish and cowardly, as men
without religion are apt to become in times of trouble, Geff
could not bear to see her die.

Only once more Nan spoke.

“ Be good to the boy, Geff.”

And had he been good to the boy? Was it his fault
that the child took the fever? What was it the doctor
Geff Rayner’s Posy. II



had said about care and better food? Well! he had left
the boy what food he had for him before he went out
in the morning—what more did they want? He couldn’t
stop in the house to be haunted by the thought of Nan
lying on the bed in the corner there. The lad was better
off now, people said—and it might be so, he couldn’t have
been much worse off at any rate than in those past days. _
- So Geff’s thoughts ran on. The flood of recollection bad
set in, and nothing would stem it—memories which for a
year past he had striven, by every means in his power, by
work and drink and merry-making, by the excitement of
‘dog-fighting and betting, to crush and stifle, now surged up
in his mind with resistless force. All through the day the
scenes of long ago haunted him by their contrast with those
of later years ; he could not get rid of them, and at night, in
the intervals of fitful sleep, they were there again, only
jumbled up in bewildering confusion.

Sometimes he fancied that the boy tramping through the
grass after birds’ nests was his own little Jem, who, poor
Jad, had never been birdnesting in the whole course of his
life; then it was Nan in the next bed ill and dying; then
-again she was standing beside him im all the beauty and
‘sweetness of their courting days, and through all the words
‘kept repeating themselves, “Aye, that I will, as long as I
live.”

Geff was fully awake when the day began to shine
‘through the high windows; the fancies of the night were
past, but in their place remained a sense of intolerable
~wretchedness pressing him down like a dead weight in his
~weakness. Remorse for the past, and utter hopelessness
for the future, had taken possession of him, and he could
have groaned aloud in his misery.: Was there no relief ?
‘no getting rid of this terrible burden? Turning his head
wearily on the pillow, he caught sight of the bunch of
12 Geff Rayner's Posy.



primroses lying faded on the coverlet; he took them up
feebly to see if any scent yet remained in them, and the
crumpled card was still hanging to their limp stalks. It
would be a change even to read the words on that slip of
card, so he flattened it out on the sheet, and then held it so
as to catch the dim morning light falling from the window
above his head. This was what he read:

“Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as
snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”

CHAPTER ILI.

SisreR GRACE, going her morning rounds, dressed Geff
Rayner’s shoulder, smoothed his bed, and made him as com-
fortable as she could. When all her arrangements were
completed, she noticed that he was looking at the fresh
bunch of primroses she wore in her dress. “Ah!” she said,
“T have no right to these. There was one bunch over, so I
took it for my wages and kept it alive in water, but you
shall have them now. Yours are quite dead, poor things.”

And she took up the withered flowers, pausing an
instant to read the words on the card—then she looked
gravely at Geff.

“Do you believe that?” he said sharply.

“Yes, I do,” she answered.

“T don’t, then!”

“Why not, I wonder.”

“ Because it ain’t likely. Js it likely now that a fellow’ll
be forgiven when he’s gone to the bad like I have?”

Sister Grace’s heart gave a bound—could it be that the
ice was broken? She knew she must be gentle for fear of
rousing Geff’s spirit of opposition, and after one quick
thought of prayer she answered :
Geff Rayner’s Posy. 13



“Tt does seem very unlikely certainly, but as God has
said it, it must be so.”

Geff was silent a moment, then he burst out violently:

“T tell you it ain’t possible. I said Td have none of
your texts, and I was a fool to read it. What call is there
to forgive me? I never wanted to be forgiven, and I don’t
know what’s set me on thinking of it now. It’s all them
flowers.” .

He was getting excited, and the Sister felt she must
exert her authority to quiet him.

“Rayner,” she said, speaking very firmly, “you know
that is not the way to speak to me—I never allow it. Be
quiet now, and listen. You say you cannot be forgiven—
that it’s impossible—and so it would be if we had to get
forgiveness by ourselves ; but see here what is on my card,—
‘The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all’”

“Not mine,” said Geff. “You don’t know,—a lady like
you ain’t likely to know what I am.”

“No,” Sister Grace said, “I don’t know, but I suppose
God knew what sins men would fall into, and yet He had
those words written for them.”

“T can’t even believe it means mine,” persisted Geff, but
he spoke less violently. z

“Well!” the Sister said gently; “I wouldn’t cut the
card off the flowers to please you, and I can’t take those
words out of the- Bible either. It says ‘the iniquity of
us all, and so it must remain. You had better believe
God, Rayner. Now I must go on; lie still and think it
over, and God grant you faith, my poor fellow.”

And for a long time Geff did think, or rather he fought,
for the whole perversity of his nature seemed roused to
reject the hope for which in the depth of his soul he was
craving ; and, strange to say, the good that was yet left in

O°?

him took part against his peace. It was mean—so he


14 Geff Rayner’s Posy.



thought—for a fellow like him, knowing what he was, to
get comfort out of a few good words which had come in his
way, as it were by chance, without effort or wish of his;
and Geff was not what his companions would have called a
mean man. It appeared to him that to accept the hope of
pardon then, just because he was brought down by weak-
ness, was like trying to shirk the punishment he knew he
deserved. So he tried hard to put the thought of recon-
ciliation away, and to go back to his old sullen state; but
it would not: do—he could not get the words out of his
head, and he battled on till, when, some hours later, Sister
Grace came to his bedside, he broke out vehemently :

“J tell you it’s no use; you don’t think a chap like me is
to get pardon in a minute just for the asking.”

“ By believing and repenting,” said the Sister.

“ By believing either then—TI don’t see as it’s likely.”

“How else then?” And as Geff did not answer, she
went on—* Look here, Rayner, don’t you see that, wait as
long as you will, if you are to be saved at all it must be
that way at last ? Suppose that for the rest of your life
you were to live better than any man ever did yet, what
would you do about the past? The stain of your sins
would still be on your soul; how would you get rid of it ?
First or last, you can only be saved by the Precious Blood
of our dear Lord; and if He offers you pardon through It
now, why wait? why not believe in Him now ?”

“ But do you mean to say as it takes no more than that
to get a fellow straight—just believing ?”

“ No, I don’t mean that,” she answered gravely. “It takes
a great deal more than that. What it has taken to save
you was the Life and Death and Agony of the Son of God;
what it will take to show your faith and thankfulness will
be all you can do or bear for Him as long as God spares
you here. Listen, while I read you what your salvation
Geff Rayner’s Posy. 15



has cost;” and sitting down by the side of the bed, Sister
Grace drew out her small pocket Bible and read aloud the
23d chapter of St. Luke. As she closed the Book she
repeated softly “ The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity
of us all;” and then she left Geff to himself.

I cannot describe to you the thoughts that passed through
Geff Rayner’s mind during the next few days. They were
such as he could not himself have put into words, nor did
Sister Grace question him or try to make him speak of his
feelings. She believed that the best work often goes on in
silence, and so she simply read a portion of Holy Scripture
to him night and morning, and was allowed, without
opposition, to kneel beside his pillow and whisper the
prayers she thought would best speak the needs of the
struggling soul. Whatever were Geffs meditations, they
produced a change in his outward manner. Troubled and
very sad he was at times, but the sullenness was almost
gone; his brow was seldom contracted into its accustomed
scowl; and at last a peaceful look came on his face, and
Sister Grace could see tears shining on his eyelashes as
she finished her reading.

One morning, however, after a restless night, all the
newly-found peace seemed gone, and to her gréat disappoint-
ment an anxious, harassed look met Sister Grace’s morning
greeting.

“Have you had a bad night, Rayner?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, turning his head wearily. “I say,
it’s no use, Sister; you tell me as I can be forgiven, but you
don’t know the half of it yet.”

“ Why, Rayner,” she said smiling, “you talk as if it were
I that had to forgive you—God knows the whole of it.”

“Yes, and He can’t- forgive it—there’s one thing that
can’t be got over.” He spoke very low and in a voice of
utter despondency.
16 Geff Rayner’s Posy.



“Will you tell me what it is?”

“Tt’s Nan!” he said almost in a whisper.

“Nan ?”

“My wife,—she’d a’ been a good girl but for me. She
were a good lass when I married her, but I’ve been the
ruin of her, and that can’t be undone.”

“Tell me about her, Rayner.”
And Geff told all the story to the end—even to the sad
deathbed scene. He made no comment as he went on, and
uttered no word of self-reproach, only when he had finished

he said in a low tone of despair,—

“She’s gone, and it’s my doing, and there’s an end of it.”

Sister Grace sat pondering, with her kind sorrowful eyes
fixed on the despairing face. At last she spoke—

“Tt is difficult to know what to say to you, Rayner; you
don’t want me to give you false comfort, I’m sure; and it
is no use telling you not to think of it, for you must and
ought to think of it. You must tell this to the chaplain.”

For an instant the old look of aversion crossed his face,
but it passed, and he only said—

“Yd a deal sooner hear whatever there is to hear from
you, Sister.”

“But I am not able to answer you rightly about this—
the chaplain is the proper person to help us. You must let
me tell him the story, Rayner, and ask him what he thinks ;
only one thing I think I may say; your wife forgave and
kissed you, and such forgiveness was no light matter.”

Taking his silence for consent, Sister Grace laid the case
before the chaplain, asking anxiously how much comfort she
might truthfully give the poor fellow in the trouble she felt
it so difficult to deal with.

“J wish he would see you,” she said at the end of their
conversation; “I am not the right person to guide and
advise a man like this.”
Geff Rayner’s Posy. . ca



“Don’t distress yourself about that,” answered the chap-
lain with a kind smile. “ Was it not a woman who found
the lost piece of silver? And remember that a man will
often say things to a woman that he would not to another
man.”

At her next leisure moment Sister Grace repaired to Geff
with her answer, and his face showed how anxiously he had
been awaiting it.

“The chaplain tells me to say this, Rayner,” she said,
shrinking a little at the stern opening of her message,
“your sins against your wife must and ought to be a cause
of deepest sorrow to you, and will be a source of lifelong
repentance, but he bids you remember that she had the
wish for reconciliation with her Heavenly Father, and also
that she forgave you; we may not ‘therefore think that her
God had forsaken her. Such forgiveness could only be the
work of His Holy Spirit, and you must keep in mind that
He who knew all the secrets of her heart longed more
tenderly for her salvation than even you can long now to
know her safe.”

Geff heaved a deep sigh that was very like a sob, and
muttered—

“Thank you.”

“The chaplain told me to say,” Sister Grace went on,
after a moment’s silence, “that he does not intend to intrude
on you against your wishes, but that if at any time you
would like to see him you have only to send for him.”

The courtesy of the message seemed to strike Geff, and
after a pause he answered with another “Thank you—T ll
send for him when I want him.”

The tone was far more respectful than the words, and
Sister Grace was satisfied.

Before many days had passed the chaplain, for whom
poor Geff in his ignorance had entertained such an aver
18 Geff Rayner's Posy.



sion, was sitting by his bedside, and he was telling him
things he had never thought to speak of to any one.

A very different Geff Rayner it was who at length left
the hospital, from the one who had been brought in, silent
and sullen, and with no higher thought than that of keeping
his pain to himself, so that no one might come “ humbug-
ging” about him.

ff Goody Rayner,” Sister Grace said with a cheery
smile; “remember the work is not done—you'll have a
fight for it yet.”

And Geff smiled ick at her as he answered shyly— _

“Please God, I'll not shirk, Sister.”

It was hard work at first—very hard work; with return-
ing health came the old longings for excitement, and the
sad memories that greeted him in his lonely home. made the
companionship of his former friends seem doubly desirable,
and then to a man of his proud temperament their ridicule
was hard to bear. It was a trial to be called “t’ Parson’s
lamb,” and to be asked “how much he got a Sunday for
going to church?” There were times when it all seemed
too strong for him, and “his footsteps had well-nigh slipped ;”
but Geff clung on to his new habits, and by prayer and
dogged determination the victory was won, and the old
temptations gradually lost their power. Then the chaplain,
whose work at the hospital was over and above that in his
parish, began to make Geff useful, and some of the evenings
that had seemed so long and dull came to be spent in what
he called “ going errands” for the Parson—for in his humil-
ity it never occurred to him that he could be thought
worthy to teach and help others. As the errands, however,
were oftener than not to the sick and dying, it came about
quite naturally that the thought of the love of Christ, ever
uppermost in Geff’s mind, began to take shape in simple
words of counsel and comfort for such as needed them.
Geff Rayner’s Posy. 19



He never, as a rule, spoke of himself or of his conversion ;
he was not one of those who seem almost to boast of their
former wickedness, perhaps intending thereby to glorify the
mercy of God, though too often it sounds sadly like glori-
fication of self. Once, however, when a poor fellow was
despairing of pardon, as he himself had once despaired, Geff
broke through his reserve. :

“ Eh, lad, never say it,’ he said; “why, He forgave me!
you'd never think what I was; I reckon I don’t rightly
know myself—but He knew and He forgave me.”

In the depth of his penitence Geff truly believed that

if he could be pardoned, none might despair.
- Children were his special care. He seemed to think
that by loving service to them he could in some way atone
to his own little Jem for his neglect of him, and often
during the dinner-hour some pale, wizened child might be
seen perched on Jem’s three-legged stool, sharing Gefi’s
mid-day meal. Then in the autumn Sister Grace had some
primrose: roots sent from her own home for Geff to plant on
the grave of his wife and boy, so that, as each spring came
round, he had a posy or two for his child-friends; and the
bunch of primroses and the hearty handshake which awaited
her after the early Communion, came to be one of the plea-
sures to which Sister Grace looked forward on Easter Day.

For Geff did not stop short in his Christian course,
content to take all the peace and comfort he could get from
his Saviour’s love without ever obeying His dying command ;
and after a time he was rarely to be missed from the band
of the faithful gathered at the Holy Feast.

It is a very happy life that Geff Rayner lives now, and
it cannot be called a lonely one, for he has friends in every
part of the town, and he can scarcely walk down any street
without a shrill little voice coming from some open door,
“Geff! our Geff!” while a pair of clumping feet bring their
20 Geff Rayner's Posy.



owner, bread-and-butter in hand, to receive the nod and
smile he is sure to get, even if Geff has not time to stop
and swing him up on to his broad shoulder for a ride to
the end of the street. Then, too, in many a humble home
the first thonght in sudden trouble (and sudden troubles
are common enough in a mining district) is, “ Geff Rayner
—we mun send for Geff!” Thus—
“ Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes ”—

most truly “bringing forth fruits meet for repentance.”
A MILL AND A MILLER.



VERWORKED? Of course he has overworked him-
self; they all do. They can all work fast enough,
but they have to learn how. Good evening,
doctor—your advice shall be attended to.”

I confess that, as a deacon of three months’ stand-

ing, I was a little hurt at hearing the hard work which I

certainly had found tolerably severe, spoken of as the result of

youthful inexperience, and I suppose the Rector read some-
thing of the kind in my face, for as he came back, after seeing
the doctor out, he said, with a little twinkle in his eyes—

“QOh—our feelings are hurt, are they? Never mind,
Redford, give me the horse that wants the curb sooner than
the one that wants the spur—he will be the better
animal in the end.” Then laying his hand on my shoulder
he added: “ After all, it’s not for me to lecture you, for I
couldn’t have had my holiday in peace if I hadn’t known
that you young ones were doing all my work as well as
your own.”

(The dear old Rector !—I fancy there was not one of us,
“boys” as he always persisted in calling us, who would not
have laid down our lives for him, if necessary, any day.)

“At any rate,” the Rector went on, “the doctor says rest,
and rest you must have; so you had better pack up your
traps and be off to-morrow.”


22 A Mill and a Miller.



“To-morrow! but, Rector,” I began, “ there’s the Mission-
room Service and”

“ And the mission school, and the clubs, and the library,
besides Tom, Dick, and Harry, who cannot possibly get on
without you. My dear boy, I know, but the case would be
precisely the same this day twelve months—so to the
country you go to-morrow.”

I had to obey of course; and the next day I was whirled
into a land of hill and valley, heather and stream,—and that
was how I came to be standing in the particular spot which
rises before my mind’s eye as I write, and which will never,
I think, fade from my memory. How can I describe its
loveliness ? or, if I could, how should I ever be able to con-
vey the spirit of it all? Impossible! I can only try and
tell of the help that came to me there in my. weariness and
despondency.

I was standing on a steep bank overlooking the turbulent
brook, and about me was the sound of many waters, for
upstream the topaz-brown water with crests of foam came
tumbling down a rocky incline, to be split up and turned
aside by sharp boulder-stones ; part of the stream too had
been directed on to the great mill-wheel now standing
motionless, so that the unused power of water rushed down
from the wide wooden spout and added its share to the froth
and fume. Down-stream the flow was calmer, and the dark
water had only islets of many-coloured rocks to contend
with, as it slipped away down the cool narrow gorge, so
narrow that the walls of moss-covered rock on either hand
almost met, and only a mist of lighter green glimpsed at
between them, and a clearer light coming through interlacing
branches showed that the stream widened out once more
before joining the river in the “great leap,” which was one
of the lions of the valley. There was no sunshine ; indeed,
though scarcely felt where I stood leaning against the stem


A Mill anda Miller. 23
of an ash tree, a light rain was falling, decking grass and
fern with tiny sparkles, burnishing the leaves of overhanging
trees, bringing out the thousand soft shades and tints in the
wet rocks, and giving to the moss that peculiar intensity of
green which seems almost to deepen into a “ glow” as one
gazes at it.

I was just in that state when outward things photograph
themselves indelibly on the brain, without any conscious-
ness of one’s own, for my mind was all the time busy with
far different matters. Too weary to turn into other lines of
thought, it kept beating along the old ones—-going over again
and again the ideas and scenes that had occupied me during
the last few weeks, although I instinctively felt it a
desecration to bring them there into the cool tenderness
and purity of the place, where a man might indeed go and
wash, body and soul, and be clean. The contrast forced
itself on me more and more strongly, and with it awoke a
struggle, born, I trust and believe, of over-tasked bodily
strength, and not of any real “looking-back” or regretting
of the great choice I had made a few months before. There
swept over me a dreary sense of the ugliness, the common-
ness of my work viewed from without, and just then I
could not rise to its inward meaning; it was so unutterably
ugly and repulsive: dirt and squalor, sin, hypocrisy, and de-
ceit—these had for long been my daily surrounding, and
it seemed just then as if all the beauty to which I had
always been so keenly susceptible were for ever shut out of
my existence. I know in all honesty that I had no other
intention in taking a London curacy than of working hard
and conscientiously, buf in my ignorance I had cherished a
secret hope that in the great city I should be within reach
of some of the art and culture for which I had longed in
my little country-town home. I had had visions of stealing
away in moments of leisure for a blissful hour in gallery or
24 A Mill and a Milter.

museum; but somehow my leisure moments were few and
far between, and I found that “stealing away” from the
clergy-house at St. Ann’s, 8.E,, to Bond Street, was a longer
business than I had thought; and if it took the form of
omnibuses, it became expensive. “No,” I thought rather
bitterly, “beauty either of nature or art is not for me—I
have made my choice, and must abide by it, and leave
other things to those who can enjoy them.” But what a
discord it all seemed! to think of a place like this existing
not only in the same world as, but only a few hours’
journey from, a certain court which I could recall with all
its hideous characteristics.

The rain was becoming heavier, and dutifully recollecting
that I had been sent to acquire health and not bronchitis,
I turned sadly away to seek shelter in the mill. Such a
curious, old-world little mill! I had to cross a bridge of
planks to enter the door high up in the long shed-like
building, and found myself in a whitey-grey “interior,” with
roof, floor, and all the quaint wooden fittings toned down
into soft shades of grey, not by the dust, but by the flour of
ages; and on a higher level, reached by some rickety steps,
sat the soul of the body—the miller of the mill—chipping
away at a great stone dish, the upper millstone, while near
him lay the nether millstone of proverbial hardness. Having
asked and obtained leave to rest awhile on a friendly plank,
I watched the old man as he sat by the small window in
the’ gable, the light showing his finely-cut face in relief
against the dusky shadows of roof and rafter, and just
touching the white hair scarcely distinguishable from the
erey tones about it. He was deepening the grooves in the
millstone, he told me, for the new wheat would be heavy,
and would require a stronger draught of air to prevent its
clogging. I was in a mood to take up grievances, so I took
up that of the new corn. A sad ending it seemed to the
A Mill and & Miller. 25



erowth of months and the waving glory of the fields, to be
brought here and ground into indistinguishable powder ;
the ultimate result of bread was too comfortable an idea for
my then state of mind, and I went on drearily musing and
moralising as I watched the miller. Then I wondered
whether he, living in this wild lonely spot, and working on
in his daily round, ever troubled his head about the questions
which underlie everything and rise up to harass us just
when we seem least able to solve them. “His was a quiet,
thoughtful face, and I thought I would try him.

“It seems a curious thing that the corn should grow and
flourish only to come to your grindstone at last,” I said.

The old man paused a moment in his work, then went
on again, curtly remarking:

“T reckon it’s what it’s for.”

Another silence—then the miller once more laid down
his tools and turned his keen grey eyes on me. “I’m
just a bit of a preacher on the Lord’s Day,” he said, “and
to look at you, I should say you were the same.”

A preacher! How I should have resented the term two
months ago, and with what an elaborate definition of my
office I should have tried to enlighten this old man! But
just now I was too jaded to enter on a discussion—indeed,
I felt as though it would be very restful to sit there and
be preached to by the old man, so I meekly replied, “ Yes ;”
and the miller continued: “ Well, as I sit working here or
go about the mill, I think over things as I shall have to
tell our folk on the Sabbath, and when I see the grain
bruised and broken up till it comes out fine white flour, I
just think how as the Lord seems to bruise most things as
He intends to use for us—there’s the wood has to be
chopped up and broken afore it can be made firewood of,
and the coal has to be broken, and the iron melted in the
furnace, and a sight of other things, And then I look at
26 A Milland a Miller.



it this way—the Lord Himself was bruised afore He could
save us.”

I might well sit still and be taught; the miller knew
more of these things than [—he had found the clue which
I had lost.

I went back, pondering deeply, to my ash-tree for another
look down the cool green gorge; and, perhaps, because the
old man’s words had raised my thoughts from myself to
God, its beauty spoke to me now, and I could hear. The
words came -to me, “ Without Him was not anything made
that was made,” and then the thought of what the mind
must be .that could devise such a scene as this; for was I
not looking on a “ thought of God,” a thought of Christ made
visible? Of Christ—of Him who was bruised that He
might become our Life, our Bread in a far more real and
literal sense than the old preacher probably knew. Then
what must human life have been to Him, the deviser of all
beauty !—the commonness of the carpenter’s shop, and the
houseless, homeless wanderings; what must the touch of
the beggar and the leper have been to Him, who had
imagined the exquisite tenderness and purity of the tints
and forms there before my eyes; and more than all, what
must those details of the Passion, of which we read with
such reverence as almost to lose sight of their real nature
—the brutality, the ugliness, the degradation—what must
these have been to Him! And I had dared to think the
discord too great between the loveliness here and my own
surroundings! I had thought it hard that my little feeble
“feeling for beauty” should be crossed and thwarted, and
in my heart I had rebelled against the small share of
“bruising” which might one day make me fit to be used
by my Master for the good of His Church and His people.
I began to see how I had been getting to make myself the
centre of my work, and to look at it as it affected me. What


A Mill anda Miller. 27

wonder then, that it had grown repulsive! Apart from my
Lord, how could it be otherwise? But where He is the
Origin and Creator of all beauty of art or nature, surely
nothing can be wholly ugly, wholly commonplace. “THe is
the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever;” the Christ Who
tells us that He is present to us in the poorest and weakest
of His brethren, is the same without Whom were none of
these things made that were made, the same Christ Who so
used and conquered the humiliating elements in His own
death and passion, as to make them for all ages the object
of the reverent love and admiration of His people.

Here is the harmony into which melt all the discords of
life—all but sin itself.

One look back before turning out of the quiet little dale.
The stream was hidden from sight, but the air was filled
with its music, the long line of the low mill-roof was
drawn against the background of trees, and high above stood
a heathery peak, its purple dimmed by the mist-wreaths
passing across it.

“Without Him was not anything made that was made.”
WHITLAR BOYS.

—++—_

LITTLE world in itself !—That was the general
remark of the visitors who now and then wan-
dered curiously through the great Naval School
at Whitlar. A school it was, in name and
reality; and yet it was a ship, a huge un-

wieldy creature, that rose and fell with the changeful

waves of the great river at whose mouth it was moored.
And here I must pause for one moment,-to say that if

my readers think I am going to give an account of the
workings of this great sea-school they are very much
mistaken; they can guess for themselves what sort of
business goes on all day there; and if I, who am no sea-
man, were to pretend to know all about sails, and ropes,
and such matters, the little cabin-boy who had only made a
single voyage would soon find me out, and laugh at me.
No; Iam going to write only of what I know,—and that
is, a little of the life-story of two of the boys, out of the
several hundreds who are in the school. In each case the
old question from boy to boy, of “ Who’s your father?” met
the brief answer ‘‘ Dead,’—but Harold Grey, the handsome
lad, spoke up boldly, and added, “He was a gentleman;”
while little Jamie Duncan’s eyes fell, and grew. dim, as
he repeated the short sad word which meant so much
to him,


Whttlar Boys. 29

Harold soon settled well to his work; he was strong
enough to do easily what fatigued many others, and he had
a smattering of book-learning and a good bold handwriting,
which made him useful to the petty officers.

Jamie Duncan, meanwhile, was lost in the crowd: a
patient, striving boy, without much talent, he did his duty,
and no one thought any more about him. Yet, for some
reason, this quiet boy was constantly at Harold Grey’s elbow,
listened eagerly to his voice, and did him many a little
service without reward, or scarcely thanks.

Harold liked the thought of a sea-life; and being a good-
tempered fellow on the whole, his companions took na
farther notice of his boastful laments over his past life, than
to dub him “the Gentleman,”—a title Harold rather liked
than otherwise.

One terrible anxiety poor Jamie had for his friend—he
felt sure that Harold left the ship at night with one or two
others, though for what purpose, and where he went, he did
not know.

And now there came a sore trial to the poor sensitive
boy. The usual day for the repair of the boys’ garments —
came round, and under the charge of the master-tailor they
were all seated on their chests, busily working. All except
Harold, who as usual despised the needle, and declared
there were no rents in any of his clothes.

“Then take and mend this, for practice,” said the tailor,
who had little patience with Harold’s airs, and he handed
him a waistcoat belonging to the steward’s assistant. Harold
dared not refuse, but he was obliged to pretend to do the
work; more he could not do, since he had not the skill to
execute the needed repairs.

Little James was creeping up to him, intending to relieve
him of his task, when he noticed a gold coin slip out of the
pocket of the waistcoat as Harold turned it round. Harold
36 Whitlar Boys.

saw the coin too, and his fingers closed over it, and then
went into his pocket.

Next day the bit of gold was inquired for,—the steward’s
assistant felt’ sure he had left it in the pocket of the torn
waistcoat. Jamie, to whom the neat repair was traced,
answered that he had found no half-sovereign in the waist-
coat ; and then he hoped to hear Harold tell how he had
found it. But Harold never spoke ; “the Gentleman ” was
utterly silent. And this was Jamie’s great grief, for how
could he believe his friend to be a thief?

Meantime the whole school was startled and dismayed by
the declaration of a poor half-witted man, who helped the
cook, that his money-box had been robbed, and his savings,
amounting to two or three pounds, had been taken. Poor
Mike was drowned in tears,—what mind he had, had been
so devoted to these two or three gold pieces.

While affairs were in this condition Jamie reccived a sum-
mons from the sick ward: Harold was ill, he wished to
speak to him.

“T wish I had kept to you, Jamie, for a friend,” he said ;
“then I might not have broken rules so much, and gone out
at night. Sykes and Turner, they persuaded me; and first
it was the theatre, and then a grand singer in Turner's
brother’s public-house ; they got the boat, and managed it
all, and I had to pay: you can’t tell, Jamie, how difficult
it was for me, a gentleman’s son, to refuse: and then I
was short of money,—-and mother’s letter never came,—
and me

“ And you took Adam’s half-sovereien,” said Jamie,
calmly, trying to save Harold’s panting breath.

Harold gasped “Yes. And when the row was made
about it, Sykes lent me ten shillings to put in Adam’s berth.
I guessed he could not have come honestly by the money,
and now I am sure”




Whitlar Boys. 3t-



“That he took Mike’s money,” said Jamie, gravely.
“Harold, you must tell all this to the Chaplain.”

But Harold flushed up and _hesitated— Gentlemen
never tell,” he muttered; “you don’t know, Jamie, it’s so
different for me. What I wanted to ask you was, Could
you lend me the money? and then I would pay Sykes,
and he would perhaps put Mike’s money back, and all
would be right.”

Jamie shook his head; he was not a very clever boy, but
he could see that it was all wrong.

“J have no money, Harold, only one half-crown ; but
please listen to me, and perhaps you will when I tell you
that I am a gentleman too. My father was a clergyman,
and he meant me to be one too; but fever came, and they
died, father and mother; and Ellen and I had no money:
so she is a governess, and I was sent to this school.”

The next night Harold summoned Jamie to tell him,—* I
can’t die, Jamie, I feel I can’t, till Mike has his money back.
I heard the poor chap crying like a baby yesterday outside
the door. I know the Chaplain and the Governor mean
kindly ; they are hushing matters up till I am dead, but
it won't do. I didn’t take the money, but I must get it
him back. Oh, if only I had a bit of strength to write
to mother, or do something!” and poor Harold groaned in
anguish.

“They have written twice,” said Jamie. “But stop,
perhaps my sister,—we have very little money, Harold, but
she might be able to get us some: I will get leave to-morrow,
and see, for I think you are quite right to try and give
Mike the money back.”

That night Harold had a long sleep, the first for many a
weary night. And Jamie got his leave, special leave, at
the Chaplain’s request, and came to the sick ward next
evening, bright and beaming.


32 Whitlar Boys.



“Tt’s all here, Harold,” he said, holding a little leathern
purse.

“All?” said poor Harold, feebly.

“Yes,” said Jamie, proudly; “Ellen had just been paid
her salary, and she gave it tome. Won't Mike be glad?”

“Thank you, Jamie,” said Harold, “please give it Mike,”
and turning round, he fell asleep directly.

Next day Mike was all smiles again, his treasure was
restored to him, and his poor wearied wits never puzzled
themselves as to why or how, so he was perfectly happy.

Affairs were managed very quietly at Whitlar: the same
day that Harold, carefully wrapped up, and tenderly carried
by a big sailor, was taken on shore to be nursed by his
mother, Sykes and Thornton also left the school, never to
return. After due inquiry it was thought best to dismiss
them both from the ship.

From that day there was no longer any chance of boys
getting out at night. MHarold’s confession of his misdeeds
had led to a change in the rules of the ship which put a
stop to such pranks. No one exactly knew why at this
time James Duncan come to be generally looked up to and
respected, or how sundry whispers got about that he had
been a real gentleman, even more so than poor Grey.

And here my story really ends; though one sorrowful
sentence, and one glad one, must be added.

Harold only lived a year, carefully tended by his mother ;
but, as far as we can tell, that year was well spent, in
learning to be gentle, humble, and repentant.

And Jamie is still at Whitlar. All his companions like
him; and when a new boy comes to the school, Jamie is
pointed out as in some mysterious way “a real gentleman.”
And so he is. -




A VILLAGE NEAR GENOA.
A VILLAGE NEAR GENOA.

A TRUE STORY.



WO pupils in God’s school were slowly spelling
G out the same lesson of Faith under the patient
eye of the great Master. The one was a toil-
worn middle-aged woman, and the other a very
young boy.

Beppo was doomed to watch those dearest to him as they
faded one by one in wasting sickness from earth to the
better home above. Peppina was called upon to resign her
_ children, each and all, to friends beyond the sea; who
promised them ease, comfort, and prosperity, in exchange
for the life of obscure poverty to which they had been born.
The lesson, although differently worded, was essentially the
same. Peppina perhaps needed stronger faith than Beppo,
for to the imagination of those simple peasants South
America seemed a more unknown land than did the heaven
of which they had heard from infancy. She was, in fact,
being taught in a parable, like the immediate disciples of
the Master. Like them also she was sometimes slow in
learning the task set before her, but she never closed
her ear to the divine voice, nor refused obedience to its
precepts.

The child and the woman, although not related, were
near neighbours, dwelling in a village some few miles distant

from Genoa, that grand and beautiful Italian city, of which
(223) A
2 A Village near Genoa.



the churches and palaces rise on a mountain slope cut into
terraces, out of the blue Mediterranean Sea. The town
itself is bleak, but there are sheltered places in its neigh-
bourhood where the climate is warm and brilliant for a
great part of the year. Delicate invalids hence flock thither
in numbers to escape the rigour of a Northern winter. Yet
consumption and decline are very prevalent along that
lovely coast, strange though the fact may sound to those
who dream only of Southern skies, and balmy breezes, and
orange-trees with white fragrant flowers and golden fruit.
Few persons who have never been abroad realise that
there is cold weather every year even in Italy. A sharp
north wind blows from the snow-clad mountains, bearing
frost and ice upon its wings; or deluges of rain, such as are
scarcely known in England, flood the houses, which are built
with small regard to warmth and comfort. In the palaces
the floors are of rare inlaid marble; in the cottages, of rough
grey slabs of stone; while through both whistles the keen
blast from ill-made doors and windows, exposing the inmates
to continual draughts. Carpets and fires are alike unknown,
and the food of the peasants is not such as to develop
vigorous frames. Many live chiefly on a kind of paste cut
into tiny strips resembling fiddle-strings, and actually bearing
that very name. A dish of this pasta, boiled in water with
a little salt, is often the dinner or supper of a family, but
although satisfying hunger, it does not contain sufficient
nutriment to strengthen the body against disease. When
these things are considered, we can scarcely be surprised at
the number of poor Italians who die every winter in the
very climate that so often restores health to wealthy and
luxurious British visitors.

Beppo’s life had been very sad, for he belonged to a
consumptive family, yet there was no gloom in the merry
weather-beaten face, so plain while in repose, so beautiful
A Village near Genoa. 3



when lighted up with its brilliant Italian smile. He was a
human sunflower, basking in every ray of gladness which
pierced through the dark clouds of his many trials.

The office of sick-nurse seems a strange vocation for a
boy, but it was one to which Beppo had been called in very
early childhood. Before he was eleven years old he had
already watched beside the deathbeds of both parents, his
two brothers, and his baby sister Rosa. No one else could
be spared to attend them, for the time of the bread-winners
was doubly valuable when sickness increased the expenses
of the household. Then came a year during which Beppo
went to school, and received the care of a mother from his
eldest sister Angela, the only near relation who was left to
him. There seemed some hope that her life might be spared,
as she had passed her seventeenth birthday without showing
any traces of the fatal malady. One day, however, Angela
caught a slight chill followed by fever, in returning home
from the silk-factory at which she was employed. She
drooped for a few weeks, then grew rapidly worse, and was
soon stretched upon the pallet where so many of those dear
to her had breathed their last. Like theirs, her illness
seemed to have been only caused by a neglected cold, yet
no one doubted from the first that it must end in death.
When Beppo looked upon her wasted form, he knew that
she was very near the Unseen World, whither he should
soon follow her. The humble neighbours were very plain-
spoken, and had often said in the boy’s hearing, that though
he might now seem stronger than the other children, he
would never live to be a man. The thought was too
familiar to alarm him, though he sometimes wondered
vaguely who would watch beside him when it should
become his turn to be the patient instead of the nurse.
The doubt, however, was too passing to disturb him, and it
never grew into a positive anxiety.
4 A Village near Genoa.

Strangers sometimes suspected Beppo of indifference to
the loss of those very friends whom he had so devotedly
attended. He could smile at the grave, and on returning to
the lonely house, eat his coarse food with youthful appetite,
and sleep soundly upon the bed newly deserted by its
moaning occupant. Nay, more, he could even enjoy a merry
game when there was no immediate call upon his services.
‘They did not realise that the poor child must long ago
have sunk under his heavy load but for the very buoyancy
which they: condemned. Why should his spirits droop
when he and his dear ones would so soon be once more
together in their Father’s home? Why should he not play
innocently, as he had before worked heartily, while waiting
for the summons of the Messenger ?

Peppina’s history was even more sad than that of her
little neighbour. Long ago her husband had deserted her
and his five children, leaving her not only burdened with
their care, but also with the charge of his father and her
own mother, both of whom were advanced in years. The
support of the old man devolved solely upon Peppina, as
she was the only creature to whom he could look for help.
The expense of her mother’s maintenance was shared with
the devoted daughter of her brother; but as he was a poor
fisherman, with four small children and uncertain gains,
Peppina never felt able to count on his assistance. Her
life became a hard struggle, and one which aged the comely
peasant before she had reached her prime. At length a
portion of the weight was lifted from her shoulders, although
only to be transferred to her loving heart. The eldest girl
married, and went with her husband to Buenos Ayres, where
so many enterprising youths from Genoa seek and find an
honest livelihood. Being steady and industrious, he soon
succeeded, made a comfortable home, and encouraged his
wife to send to Italy for her next sister, to whom he pro-
A Village near Genoa. 5



mised a father’s care. Teresa sailed accordingly, and before
two years had expired married in her turn, and sent for her
only brother, Stefano, for whom she had already secured
suitable employment. Meanwhile the worthless father had
rejoined his prosperous children, that he might: drain their
small savings, and force from them the few coins which had
been treasured for their mother as the fruit of great self-
sacrifice and arduous labour. But for him they might have
risen more rapidly in the New World, but as the spendthrift
was kept by their influence from vicious courses, they agreed
to bear much rather than turn him adrift.

Two little girls remained as yet in Italy under Peppina’s
care, Carmela and Cecilia. Their ages were fourteen and
eight, and the elder had already become very useful. -She
nursed the old grandparents with whom she lived, watched
faithfully over her little sister, mended and made the gar- -
ments of the family, and tried to spend the scanty earnings
of her mother to the best advantage. The poor commonly
enjoy freer space in Italy than in England, as the land there
is less valuable, and Peppina rented several tiny rooms at a
less cost than would have to be paid for one in London.
They were flooded by glorious sunshine and swept by pure
breezes from the sea and mountains, but they could only be
reached by seven flights of steps, so dark and dangerous
that i¢ seemed wonderful no lives were lost in trying to
mount or descend them. In order to support this small
establishment Peppina’s life was an unceasing round of toil.
She was maid-servant at an inn where many English visitors
resorted for the winter, and which was filled during the hot
months with Italians, who flocked to the seaside from the
fever-stricken cities of the plain. It was a rambling old
palace, with rich painted ceilings, and dim ghostly galleries,
and marble staircases; and broad flat terraces, which over-
hung the glittering sea. Nothing could be more unlike our
6 A Village near Genoa.

idea of a hotel, but this mansion, like many others of the
kind in Italy, had been let by its princely owner, who pos-
sessed more residences than he and his relatives could
occupy, to an innkeeper who desired to settle in the village.
There Peppina laboured from four in the morning till eleven
at night, living on the most scanty fare, taxed hourly far
beyond her strength, bewildered by the many mistresses and
masters whom she had to please, and never enjoying a
single holiday, even at Christmas. True, the hotel was
empty for a few weeks every year in spring and autumn,
but she was then employed in house-cleaning on so vast a
scale, that the demands on her seemed rather to increase
than to diminish. Peppina’s fellow-servants came and went,
seeking, for the most part successfully, to better their con-
dition. She was compelled to remain, for so strong were
* the ties which bound her to her native village that no work
beyond it would have been available. Her payment at the
inn, though small, was regular, and she was in the way
there of receiving little presents from the visitors—money
or left-off clothing—every article of which Carmela’s busy
fingers turned to the best possible account. Despite such
help, however, the poor maid began to sink under her
burden ; and although the firm will never failed, her health
was so enfeebled that she sometimes dreaded lest she should
become a helpless invalid.

While her heart was saddened by these forebodings, a
letter arrived from South America renewing the offer, which
she had already twice refused, of joining her family there,
and taking with her the two little girls, to be adopted by
their married sisters. To resist such a temptation called
for Christian heroism, but she did not waver. The old
mother, ninety years of age, was too childish to feel her
loss, and Peppina could send part of her earnings home
from Buenos Ayres to the brother who united with her to
A Village near Genoa. 7



support his parent. Her real tie was the father of the man
who had deserted her. How could she leave him friendless
with no one who would take it to heart whether he lived
or died? He loved her and would miss her personal care.
Not even an increase of ease would make amends to his
affectionate nature for her actual presence. When con-
vinced of this by calm reflection, she turned with tears
from the tempting prospect to face the steep uphill path of
duty and self-sacrifice.

Months rolled away. Peppina’s lungs grew delicate,
and she was only saved from pleurisy by the timely gift of
warm flannels from an English lady, who had noticed how
the poor old woman was exposed early and late to the
inclement weather. Then one cold February night came
startling news from South America. The elder sisters had
sent for the two little ones, whose passages were paid, and
who would be protected on the voyage by a trusted, worthy,
married sailor. The ship which brought the tidings was
even then lying in the Genoa harbour, and they were to
sail with her on her return to Buenos Ayres, which would
be within four weeks. No wonder that the mother’s heart
should sicken as she went about the weary tasks which
scarcely left her any leisure to bestow upon her children’s
needs. What anguish did she not endure at the thought
that she must so soon be parted from her sole remaining
treasures! True, she might not have been able much longer
to maintain them, but they were the sunshine of her daily
life. She did indeed expect to follow them sooner or later;
but would they not be so changed as scarcely to appear
like her own offspring? Carmela in her budding youth
might indeed only have developed into mature womanhood,
but would not bright little laughing Cecilia have grown
wholly out of her remembrance? Perhaps it was the
knowledge that she must for ever lose the childhood of this
8 A Village near Genoa.

youngest darling which brought the sharpest pang to the
mother’s heart.

_One care which weighed heavily on Peppina was the
question as to how she could secure a proper outfit for the
little travellers. They were going to live with relations
who moved in a higher sphere, and she was anxious that
they should be neatly and respectably attired; yet to find
money for their clothing was impossible, when even the
house-rent was in arrears.

Her now slender wardrobe was reviewed, and every
garment which could be spared put aside, but the result
proved so unsatisfactory that poor Peppina was disheartened.
Happily unexpected aid poured in on her from several
quarters. The old peasant woman had made friends among
the English guests at the hotel, whose tastes and habits,
which must have seemed so strange and unlike her own,
she faithfully tried to consult. Those to whose comfort
she had thus ministered felt they were only repaying a
debt of gratitude when they agreed among themselves to fur-
nish what was requisite for the outfit of the little maidens.
Wardrobes richer than Peppina’s were laid under contribu-
tion for gowns which could be adapted to their use. Under-
garments were also provided, and new prints for Sunday
frocks, and brilliant handkerchiefs for the head-gear which
in Italy is the usual substitute for hat or bonnet among
women of the poorer ranks. Nothing so tended to soften
the pain of this bitter parting to Peppina as the knowledge
that her children would neither disgrace nor burden the
relations who so generously offered to adopt them.

One afternoon the sorrowing mother chanced to meet
Beppo in the street, and stopped him to inquire for Angela.

“T think she will be leaving us about the same time as
your children,” said the boy; nor did his answer strike the
questioner as unusual,
A Village near Genoa. 9



Beppo had become almost as skilful as the parish doctor
in detecting the successive stages of decline.

The next day, however, the physician called again, and
gave a different verdict. Angela having survived the March
winds, might now live until the autumn, provided she could
have suitable nourishment. There was no mention of broth,
wine, and other luxuries beyond reach of the patient, but
the doctor charged Beppo to vary his sister’s diet, as the
fidellint could no longer tempt her appetite.

The poor child’s faith was now as keenly tested on the
score of food as that of Peppina had been respecting ral-
ment. Neither of them had as yet mastered the lesson
taught us of the birds and lilies, at least not where the
welfare of their beloved ones was concerned. The little
brother knew that Angela was virtually sinking from star-
vation ; for although there was no actual lack of provisions
in the cottage, he had no means of procuring any suited to
a dying girl, It seemed almost a case of being told to make
bricks without straw, and Beppo sat down to consider ear-
nestly how he could act on the doctor’s instructions. The idea
of begging did not occur to him, for, like most of the honest
Italian poor, he never forced his wants on others, nor even
supposed they were such as to claim especial sympathy.
Many, both in the village and around it, were as ill as
Angela, and some more destitute, yet all patiently bore the
hardships of their lot. His was no case for alms-seeking ;
but it is very different to ask a service at the hands of a kind
neighbour, and the only question was to whom it would be
wisest to apply.

There was his sister’s namesake, good old Angela, with
her bent frame and her white locks flying like snowflakes in
a March wind, and her cotton gown, which had been so fre-
quently mended that it looked like a patchwork of many
colours. She lived high among the vineyards in a four-

(223) Aa
10 A Village near Genoa.



roomed cottage, with gay prints upon its walls, and windows
of which each one framed a different landscape. On the left
was Genoa, with its marble palaces piled one behind another
on the hill-slopes, separated by exquisite gardens, while
almost in the sea rose a tall lighthouse, and beyond stretched
a beautiful headland, steeped in the soft gemlike colouring
of Italy. In an opposite direction, looking towards France,
the eye wandered over the long sweep of the Maritime
Alps, chain beyond chain of graceful peaks, on some of
which a silvery crown of snow stood out against the tender
blue of the spring sky. At the rear of the cottage, and
around it, the Apennine mountains raised their heads, the
lower ranges terraced into gardens of figs, almonds, grapes,
and olives, while the higher were covered with forests of
- the stately umbrella pine trees, of which the rounded tops
appear, as has been truly said, like dark-green islands set
among the clouds.

Angela’s was as fair a home as heart could wish, but
sorely did she struggle to maintain it by the field labour
for which she grew yearly more unfitted. Beppo knew she
would gladly help him, but he did not like to ask her for
the oranges, goats’-milk, or early vegetables which she sold
at the hotels and villas. Later, when the strangers were
gone, and garden produce was more plentiful, it would be
different ; but meanwhile he was too considerate to encroach
upon her slender store.

The friend who always pressed assistance upon others,
whether or not she could easily afford it, was Paulina, whose
life was full of deep poverty and constant care. Her hus-
band was subject to epilepsy, and when she saw symptoms
of an attack, she dared not leave him for an instant, night
or day. He was a gentle, lovable old man, whose face,
innocent as a baby’s, often wore a fixed, vacant expression,
which showed how much the brain had become affected by
A Village near Genoa. Tl

disease. Paulina kept him always neat and clean, and she
herself was a pattern of tidiness, though how she contrived
to be so remained a mystery to more than one slatternly
neighbour. Both she and her husband, when the latter was
able to work, earned a part of their clothing by oakum-
picking, which was the employment of many beside them in
the village. They were connected with a large rope-factory
in the next town, attached to which was a warehouse for
cotton fabrics, and the workers were paid in yards of print
or similar materials instead of in shillings and pence. A
little help was given them in money by a married son, and
they also possessed another source of gain, though one far
too uncertain to be counted upon as a regular addition to
their income.

At the end of the squalid open court in which they lived
was the chief entrance to a nobleman’s estate, of which the
key had been intrusted to Paulina by its absent owner.
The hall and the private gardens were not shown to
strangers, but all might freely wander through the wilder-
ness of the park, which was, indeed, little else than a
mountain-side partly enclosed, with here and there traces
of cultivation. Nursery-maids and children, picnic parties,
botanists, and sketchers availed themselves of this beautiful
resort during the “English season.” But the neighbour-
hood abounded with rival attractions, and sometimes Paul-
ina would be deserted for days, or even weeks, by the
capricious visitors. Most of these pleasure-seekers gave a
copper to the sickly woman, who descended at their call
from the top floor of a tall house that overlooked the stag-
nant ditch which poisoned the surrounding atmosphere.
Many did not bestow a thought on the gatekeeper, but the
sympathising few witnessed a touching sight. The merry-
hearted and indifferent saw only Paulina’s patient smile;
but the first word of kindness, or a gift beyond her
12 A Village near Genoa.



customary fee, so thrilled the overstrung sensitive nerves as
to call forth a gush of tears. Paulina’s sorrowful existence
had unfitted her for happiness, as the gloom of a dungeon
unfits prisoners for the ight of day.

Beppo knew she would give him her last penny, or part of
her insufficient meal, but he had no desire to take advantage
of such generosity. Several more cases were considered by
the boy, only to be dismissed by the delicate tact of an ima-
ginative nature, which enabled him to realise the circum-
stances of his friends. How he longed to earn enough to buy
Angela’s supper; but what way was open to a child whose
presence could not be long spared from the sick-room? It
was the girl herself who solved the difficulty, about which
she had not even been consulted. “Beppo,” she said,
stroking his hand caressingly, “I should so like a new-
laid egg. Do you think Maddalena would let me have
one ?”

In an instant Beppo’s feet were flying down the staircase,
and along the coast, where yellow sea-poppies waved in
the breeze, and through the straggling village street, until
he stopped at the house of the dressmaker. It was a small
low dwelling, occupied by Maddalena, her fisherman-brother,
two sisters, and several nieces, who, besides the needlework
which was their chief employment, undertook the washing of
lace and fine muslins for the visitors. They were contented
people, earning rather more than sufficed for their wants,
and always willing to relieve the needy. Beppo’s request
was cheerfully granted, and two fresh eggs were placed in
his little osier basket, together with some ripe lemons, a
solace for which Angela often pined during her feverish
nights. The dressmaker was arrayed in her picturesque
Sunday garb for a friend’s wedding-feast, having at. an
earlier hour attended the marriage procession, which is
almost as common a spectacle in Italy as in the East. She-
A Village near Genoa. is

looked strikingly handsome under the black lace veil which
fell around her like a cloak, while the gold earrings, which
had been part of her dowry, glittered amid the dusky folds
of her abundant hair. Her soft yet brilliant eyes sparkled
with pleasure, and her gestures were full of excited interest,
Maddalena knew how to enjoy a holiday, and her needle
would fly only the more briskly on the morrow.

While talking to Beppo, she suddenly pulled the latchet
of the street door, and a long train of fowls began to patter
up the staircase. Every crested head was raised high as
its owner fearlessly crossed the workroom and passed through
a doorway to a tiny hanging garden on the flat roof,
‘ where these pet birds were allowed to feed and roost. It
was just twelve, and punctual as the church clock were
the feathered guests, who would shortly disperse, to return
home for supper and bed when the sun dipped into the sea.
Their time was generally spent upon the beach or in
pecking at such stray fruits and vegetables as hung within
reach of their beaks from the greengrocery stalls that lined
the coast.

Towards autumn many a tempting prize was wrested
from these humbler fowls by the tall turkeys which then
thronged the streets and roadsides in such numbers as to
form a leading feature of the place. Everywhere they
were to be seen, stretching their stately necks upward to
the clusters of amber or purple grapes, or snatching at
plums, peaches, even cabbage leaves, till they were driven
away by the vendors with shrill outcries, which seemed
scarcely to ruffle their dignity. Living upon this unsub-
stantial fare, and sharing in most instances the dwellings
of their owners, rendered the birds so docile that, far from
being a terror to childhood, they were caressed by the very
babies, and dragged unresistingly indoors or out by creatures
whose plump hands could scarcely clasp around their swell-
14 A Village near Genoa.



ing throats. Many a nursery group fresh from England
stopped to watch the pretty sight, which was nearly as
short-lived as it was attractive. On the day after Christmas
not a trace of the children’s playfellows would be left, except
masses of glossy plumage, or occasionally a hapless survivor.

Beppo was too familiar with the ways of poultry to pay
any heed to Maddalena’s favourites, though he did delay
an instant to admire a parrot which a sailor-cousin had
just brought her from Brazil. Then he went down the
staircase with a caution unlike his usual impetuous rush;
but once on level ground, he was skimming as fast as ever
homeward, when he suddenly came to a pause and drew a
deep breath of surprise.

There was a group of strangers in front of the black old
castle at the water's edge, which had been built more than
eight centuries ago as a refuge for the women and children
of the district against the fierce pirates of Algiers. A pretty
English girl sat on a rock sketching the fortress, while a
lady some years older, with two fair-haired children, stood
beside an overloaded starving donkey, which was tethered
to a post. The little ones were feeding the poor animal
with pieces of white bread, which they drew from their
pockets. Very stale it seemed, judging by the loud crunch
with which the creature’s mouth closed over every morsel,
but the sight of such extravagance astonished Beppo. A
donkey fed upon these snowy rolls, which seemed too dainty
for any but a sick lady! “And she must be a very rich
lady,” mused the peasant lad, “or she could never afford
such expensive bread except on Sunday.”

Presently the younger child coloured and shrank close to
her governess.

“ Miss Ware,’ she said, “ why does that boy look at me
with such large round eyes, just as though I were doing
something naughty ?”
A Village near Genoa. 15

Miss Ware turned, and was no less struck than her pupil
had been by the earnestness of Beppo’s gaze.

“ What is it, little fellow?” she asked gently in Italian ,
“do you like to see how the poor beast enjoys his meal?”

“Js there any left, Signora?” rejoined Beppo, as he looked
into the kind eyes which smiled down upon him. _

“ Any of these dry crusts? No, I believe not; but sup-
posing there had been, what then ?”

“T should have asked you to let me have my share,
lady,” replied Beppo.

“ Are you so hungry then, my poor child?” asked Miss
Ware, compassionately.

“Oh, no! I can eat anything; but Angela, my sister, is
too ill to live on pasta, and the doctor says she will soon die
unless I can find something to give her an appetite.”

“This hard stale bread is not suitable for a sick girl, my
little friend.”

“TI should have made it into soup, Signora, with hot
water and a drop of oil and plenty of garlic,” exclaimed
Beppo, “and then Angela would have had such a delicious
supper.”

Miss Ware, who had never before been abroad, was amused-
at the ideas of her new acquaintance on the subject of in-
valid cookery, but she only said—

“ Angela shall have something else instead, and you may
come with me to buy anything which you think she would
like.”

“ Anything!” cried the child excitedly. “Oh, then, Sig-
nora, let it be some pane dolce, if you please.”

“That is what we get every evening at tea in the nur-
sery,” remarked Hubert, who began to understand a few .
words of Italian. His sister, Lucy, agreed with him that it
was a very poor kind cf plumcake, not one-half so nice as
that which was served twice a year on the vicar’s lawn to
16 A Village near Genoa.

the school children, Beppo, however, held a very different
opinion.

“ Signora, pane dolce is very expensive,” he said warninely,
as he followed the governess and her charges into a shop
equally frequented by strangers and natives from the variety
and excellence of its stores. Miss Ware smiled reassuringly,
but the next moment her sweet face softened into a look of
sympathy. Before the counter stood an aged’ man, bent
nearly double, wistfully eyeing the pinch of coffee for which
he had just exchanged two hard-won farthings. He sighed
as he made way courteously for the ladies, and with feeble
footsteps tottered out into the street.

“Girolamo spends all his coppers on coffee for his sick
wife,” observed the grocer, on perceiving that his wealthy
customers seemed interested in the transaction. “ Little
lady,” he added, addressing Lucy, “I have just received
fresh jams and marmalade from London. Is there any
way in which I can serve you this afternoon? Did you
say pane dolce, madam? Here are some hot from the
oven.”

Miss Ware called Beppo to receive the largest of the
whole collection.

“ Enough to last Angela for a week!” he cried repeatedly.
Then taking leave almost abruptly, he ran homeward at his
utmost speed, eager to reach his sister’s bedside and relate
to her his wonderful adventures.

Miss Ware lingered to inquire old Girolamo’s address, and
to purchase a good supply of coffee and moist sugar, which
she hoped to deliver to him on the morrow.

Peppina’s children sailed early in April, and she stood
alone at a window of the palazzo, watching until the steamer
which bore them away melted into the glory of the spring
sunset. Like the rest of the emigrant passengers, they had
been forced to spend many long hours on board before the
A Village near Genoa. 17

vessel left. No doubt this was a wise and needful recula-
tion, but the sense of nearness, combined with the actual
separation, made the interval a trying time to all con-
cerned. 5

The little sisters sat on the deck hand in hand, almost
awed by the splendour of the city, with its streets of pal-
aces, and hanging gardens, and encircling mountains, which,
although close to their birthplace, they had never visited
before. They were so young and buoyant that their tears
dried quickly, and their spirits rose amid the animation of
the scene. But as the day wore on, with flagging streneth
their hearts grew heavier, and when at length, coasting along
the bay, they passed within sight of their village, their arms
were outstretched with eager yearning, and the cry of home
and mother escaped from their lips. Every link with the
past seemed severed, and the new existence which opened
before them was a blank.

While they were speeding onward towards the gorgeous
lands of the far West, Peppina was faithfully struggling
to fulfil the duties for which failing powers increasingly
unfitted her. Both sleep and appetite seemed to have left
her with the children. The long strain on her nerves, and
the aching void which succeeded, told even upon the quick
intelligence which had hitherto made amends for want of
early training in domestic service. She moved about the dim
old painted chambers in a dream, conscious of a strange
inability either to understand or recollect what every one
expected at her hands. All seemed like a bewildering din
of orders, for the most part contradictory, and of bells
calling her in opposite directions, which haunted the
feverish slumbers that stole on her from exhaustion just
as dawn summoned her to resume the round. She rallied
once when a note came, dictated by the elder girl and
posted at Gibraltar, where the ship touched on its outward
18 A Village near Genoa.



voyage. But soon the listless apathy returned, only to be
dispelled when she began to count the days for the vessel
to be due once again in Genoa.

It came at length, bearing the wished-for letters which
announced the safe arrival of Carmela and Cecilia, and bore
tender messages of love to her from all. There the com-
munication ended. There was not the least clue as to the
employments or surroundings of her little ones; nothing
to tell if they were living at the pole or in the tropics;
no point upon which her fancy could seize to fill up the
outline of their altered lives. The interchange of thought
through correspondence, which among the educated brings
distant friends close together, was a blessing denied to
Peppina; but as she could not imagine its existence, so she
did not mourn its loss. The little ones were well and
happy, so the few lines from their guardians assured her.
More than that fact she had never expected to learn. The
tidings would have been almost as vague to her as if sent
from another world, but for an interview with the old
sailor under whose care her darlings had crossed the ocean.
He gave further though still scanty information respecting
the two households at Buenos Ayres, and aroused his
listener by cheery predictions that the time would soon
come when she should be free to join the circle of awaiting
dear ones.

When the doctor next went to see Angela, he was sur-
prised at her improved condition. She was free from the
hectic fever which had so long sapped her strength, and
her pulse, though feeble, was quiet and regular.

“You have been learning to eat, child,” he said approv-
ingly, “and Beppo has invented something better than the
Jidellini.”

“JY should think so!” said Beppo proudly, as he opened
the door of the cupboard and drew out a wing of chicken
A Village near Genoa. 19



and a jug of broth: “the very smell gives Angela an
appetite.”

“You have rich friends then, children, I am glad of that.
I suppose they must be among the foreign visitors ?”

“They are the English people who feed donkeys on
white bread, sir,” answered Beppo, much to the amusement
of his questioner. “They are going soon to England, but
they mean to come back for next winter, as the little lady
whom they call Zueia is not strong.”

“That is a happy prospect for you and the donkeys,”
laughed the genial doctor as he took his leave. But his
face clouded when he was alone, and he walked thought-
fully along the cliffs in the direction of the house which
came next on his list. There lay a woman about fifty, who
had not, like Angela, inherited disease, yet who was now
equally beyond help from human science. She was dying
from the effects of scanty food and sleep, united to excessive
toil. Exhaustion had first laid her low, and then an in-
flammation of both lungs quickly reduced her to the ranks
of the incurable. Hers was one of the most interesting
cases in the parish to the doctor, owing to the fond hearts
which seemed bound up with that frail existence.

“Poor Barberina!” he mused almost audibly as he
mounted the staircase; “I pray God her mother may be
spared until that sailor-husband returns from Japan. Only,”
and he sighed, “she cannot bear the expense much longer.
I wish Beppo’s new friends could make her acquaintance.” —

This desire was not destined to be gratified, yet upon
entering the sick-room the visitor found signs of unwonted
comfort. Barberina herself stood beside the pillow, and
explained that she had just received a gift in money from -
a family leaving the hotel in which she and Peppina were
fellow-servants. She had obtained an hour’s leave of absence
from her mistress, and had gone at once to buy meat for the
20 A Village near Genoa.

soup on which her mother’s life chiefly depended. She could
also afford to get coffee and sugar, and the cooling medicine
which would prevent fever at night. Did not the signor
dottore think the invalid would now do well, especially as
the warm weather had begun ?

The doctor said, with perfect truthfulness, that many
months on earth might yet be in store for his patient, if
the benefits which she now enjoyed could be continued.

Barberina returned to the inn after receiving the physi-
cian’s orders, and tried to throw all her energy into the
laundry work, which was the duty that just then devolved
upon her. She was a healthy young woman, but several
successive nights of nursing, followed by arduous days, had
rendered her so languid that her eyelids nearly closed as
she stood at the ironing-board. In her hand was an elegant
little frock, belonging to an English baby, and requiring the
minutest care, as it was wrought with delicate embroidery.
Beside her was a pile of linen garments of various descrip-
tions, all to be done against time. It was the height of the
flitting season for the Northern swallows, and the bustle of
many departures surged through the hotel. Her occupation
was such as to bring her seldom into contact with the guests,
and hence she did not often receive the parting fees which
made amends for increased labour.to some of the other
servants. Now and then her painstaking skill was noticed
and rewarded, but in general her only recompense was the
approval of her Heavenly Master. None of those whom she
served, however, were more light-hearted than Barberina, as
she remembered the encouraging state of her mother, to whom
she was bound by the most passionate affection. She could
provide all that was requisite for the next fortnight, and
she might soon expect the wages of her sailor, which were
punctually sent whenever his ship touched at a convenient
port. Her marriage was as happy as that of Peppina had
A Village near Genoa. 21



proved miserable, although it involved the trial of prolonged
and frequent separation. Pietro was the best of husbands,
“just like a good boy,” as his wife expressed it, and he
clung to his home and its inmates with a constancy which
was the chief of safecuards against the temptations of a
roving life. His dwelling was indeed one in which any
man might feel an honest pride. It was among the most
desirable in the village, and its rent was higher than the
average, but both the husband and wife felt that such
respectability was worth a struggle. Pietro had adopted
Barberina’s family, and so united were their interests that
the gains of each were for the benefit of all. Her brother
was one of the operatives in a factory where he earned
fifteenpence a day, and Rosalia, her eldest sister, who was
parlour-maid in Genoa, contributed four shillings every
month towards the rent of the home which would be always
open to her in sickness or sorrow.

The youngest girl, Marina, wrought in a cloth-mill two
miles distant, where she was paid at the rate of fourpence
for twelve hours during the winter months, and sixpence
when the longer days admitted of earlier and later sittings
at the loom. Of course this pittance barely sufficed for
her food, but Barberina wisely thought that the industrious,
steady habits thus acquired would enhance her sister’s use-
fulness through life. As the walk to and from Marina’s
mill secured to her fresh air and exercise, the vigour of
fifteen would scarcely have been overtasked but for the
arrears of domestic claims which had to be crowded into
the evening. She must wait on the invalid and cook the
supper, and undress Pietro’s rosy little boy, who, although
only five years old, could be intrusted with the purchase of
provisions, and was the sole guardian of his grandmother
during the absence of the elders. Barberina was in general
allowed to sleep at home, but.as she was not released from
22 A Village near Genoa.

her post until eleven at night, and then only until six on
the following morning, there could be no division of house-
hold cares between Marina and herself.

Miss Ware, Hubert, and Lucy remained until the end of
_ June in the villa which they had occupied since the begin-
ning of October. The other members of the family were
making a tour of the Italian lakes, but it was thought best
not to interrupt the regular routine of lessons for the
schoolroom party. It was still cool enough to take long
walks in search of the gorgeous wild-flowers which made
all the hillsides look like a succession of conservatories.
Most interesting of all to Christian eyes were the magnifi-
cent flame-coloured lilies, sometimes deepening to blood-
red, which, as the heat increased, began to blaze like flakes
of fire in every grassy dingle. Miss Ware gathered them
almost with reverence, for she knew they belonged to the
same species as those “lilies of the field” in distant Pales-
tine, of which the royal splendour surpassed “even Solomon
in all his glory.” Beppo usually accompanied the ramblers
to carry their baskets, guide them through the forest paths
and winding valleys, or scramble up the rocks, where only
his clinging bare feet could find a hold, in quest of rare
exquisite ferns, such as in England are not to be seen
except in hothouses. The boy was rewarded for these
pleasant services, and every penny was carefully saved for
Angela, that she might not want during the long period. when
there would be nobody to provide for her except himself.

At length Beppo’s friends received a summons to join
the rest of their circle at Turin, and after they were gone
the village was entirely deserted except by Italians. The
child was however happy, since Miss Ware had left with
him a small allowance for Angela’s comfort; and being a
‘thrifty little fellow, he supported her on milk, eggs, fruit,
and vegetables, at a very moderate expense. The sick girl
A Village near Genoa. 2%

nearly lost her cough, and although often languid from the
heat, yet rallied so decidedly that the doctor began to hope
her extreme youth might gain the victory over disease.
Peaceful and sweet were these bright summer weeks to the
brother and sister, who asked no enjoyment beyond that
of each other’s society. Miss Ware had shaded Angela’s
window with a green gauze curtain, which was a far
greater protection against glare and insects than the flap-
ping branches that Beppo had formerly waved over her
couch. Their house was built at the edge of a cliff, and
the invalid found constant amusement in gazing down a
sheer precipice into the sea, and watching the fish leap out
of the crystal waters. It was altogether a time of refresh-
ment. Never had such a lull from present sorrow and
care for the future occurred previously within Beppo’s re-
membrance.

That year the hot weather continued very late, and on
Michaelmas Day Angela felt the lurid atmosphere more heavy
and oppressive than even in August. Beppo, whose sturdy
frame was not affected by changes of climate, leant out of
his sister’s window, fairly shouting with glee at the gambols
of two fisher-children underneath. The tiny figures, looking
like a pair of statuettes sculptured in bronze, were rocking
on the wavelets in a bright green boat, so small as to appear
like the half-folded leaf of a pond lily. Sometimes the
baby-mariners balanced themselves at seesaw on their fairy
craft. Sometimes they overturned it, dived beneath the
water, and with ringing laughter scrambled once again on
board, only to recommence their joyous freaks, Even
Angela smiled faintly as the tide of merriment increased,
when suddenly Beppo’s ear caught some more distant sound,
and breathlessly gasping, “ The little lady’s voice,” he darted
from his sister’s side before she could rally from her astonish-
ment,
24 A Village near Genoa.

Miss Ware and her pupils were indeed climbing the
staircase, and soon their familiar faces appeared in the door-
way, where they were received with such a welcome as had
greeted them throughout the village, making the strange
foreign land seem like a second home. They had only
arrived two days previously, and their first visit was to
Angela, whose sunken eyes and wan cheek brightened at
the sight of her kind English friends, They were the earliest
of the winter colony, but others quickly followed, for despite
the steamy heat which still brooded upon the coast, cold
showers had begun to fall among the mountains. The hotels
and villas filled even more speedily than usual, and the soft
splendour of a southern autumn melted into Christmastide
without bringing a change over the gold ond azure of the
skies, or more than freshness into the invigorating air.
But the New Year was ushered in with bitter frosts, which,
far from softening into rain as was predicted, lasted for
nearly six weeks with a rigour almost equal to that of
northern latitudes. It was a terrible ordeal even for rich
invalids, and fatal to many among the poor. Benedetta
and Angela became very ill, and must have died but for
the timely succour which was extended to them both
through different channels, Peppina felt that she must
soon succumb, though bravely did she wage war with the
enemy, which threatened every mornirg to vanquish her
before nightfall. At length, conscious that the hour was
approaching when she could no longer meet even her own
expenses, she sent word to Buenos Ayres that she would
consent to join her children if they were still willing to
receive her. The return mail brought dutiful letters,
soothing hopes of a speedy reunion, and every assurance of
continued love, but no definite invitation from the heads of
either household. Peppina resigned herself to the dis-
appointment. Two months more elapsed, and the next
A Village near Genoa. ¢ 25



message she received was that all the arrangements for her
voyage were concluded, and that she must sail for South
America without any more notice than had been afforded to
Carmela and Cecilia.

This haste involved serious inconvenience, for there was
no one to assist Peppina in winding up the affairs of a life-
time for herself and others, and the three weeks which
remained were not her own. Her labours at the hotel
could not be suspended, as the house was full, and she was
not to quit her post until the very day of her departure.
Again English friends came to her aid with gifts of cloth-
ing and a sum sufficient to provide for the immediate
wants of the old couple whom she was leaving behind.
Peppina was torn by conflicting feelings. She had fancied
her whole heart weaned from her birthplace, and trans-
planted to the country which held her children, and she
now discovered that its every fibre was still firmly rooted
in her native soil. Strive as she might, she could not
reconcile herself to the idea of thus drifting away from all
ties and associations into the regions of the unknown,
She tried to have her passage-money transferred to the next
steamer, and the attempt was warmly seconded by her em-
ployers, who were anxious to retain her services as long as
possible. The answer given at the office of the ship’s
company was, that such a concession could not be made
except in the event of illness. She was strongly urged to
make that plea, which would indeed have been partially
true, but she shrank from the least vestige of deception
with the loyalty of an upright and candid soul.

The vernal equinox was raging wildly when Peppina,
amid sobs re-echoed by the moaning winds and waters,
passed away from the haunts of her childhood into the
white seething tempest which blotted out earth and sky.
Humble although she was, her virtues had won for her a
26 A Village near Genoa.



position which the proudest might have envied among those
of her own race and station.’ Even British strangers felt
that something was taken out of their lives when that
quaint figure vanished from the ghostly galleries, never
again to be seen gliding within their shadow. All those to
whom Peppina had endeared herself rejoiced in the happi-
ness to which she was hastening through clouds and ¢loom,
as loving friends rejoice when they turn from a death-bed.
Would not her blessedness be indeed a symbol of that to
which we aspire in the land beyond the grave? Twelve
weeks elapsed before these questionings could be set at
rest, and then the information which arrived was startling.
The voyage had been safe and prosperous, and when Pep-
pina disembarked, all the beloved ones were waiting upon
the shore to welcome her; even the faithless husband was
among them, seeking for a reconciliation, Nothing marred
outwardly the full significance and beauty of the parable;
only in one essential point its meaning failed. Every
report of Peppina, every line which she dictated, bespoke
the keen anguish of the exile, and heart-sickening yearnings
for Italy, and such an aching void as neither ease, pleasure,
novelty, nor even her children’s companionship could fill.
It was a natural, almost inevitable consequence of being
thus transplanted in mature age to a foreign soil, but none
the less were those who had followed her history disappointed.
They need not have been so. She had, after all, only ex-
changed one phase of earthly trial for another.

Next to Peppina’s aged charges, there was probably no
one who missed her to the same extent as Barberina.
They had long been intimate, and each found in the other's
sympathy a solace for many privations. The younger
servant was promoted from the laundry to the more Ilucra-
tive office which her fellow had left vacant; but even this
solid benefit was little compensation for her loss. All
A Village near Genoa. oe



lesser pangs were soon, however, to be merged in a more
poignant sorrow. Benedetta had a dangerous relapse, and
hovered for several days on the brink of death, Again, the
poor maid felt the strain of overwork unbalanced by regular
sleep, for the night-hours were spent in applying remedies,
and she could not venture to close her eyes except when
sitting upright at her mother’s pillow.

By slow degrees hope dawned for Benedetta. The attacks
ot bleeding at the lungs grew less severe and frequent, and
the appetite of convalescence began to repair her wasted
strength. The spirits of the watcher rose with a rebound
of gladness. Not alone was her mother yet spared to her,
but she might soon expect Pietro, whom she had not seen
for fourteen months, during which interval his ship had
sailed nearly round the globe. True, he could not stay
very long with her, but while he was on shore she should
devote herself entirely to him only, returning to the hotel
after his departure, as had been agreed between the land-
lady and herself. The vessel had been overdue a fortnight
before she was signalled at Marseilles, but Barberina scarcely
began to be seriously anxious ere her wanderer appeared on
his own threshold. Their meeting was one‘of such pure
happiness as seemed like a foretaste of Paradise. Absence
had wrought no change on either, unless to enhance their
mutual affection. Soon the great sea-chest was unpacked,
and its accumulated stores from many lands displayed to
view. All were remembered in the distributions—her
employers at the inn; English guests there who had .be-
friended her; neighbours in poverty, sickness, or trouble ;
every one, in short, who had a claim on her pity or grati-
tude. Very few of Pietro’s offerings were left to embellish
his own dwelling, but that gave him small concern so long
as Barberina was contented.

Even in this short holiday the husband and wife were
28 A Village near Genoa.

not idle, nor could they contrive to be always together
while engaged in their several pursuits. Pietro was a most
delightful inmate, happy from morning until night, and
occupied unceasingly for the welfare of those he loved. He
hired himself out to the fishermen, thus winning his share
of a favourable “haul.” He roamed among the rocks,
_ collecting for sale the “sea-fruits,” or shell-jish, which are
so esteemed in Italy, and undertook such whitewashing
and carpentry as were needed in his own household. Bar-
berina meanwhile had ample scope for her energies in
cleaning the rooms which had been so long neglected, and
in renewing the wardrobe of her sailor, which she found
reduced to a hopeless condition. How respectable and neat
all her surroundings looked when the substantial furniture,
and pretty crockery, and other trifles had been disposed to
the best advantage. How delightful it seemed to be mis-
tress of her own humble establishment, free from those
jangling bells which had distracted her at the inn, and at
liberty to arrange the day’s routine according to her own
convenience.

When Pietro had been with her for about a month, the
dreaded trial’ of her mother’s death overtook Barberina.
There had been so much pain towards the last, that no one
could desire it should be prolonged, and it seemed merci-
fully ordered that the blow should fall while the wife was
sustained by her husband’s strong yet gentle presence.

When Benedetta had been laid under the cypress trees
of the churchyard upon the hill-top, there were grave and
anxious consultations on the part of the survivors. Pietro
had been notified that he must soon be ready for a two
years’ voyage, and who would be the centre of the family,
and keep watch over its younger members as the invalid had
hitherto done despite her helplessness? Clearly there was
only one way, namely, that Barberina should give up the hope
A Village near Genoa. 29

of earning money for the present, and be satisfied to save it.
She must sacrifice her situation for the sake of the brother,
sister, and little child who needed her care so imperatively.
Their food might often be scanty as well as coarse, and
many a struggle would it cost her to make both ends meet ;
but it was finally decided to try the experiment. Her
face beamed with satisfaction at the thought of living among
her own people, and Pietro felt equally thankful as he took
his hand-net and went down among the rocks, eager to
capture a few of the small fish, with whose haunts he was
acquainted. Barberina had been busy during the discus-
sion in converting her oldest print gown into a summer suit
for her boy to wear at school. Clothing must be utilised
to the uttermost, as she did not know when any could be
purchased, and there would be none of the timely supplies
which had been of so much assistance while she was in
service. Laying aside her needle, she began to cook the
dinner, which consisted of rice boiled in milk and water,
with a pennyworth of chestnuts chopped fine to give it a
flavour. There was no dish which Pietro liked so much,
and it would be a treat for Angelino when he came back
rosy and ravenous from his school. It was more expen-
sive than the jidellini, but Pietro would not be with them
much longer, and she should like to feel, when he was
far away, that she had tried to consider his tastes and com-
fort.

After a short reprieve the heavy parting came to that
united pair, but they bore it courageously. Barberina
cheerfully began a new chapter of life, by no means a lonely
or sad one, for never, so she declared, were there such civil
and obliging neighbours as the six large families gathered
beneath the same roof as herself. Perhaps the secret lay
in her sweet readiness to share their burdens, and unfailing
sympathy towards young and old. Babies were her espe-
30 A Village near Genoa.

cial darlings, and.some of her spare minutes were spent
in making swaddline-bands for mothers who were too poor
to provide them, or miniature patchwork quilts for covering
the infant when it was strapped on its board. Very un-
comfortable seemed the tiny creatures, but both Barberina
and her friends had undergone a like process, and she could
scarcely believe Pietro when he first assured her he had
never seen a trace of any similar instance in England.

The fair spring-tide of Italy had reached its height;
delicate pearly tints gleamed on the hills; the sunsets
displayed those wonderful shades of lilac and pale green
peculiar to warm climates, and a perfect rain of wild-flowers
appeared to have been showered upon the earth. There
were strange orchises like mimic insects, and sunroses like
imprisoned sunbeams, and forests of tall Mediterranean -
heath, with its minute waxen bells, varying from tender
rose colour to silvery grey. Most of these specimens Miss
Ware had known as stunted hothouse plants in England,
and she revelled in their wild luxuriance beneath a Southern
sky. ‘Far and wide did she wander with her pupils through
the radiant Italian landscape, but Beppo could no longer
accompany them, for Angela was fading so rapidly that the
little brother could not be spared from her bedside. One
afternoon the ramblers were charmed by the discovery of
‘the lady tulip, striped scarlet and white, with a heart like
a glowing ruby. Hubert set down his basket of purple
flags, and was about to scramble for the prize, when a
familiar voice said, “ Let me get them for you, little Signor,”
and on turning quickly he saw Beppo at his side.

The boy had a careworn expression which saddened his play-
mates, though they scarcely understood it, and his blanched
cheeks spoke of close confinement to a darkened room.

“The doctor saw you take this road, and bade me fol-
A Village near Genoa. et

low,” he said timidly. “Angela is just going, and wishes to
say good-bye.”

“Poor little one! what will become of you?” exclaimed
Miss Ware, while the tears started to her eyes.

“The doctor promised Angela to find a place for me on
board some vessel. He says if I stay on shore, I shall be
certain to die very young.”

An awestruck silence fell upon the healthy children as
they listened to these words, but Beppo’s manner was calm
and serene, and when he next spoke, it was on a different
subject.

“ Angela’s favourite flower has just opened; we shall find
it in this valley; I must take some to her,” he said.

“The white iris!” cried Miss Ware. “How pure! how
splendid! I never beheld anything so heavenly. But,
Beppo, surely these must have been planted here; they
cannot really grow wild in this region.”

“The Signora will see them next week springing up all
over the hillsides. Angela loves them.”

Beppo’s hands were soon filled with the treasure. “ Will
the ladies come with me to Angela?” he repeated quietly. _

When they arrived, the kind physician was awaiting
them. “My child,” he said to Beppo, “the Great Captain
sent an hour ago for your sister. He was ready to protect
her on the voyage, and she could not delay until your
return.”

Noiselessly they went to the solemn chamber. Angela
reclined upon her couch, looking so natural that Hubert
and Lucy felt no chill at this their first experience of death.
Fair and sweet as the irises she lay, with her hands clasped
together like their folding petals. Some of those which
Beppo placed upon his sister’s breast were withered, and
suggested a pathetic harmony between the faded human
flower and the flowers of the field,
32 A Village near Genoa.



“They will revive in water,” whispered Lucy to her
governess; and Miss Ware answered in the same low
voice —

“She too will bloom afresh beside the River of the
water of life.”

“ Sionora!” exclaimed Beppo earnestly, “Peppina was
not happy when she got to the end of her journey. It
will be different with Angela. I know that she will never
wish to come back after she has reached the Golden City.”
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OLIVER BRANSCOMBE,

OR, THE TRUTH—THE WHOLE TRUTH.



CHAPTER I.

HE August sunshine—sunshine too bright, too
glorious, one would think, for aught but the
ripening of billowy lengths of corn, or sending
shafts of light athwart interlacing branches, or,

at worst, for turning London smoke into a haze of dusky
gold—was pouring its rays through a small, high window,
crossed and barred with iron. They touched the brown
head of a young man leaning with folded arms against the
whitewashed wall beneath, and bathing, in their radiance,
another figure seated by the bare deal table, struck the floor
through the door, left open by a merciful turnkey, who,
withdrawing to the further end of the corridor, had allowed
the “two poor young gents” a few moments of comparative
privacy.

And the occupants of the prison cell look, in the vigour
and strength of their young manhood, as little in keeping
with their surroundings as the sunshine itself, Which is
guest and which host in the dismal reception-room? There
is pain enough in the contracted brow of the elder man
leaning against the wall, and in the eyes fixed with such
intensity of sorrow on his brother, to mark him as the

(224) , A


2 Oltver Branscoube ; or,



“unfortunate” one; pain enough truly, but the countenance
lacks the sullen, dreary wretchedness which marks the other
face as it turns slowly towards the light, and which seems
to more than obliterate the five years’ difference in age
between Robert Branscombe and his brother Oliver. Hard,
weary lines are traced on the young face, once so nearly
perfect in form and colouring with its deep blue eyes and
waving auburn hair.

“Then you will not help me?” said the younger man,
breaking a short yet distressing silence —

“T can’t, Rob; you know I can’t;” there was a sharp
sound of pain in Oliver's voice.

“T fail to see it in that light; I see no impossibility; at
any rate, I fancy most men would not find it so difficult to
suppress a trifling fact which will send a brother to—to—
well! it is scarcely pleasant to speak particularly.

« What can I do, Rob?”

“Do? why cloud your memory a little, that’s all; you
used not always to have such an inconveniently accurate
recollection of things, Oliver.”

“ And perjure myself?”

“Well, yes! since you seem to find pleasure in hard
names—be it so, only I, and I fancy most people, would
prefer to call it a noble lie.”

“ But still a lie.”

“Ah! perhaps your spiritual advisers do not allow the
distinction; in their eyes you would still be classed with
the ‘boy who told a lie.” What was his doom? I forget
those early lessons—something dreadful, no doubt. And
do you really mean,” he went on bitterly, “that this is the
religion you have tried to cram down my throat? This is
holiness, is it ? (there was a horrible sneer in his tone as he
pronounced the word), and this is the sort of sacrifice it
requires. It is sin, is it, for a man to risk his own safety to
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 3



save a brother from disgrace and ruin, for that is what you
are afraid of, I suppose, endangering your own precious
soul? And then you talk of a just and merciful - ie

“Don’t, Rob, don’t, for pity’s sake.”

“Pity! there is not much question of that between us, I
should say.”

Oliver's hands were locked, wrung together in the inten-
sity of the struggle; it was a moment_of terrible temptation,
but at last he spoke low and hoarsely-—

“T don’t expect you to see it as I do—it is a sore temp-
tation, Rob, to do as you ask me, but—TI cannot.”

“ That being so,” Rob answered in a cold, hard tone, more
cutting than any reproaches, “we had better dismiss the
subject, and proceed to business; perhaps you will be kind
enough to see that—this—goes back to the giver.”

His voice shook for an instant, and his hands trembled as
he took off his watch and detached a tiny locket from the
chain, but the terrible quietness returned as he continued,
pushing the trinket towards his brother—

«You will have it all your own way in that quarter now.
Did you really suppose I did not see? Iam not as young as
I once was, you know.”

“Rob! you dare?” Oliver burst out, starting- forward
with flushed face and clenched hands, but, recollecting him-
self, he drew back muttering, “Poor lad! poor lad! Look
here, Rob!” he went on, speaking very earnestly, “TI tell
you solemnly—I swear—that, God helping me, no word or
act of mine shall ever show her what—-what I-may have
felt once. She chose you, and by no word or act will I seek
to change ber feelings towards you. Do you believe me,
Rob? O lad! say you believe in me. Say you believe
that I would change places with you now thankfully—that
I would die to prevent what is coming. Say it, Rob, only
one word;” and as he heard the step of the approaching


4 Oltver Branscombe ; or,

turnkey, he put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, as
though he would have shaken the answer out of him. “Say
it, lad, say it.’ But the only reply to the passionate appeal
was a slight drawing back, and the sentence—

“ Deeds are more encouraging than words, Oliver.”

“Time’s up, gentlemen.”

Oliver’s hands fell helplessly down, and he stood for a
few seconds as if in a maze, then he turned and left the
cell stumbling along the whitewashed passages, out into
the air and along the busy streets; walking on as one in
a dream, jostling up against the foot-passengers, and only
gradually recalled to his senses by the repeated remon-
strances of his victims. Then he stopped and looked help-
lessly round him, and taking in, by degrees, where he was,
continued his way rapidly, conscious of an overpowering
longing to hide himself from all eyes. The door of a
church opened as he passed and some one came out; it
looked dim inside, dark indeed compared with the glare
of the street all aglow with the afternoon sun. Almost
involuntarily, Oliver turned, and pushed open the door;
how silent and calm! with only a few kneeling figures to
break the solitude; stealing noiselessly along the side-
aisle, Oliver found a nook screened from all eyes by a
pillar, and threw himself on his knees, crouching rather
than kneeling, with his head pressed against the stone.

At first he felt nothing, knew nothing, but gradually the
weight lifted from his brain, and thought began her remorse-
less work.

“Had it come to this, then? was this the end of it all?
was it for this that the young brother had been given over
into his keeping, that he had made Rob the object of his
life?” “Take care of Rob,” had been the dying injunc-
tion of both father and mother, and now it had come to
this that he must speak the words which would consign
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 5

his mother’s darling to a felon’s punishment; he who
would any day have given his life for his brother. It was
too horrible, too cruel. If it must be, why could it not
have been some one else? Why had nothing happened to
prevent his looking into that desk, the old school-desk,
once his own property, and now a sort of receptacle for
stray papers. It had never in their boyish days. held a
darker secret than a dormouse, how could he guess that it
contained private matters of Rob’s? and such a matter!
He buried his face in his hands in the vain endeavour to
shut out the haunting sight, the sight that would not let
itself become less vivid, the roll of crisp, new bank-notes
half pushed, as by one in haste, into an envelope. It all
came back with agonising acuteness ; the surprise, and then
the terror that would possess him as he noted that the
envelope, though stamped and addressed in the familiar
handwriting of their employer, was new and unsoiled, the
night of sleepless cogitation, the determination to speak to
Rob, and the finding him gone out of his room in the early
morning. Then the weary office hours and the crash in the
evening, Rob’s arrest as he crept home late, on suspicion of
having abstracted a letter containing money from those
prepared for the post at his office.

And Oliver was subpeenaed as a witness on the approach-
ing trial So far as he could see, it was his evidence only
that could convict his brother, but that evidence would be
conclusive. Then the tempter began to whisper: “ Was he
bound to give it? Was he, after all, so sure about the
envelope and handwriting ? so sure as to be able to swear
to it? As Rob said, he had not always been famous for
the accuracy of his memory; might there not be some
mistake?” He shut his eyes and tried to think, but he
only seemed to see it all more clearly, more unmistakably.
But even then, was he bound to reveal what he had seen ?
6 Oliver Branscombe ; or,

Would it not be nobler, as Rob had suggested, to take upon
himself the guilt of perjury for his brother’s sake? Some
would say so. How would the other fellows at the office
look at the matter? “The truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth” ran the oath he would have to
take; the words rang hard and stern on his ears—*the
whole truth.” “God help me; O God, help me!” the cry
went up from the depth of his heart, repeated over and
over in his agony. Yes, the word we use so lightly, taking
it indeed in vain, that word alone could describe such an
hour, it was truly an “agony,” a wrestling with flesh and
blood as well as with powers of darkness. And the victory
was won; not indeed triumphantly or consciously, for the
determination to do the right at whatever cost, seemed
but a plunge into keener wretchedness before physical
exhaustion brought on a dreamy state something like re-
pose. Quieter thoughts came, thoughts of Rob and him-
self in the old rectory garden, at school, and in London
where at first he had worked for both, teaching Rob in the
intervals of office hours; then came another period when
the younger brother had been taken on in the same office,
and they had kept house together on more equal terms,
Oliver, however, still retaining a kind of parental authority
over the boy; then the change in Rob, at first almost in-
sensible, so that Oliver looking back could scarcely tell
when or how it arose. Rob began to choose friends of his
own, rightly and naturally as Oliver told himself, in a set
not precisely the same as his brother's, a younger and
cleverer set, with a dash of literary and artistic talent
about it, made up of young men professing culture, who
from their superior eminence freely criticised everything
dating further back than their own artistically trimmed
moustaches.

Oliver had been a good deal diverted by Rob’s little airs,
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 4



and did his best to satisfy, so far as their means would
allow, his aspirations after the “beautiful and the true” in
matters of decoration and appointments in their tiny abode.
Rob’s criticisms, too, amused him, till they began to be exer-
cised on subjects which honest Oliver believed to be quite
beyond the sphere of criticism, and he became troubled as
he heard his brother touch with graceful scepticism on
themes which to himself were matters of life and death,
and found his “old-fashioned” weapons powerless against
the clever-sounding modern phrases with which Rob threw
airy doubts on everything, from the merits of a picture to
the truth of the Bible—* enlightened criticism” he called
it. Preaching to the lad would do no good, Oliver knew,
he could only try to keep him in the old paths as long as
he might, though the conviction soon forced itself upon him
that Rob only accompanied him to church out of a sort of
compassionate respect for his elder brother’s prejudices. Even
this came to an end in time, and Oliver had to go to church,
and, indeed, spend his Sunday alone, for Rob preferred
passing it in the society of a few kindred spirits, devoting
its hours to culture, the reading of occult modern poetry,
and the practice, followed by but small perfection, of classical
music. So the gulf widened between the brothers, and for
the last year Rob had maintained a strict reserve as to his
ways and manner of life, though from hints now and then
accidentally dropped, Oliver had reason to believe that the
prosecution of “culture” included pursuits and employments
which he had been but little accustomed to associate with
it; and where the money came from for such expensive
amusements was a mystery which all his efforts were unable
to solve. So complete had been Rob’s reserve, that Oliver
could not even guess what were his feelings towards their
old playmate, Mabel Wood, and whether he still considered
himself bound by the boy and girl engagement which wise
8 Oltver Branscombe ; 071,

folk had laughed at, but which had nevertheless continued
through years and absence. The returning of the locket
seemed to show that it had not been relinquished, and
Oliver groaned as he said to himself that it was well that
something had come to end it—well for the loving, trusting
girl that she should be free. Free! a sudden pang warned
him to turn from the thought.

A blaze of light startled Oliver. The church was being
prepared for evensong. His first impulse was to rise and
go, but weariness made him pause a moment, then he sat
down, not with any wish or intention of joining in the
service, of which he felt quite incapable, but partly from
a dread of returning to the lodging which had grown hateful
to him, and partly from a longing for the soothing which
music had always the power to bring. And soothed he
was by chant and psalm, though no word of their meaning
pierced his brain; his thoughts became calmer, and then
took a quietly speculative turn.

“What was the reply to Rob’s bitter taunt about the
risking of his soul’s safety? Where was the fallacy? for
fallacy there must be, it sounded too plausible to be true.
Might a man risk his soul for another, and if not—why ?
He had made up his mind how to act, but he would like to
know the answer. A man’s soul being his own, why might
he not—but stay—is a man’s soul his own? ‘Ye are not
your own, for ye are bought with a price,’ was that it?
‘Therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit
which are His,” he went on dreamily. It seemed plain
enough—a man cannot sacrifice what is not his own, what
belongs of right to another. And for Oliver there was no
doubt as to Whose he was, body, soul, and spirit, and to
Whom belonged the honour which some might call it noble
to sacrifice for his brother. Two wrongs would not make a
right, and as to poor Rob’s rash imputation of the love


The Truth—the Whole Truth. 9



and justice of God—the God of truth could scarcely need
a creature's lie for His vindication.

Oliver went home miserable enough, it is true; but at
least the bitterness of doubt was past for the time. “Ye
are not your own, ye are bought with a price,” there was
rest in the thought, rest for him whose faith was clear; but
would Rob ever see it ?

CHAPTER II.

“THEY say if you hadn’t known, you couldn’t have told
which was prisoner, and which was witness, to look at
them.”

“No; Oliver Branscombe looked as guilty as his brother.
I got in for an hour at noon, just as he came into the
witness-box; he was deadly white, and you could scarcely
hear him speak.”

“Awfully hard lines on him. And the other poor
fellow 2?”

“ He looked bad enough, but hard as nails. Poor Brans-
combe never once looked at him; couldn’t, you know. And
then, when they got out of him all about having seen the
notes in the desk, it was awful—made a fellow feel queer,
I can tell you. I wished myself anywhere else.”

“They say he fainted afterwards.”

“T don’t know how Oliver Branscombe could bring him-
self to do it,” chirped a small clerk from his perch on a high.
office stool, a fair, pink-faced youth, who rejoiced in “ad-
vanced” views; “I couldn’t have done it.” ai

“ Possibly not. To do what Oliver Branscombe has done
takes more of a man than you are ever likely to be,

Liliford.” aie
(224) AQ
10 Oliver Branscombe; or,

The last speaker was a senior clerk, who, entering at
the moment, went straight to his desk and began sorting
some papers. He was a tall man, of a grave countenance,
a good deal looked up to by the others, both as senior in
their department, and also from his belonging to a rather
higher social standing than themselves.

“One for you, Lily,” laughed one of the young men.

“ Ah! Mr. Marton, perhaps, admires this sort of thing—
Brutus and all that,” the chirpy voice continued, as its
owner turned himself round pivotwise on his stool. “For
my part, I confess that it seems to me unnatural, and in my
eyes Nature ‘is sacred; she should be reverenced as”

“Jn plain English, tell lies when convenient,” some one
put in.

“That not very delicate mode of expression is doubtless
meant to be crushing,” replied Mr. Liliford, “but I am not
crushed; on the contrary, I maintain that a noble lie, when
in harmony with nature, has in it a certain element of truth,
and consequently ”

“ Perhaps, in his leisure moments, Mr. Liliford will oblige
the world by undertaking the revision of the dictionary; in
those moments which are not his own at present, he will
kindly give his attention to business.” Mr. Marton spoke
very quietly, and without raising his eyes from his work,
but his words had the effect of silencing the junior clerk,
though not immediately. He made one more declaration
of opinion, remarking as he pivoted himself into a position
that would enable him to follow the suggestion as to work,
“J am still bound to confess that I should have liked
Branscombe better if he had not given that evidence.”

“ Hush !”

Oliver entered the office at this moment, and an em-
barrassed silence fell on the idle youngsters. His face was
white and set, none the less so that Mr. Liliford’s last speech




The Truth—the Whole Truth. II

had clearly reached his ears as he passed the open windows,
and taking it to express the opinion of the meeting, he felt
it keenly. He walked straight up to his desk, looking
neither to right nor left, so missing Marton’s friendly nod,
and intent only on crushing sensation in hard work.

How that work was accomplished Oliver never knew.
Happily it was such as could be done almost mechanically,
while an under consciousness went hammering on in endless
thoughts, plans, and speculations. “Five years’ penal servi-
tude.” It was quite true, he had fainted when he first
heard the sentence, but now it seemed strangely familiar,
so much so as to have no particular meaning, except as its
echo fell on his own life; for there was but one thing left
to him now-—to live and to toil for Rob, to provide a
maintenance for him when the term of imprisonment should
be over, to make up in some way to his brother for the
terrible injury he had done him. The strain of sleepless
nights and days of wretchedness was beginning to tell on
him, and he could not see things as plainly as he had done;
he had even come to use the words “ expiation”” and “ resti-
tution” in thinking of the future, and to take a sort of
fierce pleasure in mapping out for himself a course of life
which should not be so very unlike that to which Rob was
condemned. It was morbid and overstrained, of course,
but the need there would be of maintaining his brother
when good name and employment should be wanting was
sober fact enough, and Oliver only desired to begin on the
rigorous plan he had formed.

First, however, he must see Mabel Wood—that was due
to her—to-morrow, Saturday, he would run down to Oak-
’ field, get a Sunday’s rest, and then begin in good earnest on
the Monday; that is, if this interminable Friday ever did
come to an end. It did so at last, and at any rate the
dreaded ordeal of his first reappearance at the. office was
12 Oliver Branscombe ; o7,

past. He had resolved to get it over as soon as possible,
and had refused the leave of absence offered him for the
vemainder of the week.

Tea was ended, and shadows were beginning to gather in
the corners of the tiny cottage parlour; outside, the sky
was all aflame in the August sunset, and the figure of
Mabel Wood at the window open to the ground, stood out
clearly defined against the crimson back-ground, a slight,
green-robed figure surmounted by a waving outline of light-
brown hair. Her face could not be seen clearly just then,
being turned inwards towards the room as she watched
Oliver’s movements; he was helping Mrs. Wood to carry
her working materials from the sofa to a chair nearer
the window, and seemed inclined to linger even after
the gentle, little lady was comfortably established. Then
Mabel spoke, and there was a ring of impatience in her
voice.

“Oliver! please come out.”

“Mabel, child, you must have a shawl on,” said her
mother, “here, Oliver, take her this.”

He wrapped the soft woolly cloud round her and followed
her out into the sweet evening air. ~

“Now, tell me, Oliver; from the beginning.”

And, pacing to and fro, he went through the whole sad
story. What a tale to be telling a young, innocent girl,
walking in that quiet little carden amongst heavy-headed
roses and scented mignonette! It seemed so strange and
yet wondrously soothing ; the very act of putting the terrible,
distorted scenes and images into one connected history, so -
as to make it comprehensible and yet not needlessly harrow-
ing to his companion, was in itself a relief, and helped to
restore to the different facts their right proportion in his
own mind. When the recital was ended, he paused a
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 13

moment, before, without trusting himself to speak, he
silently placed the little locket in Mabel’s hands.

She looked up with a white startled face, then a strange
smile quivered on her lips.

“Yes—I see—of course it was right of him, but”

Oliver gazed at her in eager questioning, and words of
entreaty, of true-hearted, loyal entreaty on Rob’s behalf
sprang to his lips, but he shut them resolutely back; such
words must not be spoken, the girl must not be bound by
her love and sorrow.

Mabel seemed to read his thought, for she said low and
quietly —

“No, I know it would not be right to say anything, to
promise anything, I must wait—but oh, Oliver, I cannot
give him up yet, not just yet; all this is some terrible dream,
it will be different some day, he will come back to us and
be the same again, he will, he will, Oliver!”

“Pray for it, Mabel! pray! it is my best hope,” Oliver
said; but within him was a sense of great hopelessness. He
knew that the Rob Mabel still cherished in her heart was
the old Rob, so beautiful, so taking, the Rob that every one
had loved and petted; she did not know him as he was
now; and what he would be, who could guess?

The two walked on in silence, and this time, as they
passed the wicket gate leading into the fields, Mabel opened
it, and they wandered out among the yellowing corn, dim
and colourless now in the twilight, with only here and there
a poppy glowing between the stalks. The sky was all one
soft subdued tint of blue-green, except where, low down in
the west, clouds still lay in burning streaks of crimson and
gold; to the east, masses of black rounded woods separated
the dim tints of earth and sky over which the twilight was
drawing like a veil. Lovely and peaceful it was, and should
have been peace-giving, but it only awoke in Oliver’s heart


14 Oliver Bransconbe: or,

a jarring sense of discord; all so sweet here and still, save
when the breeze stirred the corn as it swept over the fields
at will, and Rob in prison! It seemed so wrong, so sadly,
terribly wrong. And deeper yet, another chord was set
jarring by the stillness and beauty without, it should have
been Rob walking here in the summer twilight—Rob, who
might have fearlessly looked into the clear eyes which
Oliver dared not meet—Rob, who might have drunk in the
sweetness of the presence which only made his pulses throb,
and the hot flush come and go on his face, as he walked
moody and silent at her side, with no word of kindness for
the sorrowing girl, Mabel noticed and wondered at his
manner, so unlike the old brotherly ways, and felt a little
pang of remorse. “Poor Oliver, he has suffered almost as
much as Rob, and I have not given him a word of sympathy,”
she thought, and then said, timidly looking up with dewy
eyes, as they paused at the stile—

“ Oliver, I am so sorry for you.”

It was more than he could bear, and his reply was almost
rough—

“Never mind, don’t think of me, Mabel, I shall be all
right; but you ought not to be out now with nothing on
your head, come in,” and he strode back to the house
scarcely waiting for Mabel to follow. “There must be no
more of this sort of thing,” he said to himself.

Sunday was always a busy day with Mabel Wood. Ser-
vices and Sunday-school left her but little leisure, so that
“this sort of thing” was easily avoided. Oliver spent the
afternoon on the grass under a tree, feeling it truly a day
of rest and refreshment, and letting the quiet and sweetness
do its work on him like one recovering from illness. After
evening service he left Mrs, Wood and her daughter at the
church door, saying he would take a stretch before return-
ing to the cottage, and make the most of his taste of
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 15

country air. He walked for a mile or two, skirting round
the village and along the wall of the old rectory garden,
once his home and Rob’s; he would not go in, but struck
off into the fields, returning purposely at last by the path
he had trodden with Mabel the evening before. Resolutely
he crossed the stile, allowing himself no moment of linger-
ing, and walked slowly and steadily along the narrow green
strip between the corn rows—there was more trampled
under foot as he went than the daisy and poppy heads in
the dewy grass.

Only once more was Oliver alone with Mabel. In the
bright light of the morning he could trust his self-com-
mand, so he stood in the sunlit garden watching her as she
went from bush to bush gathering the roses he was to take
back with him to London. It was a shame, he said, to
send them to pine and die in the smoky air, but she in-
sisted; it had ever been the custom when the brothers
came down to the cottage for a country Sunday, only the
flowers had always. been given to Rob, and there was a
wistful look in the girl’s eyes as she placed the fragrant
bunch in Oliver’s hands.

“Mabel,” he said, “you forgive me; you do not blame
me in all this misery ?”

“ Blame you, Oliver, how could I? You could not have
done otherwise.”

“TI suppose not,” he answered; “but I feel very like
Cain at times, and I fancy some of the fellows look upon
me as not much better.”

“That is nonsense.”

The commonplace expression produced stronger conviction
than all his weary self-communings, and brought the first
shadow of a smile that had lighted his face for many a day.
“ Look here, Mabel,” he continued ; “I may not have much
leisure now” (how sweet it would have been to have
16 Oliver Branscombe ; or,

elicited just one word or look of sympathy for his own
‘share of the five years’ sentence; but he put aside the long-
ing and went on quietly), “so that I may not be able to
run down here again for some time, but you will write ?
you will let me know what you are doing, and if you want
help in any matter ?”

“ Of course, Oliver, you must always ‘be my brother.”

“Yes, always your brother.”

She little knew how solemn a renewal of his vow to
Rob lay in the few simple words, nor how much they cost
him.- Oliver went back to London, and began work in
good earnest; he was almost tempted to wish he had done
so before taking his holiday, while the exaltation was still
upon him, which would have imparted a kind of morbid
pleasure to the necessary sacrifices, dreary and prosaic
enough when undertaken in cool blood. He could not, of
course, keep on the comfortable lodgings which had not
been beyond the joint means of the brothers, so, preferring
to remain for the present where he was. known, he
mounted, much to his landlady’s distress, to a three pair
back with a sort of cupboard to serve as a bedroom.
When Rob came back, it might be well to find a home
unconnected with the past. Next came the disposing of
sundry knick-knacks in furniture and china, which had
been acquired of late; it was sad work, but Oliver felt it
to be only justice, as sundry bills of Rob’s kept finding
their way into his hands—the larger debts had apparently
been paid off by the notes, as those that turned up were
.for inconsiderable sums, though worrying to Oliver, since
they necessitated diving into the precious fund accumu-
lating in the bank, the fund that by magic processes of
interest and compound interest, was, in course of time, to
assume magnificent proportions. By October, Oliver was
pretty well able to gauge his own expenses, and a large
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 17

share of his quarter’s salary was added to the store; if any
spur were needed to keep him up to his resolutions, he
found it in his first interview with his brother, three
months after his conviction. The hardness and sullenness
were gone, and Rob seemed to harbour no ill-will towards
Oliver, appearing, indeed, too entirely possessed by de-
spondency and self-pity to have room for any other feeling,
and uttering complaints, which in any one but Rob Oliver
would have been condemned as weak and unmanly, but
which wrung his heart, and sent him back to London full of
gratitude at feeling himself forgiven, and more remorse-
fully bent on self-immolation than ever. Regarding his
present existence as one of sinful indulgence compared
with his brother’s (though in truth Rob’s allowance of
prison-fare probably far exceeded the amount of food he
permitted to himself), he still further curtailed his meals,
and became yet more chary in the matter of fuel; more-
over, he took in copying, at which he toiled late after office
hours, so that before the winter was half over, he looked
worn and haggard enough to make Mr. Marton resolve on
taking him in hand, whether he would or no. Disre-
garding the landlady’s looks of surprise and damping
remarks as to Mr. Branscombe’s not seeing visitors, the
head clerk penetrated into Oliver's lodgings, and began
the weary ascent of endless flights of stairs, pausing on
each landing in the certainty that he must at length
have reached the right one, and making inward ejaculations
of dismay and pity as his guide continued her panting
ascent.

“Come in,” an impatient voice answered to the landlady’s
knock, and without waiting to be announced John Marton
presented himself before Oliver’s dazed eyes; he was sitting
in a great-coat writing at the table, which was drawn up
before the-meagre apology for a fire. He looked pale and
18 Olwver Branscombe ; or,



tired, and his expression was scarcely one of welcome as he
rose to greet his guest.

“Thank you, don’t disturb yourself,” John said, as
Oliver dragged forward the only other chair, “I see you
are busy.”

“Yes,” said Oliver, colouring up.

“T won’t keep you. I just looked in (an airy manner
of describing his recent climb) to ask if you will dine with
us some evening this week.”

“Thank you, I cannot. I am always busy in the
evening.”

“Well, but Sunday. I suppose you do not write all
Sunday.”

“Thank you—but it is impossible.” .

“Branscombe, I know you think me an intruder, pos-
sibly an impertinent one, coming prying here, but just
listen a moment; of course I know what you are doing,
and from my soul I honour you; but no good can come of
. your knocking yourself up with overwork and hard living.
No—stop! let me go on. [I tell you, Oliver, nothing in
this world can be of the value to your brother that you
yourself will be, and you are in a fair way to make your-
self useless to him when—when— in the future. Don’t
you see that you, in your own person, will be everything to
him ?”

Oliver’s head fell dejectedly on his hand, his annoy-
ance had melted away before John Marton’s kind, frank
manner.

“T must work, it is all I can do,” he said drearily.

“Work, yes, but don’t kill yourself.”

“Tt won't kill me; I shall get accustomed to it.”

“Scarcely, in the way you are going on now. Forgive
me, Branscombe, but you are neither eating nor sleeping
enough for a man of your age; now, are you?”
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 19

“Tf one man can—has—to do without luxuries, another
can.”

“JT think you are mistaken in your estimate, not con-
sidering the difference between mental and physical exer-
tion ; anyhow, you have only to look in your looking-glass
to see the effect which your mode of existence is producing
on you; and if you intend to be permanently useful to your
brother some change will be absolutely necessary. My
prescription would be change of scene and relaxation from
time to time; and I strongly advise your looking in on us
on Sunday evening ; it will be only tea, you know, we dine
early on Sundays.”

“ Mr. Marton, thank you,” Oliver said huskily. “TI feel
your kindness, but don’t you see how matters stand? My
future must be Rob’s, and things will be different for him
and must be for me, and it is no use starting a pleasant.
easy life that can’t go on, and will only unfit me for work.”

“No fear of its being too easy, I should say,” said John,
glancing round the dismal room, “but you need not make
it utterly miserable. Just try us, Oliver; we are plain people,
but we wish to be friendly. Pay us one visit, and if you find
it interferes with your work you can drop us.”

“You are very good. Don’t think me ungrateful,” said
Oliver, beginning to relax; “it is only that I am afraid to.
begin anything like society.”

“Just try us,” repeated John, rising; “ you are a good
fellow to stand my lecturing you in this way, but I am
older than you, and how sorry for you words cannot say.”
And as he spoke he put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder for a
moment, then went towards the door saying more lightly,
“ All right, then, we shall expect you at 6.30, and I can
introduce you to my wife; you will not repent it.”

And no more he did. The society of a refined and
lively woman like Mrs. John Marton proved inexpressibly
20 Oliver Bransconbe; or,



delightful to Oliver after the solitary and secluded life he
had been leading of late; she was undeniably a very
charming little lady—a direct contrast to her husband, of
course—being small, bright, and piquante, and possessing a
tenderness and power of sympathy which prevented her
quick, outspoken ways from wounding. She vanquished
Mr. Branscombe’s shyness and reserve in so surprising a
fashion that one evening, as John slept peacefully in his
arm chair, Oliver found himself led on by her gentle ques-
tions and manifest sympathy to tell her all about Rob,
describing him as he was in the old happy days, till, when
she said softly, “ Poor fellow, poor fellow! he must have
been very wretched before he came to that,” Oliver could
have laid his head down on the table and sobbed like a
child in mingled pity for his brother, and joy to hear any
one speak of him thus tenderly. Then she drew from him
little revelations as to his own life, and even confessions of
how “dull a business he found that eternal copying, and
how hard it was sometimes to see other fellows ”—there he
pulled himself up, ashamed of his weakness and fearing to
to be made “soft” by Mrs. Marton’s pity. Of Mabel he
said nothing, at least as yet; but there came a day when the
death of Mrs. Wood left her alone in the world, and the
cottage had to be given up. Mabel accepted an engace-
ment as governess in London, and then Oliver told Mrs.
Marton all her story, and was thankful for the friendship
which emboldened him to bespeak her kindness for the
orphan girl. An introduction was accomplished as Mabel
aired her charges in Kensington Gardens, and was followed
by an invitation for the Sunday tea, at which, however,
Oliver failed to appear, and Mrs. Marton was not long in
discovering that to say that Miss Wood had promised to
spend the evening with her was certain to elicit an excuse
from Oliver. “ Poor things,” she thought, “after all that
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 21



has passed, perhaps it is painful to them to meet ;” and she
made Saturday Mabel’s day, while Sunday evening remained
Oliver’s property.

So the five years passed—years of toil and drudgery and.
of the weariness of perpetual, stern self-restraint—truly
years of “servitude,” though without the “penal” sting, and
brightened to Oliver Branscombe in a way that he could not
have dreamed of as possible by the friendship of John Mar-
ton and his wife. And as the last and longest of the five
drew to its close, it became needful to look about for lodg-
ings—for a home for Rob—and to consider how much might
be abstracted from the precious “fund” for the making it
homelike to prison-wearied eyes.

“JT suppose you expect me to ask the convict to tea,” Mrs.
Marton said to her husband.

“T expect nothing,” John answered, smiling.

CHAPTER IIL

AUGUST again—not the sunny August of five years ago, but
one of those of which we have had frequent experience in
our changeable climate—chill, rainy, and windy. Not that,
beyond a passing hope that his landlady would remember
his injunctions as to a fire,-the state of the weather much
troubled Oliver Branscombe, as the cab conveyed him through
glistening lamp-lit streets ; for was not Rob beside him ? his
own lad come back.

“What's this ?” a voice asked as the cab stopped. “ Home,
Hep the old place, though.”

. No more was said until coats and wraps had been taken
off and the brothers stood together before the cheerful blaze,
which set off to the best advantage Oliver’s carefully con-
22 Oliver Branscombe; or,

sidered arrangements, and the tea-table adorned with flowers,
Mrs. Marton’s contribution to the general effect.

“ Well! you seem to be living in clover here,’ was Rob’s
remark,

It jarred sadly on Oliver, though he told himself that he
was foolish and unreasonable. A convict establishment is
not the best school for delicacy of feeling ; and he only said,
as he busied himself with the tea-kettle—

“T am glad you like the room, Rob.”

And what change had the five years wrought in the
young brother? All the difference in the world, Oliver
thought, and it was difficult to believe that it really was
Rob. It spite of its thinness, the face seemed to have
grown larger, the eyes were sunken and lustreless, and of
the auburn waves nothing remained save a dusty looking
mat of short hair, His hands, and indeed his whole frame,
had a lank, bony appearance, according ill with the clothes
which had replaced the prison fustian. Altogether, the
stranger-brother was very embarrassing as he ate and drank
silently but voraciously, and as though thoroughly appre-
ciating the good fare before him. It was difficult, too, to
know what to say to him, and much relieved did Oliver feel
when, on his suggestion of a good night’s rest, Rob acqui-
esced and followed his brother to the cheerful room, fitted
up with what was positive luxury compared to the scanty
comforts of the tiny den reserved by Oliver for his own
use.

The elder brother went back to accomplish his nightly
task of writing, sitting late over it spite of weariness and
excitement; and before going to his room he was fain to take
a last look at Rob, and assure himself that he had really got
him back. Rob was asleep, and in the softened lines of his
face Oliver thought he could trace a faint resemblance to
the young brother of the past, and he leant over him with
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 23



the yearning which, if he had been his mother, would have
prompted him to bend down and kiss the sleeping face.
Rob stirred and half opened his eyes, then with a muttered
oath hid them from the light.

Sick at heart, Oliver went to his own room. Was the
lad gone for ever? would he ever be the same again? In
the sore despondency, born of weariness and disappointment,
he threw himself on his knees in heart-broken prayer for
wisdom and guidance, for faith and patience, in dealing with
the soul once more given into his care.

And great need was there of faith and patience, as the
days went by with so slight a change in Rob’s dull, stupid
manner, that to Oliver’s longing eyes it was almost imper-
ceptible. Yet change there was; little by little interest
began to awaken, and it was a marked day when Oliver,
coming home, found Rob reading the newspaper, which was
daily laid beside his chair. Then a remark would be made,
or a question asked, which brought on something more like
conversation than the one-sided “talk” which poor Oliver
had racked his brains to supply without touching on un-
pleasant topics; and when the door-mat had become once
more a head of hair, Rob was enticed into daylight walks
instead of the twilight prowls which was all he could at first
be asked to encounter. And one Sunday Oliver resolved
on making a bold stroke before his brother’s dogged kind of
follow-the-leader-docility should vanish as energy revived,
and he said—

“JT am for church, Rob—come with me.”

Rob coloured, but followed as usual, and they went to a
church selected by Oliver for the perfection of its architec-
ture and music, in the hope that Rob’s once beauty-loving
mind might find pleasure if nothing else therein; but he
longed, at the same time, with almost painful anxiety that
there might be words for Rob, some of the words he felt
24 Oliver Branscombe ; or,



himself so powerless to utter. And they were spoken—
loving,-pleading words of yearning over sinning men, and
Oliver’s whole heart went with them as he mentally applied
them to the one sinner who was all the world to him. One
glance he stole towards him, but—Rob was asleep.

Little did Oliver guess that his brother was just be-
ginning to read a sermon which, being a living one, would
touch him with a deeper power than that now falling on
his unheeding ears, a sermon that would have to be read
backwards, so that only in time would he arrive at the
text.

Here are some of its pages :—

Rob was sitting by the fire one evening with a book,
not, however, reading much, for his eyes kept straying to
watch Oliver, who was writing as usual, not copying to-
night, for having successfully sent some papers to a maga-
zine, he now and then varied the monotony of his work by
original composition.

“ Always at it, Oliver,” Rob said at last; “you used not
to work at night.”

Oliver paused a moment before replying—

“It was not necessary then.”

His brother gave him a quick look, then returned to his
book, pretending to read, but in reality thinking, for Oliver's -
words had given a point to ideas which had been vaguely
floating in his mind for some time: “Not necessary then.
What made it necessary now? Himself, Rob, without
doubt. So Oliver was working for him, toiling on night
after night; could he have been doing so all these years ?
and what was to be the end of it? He had so stupidly
accepted his réle of a man ruined and undone that only
lately had it occurred to him that in this character he
was leading a strangely easy and comfortable life—*at
Oliver’s expense,” he added ta himself now. And this was
The Truth—the Whole Truth. 25

true enough, for though Rob’s small patrimony was lying
untouched at the bank, Oliver had resolved that it should
remain so until absolutely needed for a new start in life.
After a while Rob got up, and approaching the table, began
nervously playing with some papers, and then asked in a
low, hesitating voice—

“Ts there anything I could help you with, Oliver? T’m
not good for much, but I used to write a decent hand
once.”

“You will be good for a great deal if you can get
through this bothering bit of copying for me,” Oliver
answered, speaking lightly, to hide how deeply this first
effort of Rob’s had touched him. “It has been on my mind
for days past; it is not long, but the handwriting is horrible,
a ‘blue’ lady’s, I should fancy.”

Each evening after that, Rob took his share of the work,
and right proud was Oliver to hand over to him the profits,
but Rob put it aside.

“ Not mine, Oliver, it is yours.”

“ Ours, then, to split the difference,” said Oliver, rejoicing
in the pronoun.

Further discoveries came to enlighten Rob; indeed, now
that his curiosity was aroused, he took pleasure in studying
his brother, and in finding out in what fashion he had spent
the five years of which he had hitherto considered himself
the only victim.

Laying down the paper one day, he abearvad=

“This new actor at the Lyceum seems to be making a
stir; what is he like?”

“JT don’t know, I haven’t seen him.”

“Why, I thought you would go any distance to see
Shakespeare acted.”

“So I would, and we will some day, Rob.”

“Do you mean you haven’t been to the play since ?”


26 Oliver Branscombe; or,



“J haven’t had time for that sort of thing.”

It was the same with everything, and Rob finally came
to the conclusion that Oliver’s five years had passed as
guiltless of amusements as his own, with this difference,
that his brother’s abstinence was voluntary and not, like
his own, compulsory. Once, and once only, was a tenderer
chord touched upon. As the two walked down Regent
Street one day, they stopped to look in at a shop-window
full of prints and coloured photographs; they had lingered
long, looking at some favourites of old days, when a sudden
movement of Rob’s drew Oliver’s attention to a small
picture on which his brother’s eyes were fixed. It was the
figure of a girl with waving light brown hair, and with,
yes, just a look of Mabel Wood in form and colouring,
enough to account for the heavy sigh with which Rob
turned from the window. He was very silent as they
walked home, and the dejection from which he had been
emerging of late, began to settle down on him as the
evening advanced; he shook it off with an effort, however,
and set himself manfully to work, but just as they were
about to separate for the night he said, speaking so low
that it was with difficulty that Oliver caught the
words—

“Ts she married ?”

Oliver shook his head.

“Don’t think Iam so mad as to have any thoughts of
her; I have sunk low enough, but not so low as that.
Where is she ?”

“In London. Since Mrs. Wood’s death she has been
living in a family as governess.”

There was a pause, and then Rob asked wistfully—

“Ts she much changed, Oliver ?”

“Not much, I should say—but I rarely see her—she is
happy, I believe, in her present position, and has friends


The Truth—the Whole Truth. a7



through whom I hear of her; but I have seen hardly any-
thing of her.”

Their eyes met for an instant; both were thinking of
that vow made in the prison cell, but no more was said
beyond a husky “Good night, old fellow,” from Rob as he
tcok his candle and left the room.

“What a life!” he thought. “Iwas always fond enough
of old Oliver, but I couldn’t have done it. I should have
done what he wouldn’t do for me then, but as to slaving
and working through these years, and all alone too, I
couldn’t have held out. I wonder where the difference lies
—if it’s in religion, there must be more power in it than I
thought.”

So Rob read and pondered over the sermon which Oliver
had been unconsciously writing for him, till at last he came
to the text and found that it was—love; not mere natural,
easy love, but something akin to His who said, “As I have
loved you, that ye also love one another.” Love such as
Oliver’s, that endures, giving or taking suffering as the
Father wills, is formed on no human model. And Rob
came to see this, and as there dawned upon him some com-
prehension of the strength of his brother’s love, faith in the
Source from which it was drawn sprang up too, and with
these came such depth of humiliation and self-abasement as
his five years’ punishment had been powerless to produce.

“They must meet,” said Mrs. Marton.

“Meet? But dear Mrs. Marton, ought they ?”

“T think so, certainly; the poor child has never given
him up, and it must have an end one way or another, which
it never will unless she sees him again.”

“But should we be justified in exposing Mabel to such
an ordeal ?”
28 Oliver Branscombe ; or,



“For pity’s sake, Mr. Branscombe, don’t be pompous; it
is a shocking habit, and I have observed it creeping on you
—and do not tallk of Mabel as if she were a new carpet
that mustn’t be ‘exposed’ to the sun. She is not a child,
remember, aud as she cares for Rob—your brother, I mean
—as much as ever, or at any rate some one she believes to
be he, she had much better see the reality.”

Oliver laughed; his laugh had a wonderful ring in it of
late. “Well but, without being pompous, Mrs. Marton, it
is rather a serious look-out; though,” he added gravely, “I
verily believe the present Rob to be worthier than the one
to whom she has been faithful all these years. I can see
the change, but how it has come I know not.”

“How it has come! Why by living with you, I should
think,” spoke out Mrs. Marton.

Oliver looked at her in unfeigned astonishment.

“Mrs. Marton! do you know I haven’t said a syllable of
that sort of thing to Rob since he came back ?”

“Very likely—there are other things besides talking.
But now about these two—it must be here, and they must
not lnow, or they will refuse, at least your brother will, of
course, and they ought to be alone. It would be too hard
on Mabel to meet him suddenly before other people.”

So the conspiracy was arranged, and the following Satur-
day fixed for the meeting. Oliver went home not a little
doubtful as to its prudence, though confident that Mrs.

Marton knew what was best for Mabel. “If it comes to
the worst they might emigrate,” he thought.

Mabel found Mrs. Marton immersed in flowers when she
entered the room on the fateful evening.

“That's right, Mabel,” she said, “I am glad you have
come early—look at these roses just arrived from home; I
have barely had time to put them in water, and now I want
those two vases for the dinner-table—Mr. Branscombe is


The Truth—the Whole Truth. 29

coming, and I want it to look nice—I have nearly finished
this one, will you do the other?”

Nothing loth, Mabel knelt down by a low table, and began
her task, with fresh, fragrant roses lying all about her. She
sighed a little as they reminded her of Oakfield, and she
could not help kissing their red and yellow heads for love
of old times ere she placed them in the tall glass. Never- |
theless she smiled to herseli—it was pleasant to think of
seeing Oliver, even though he would probably never mention
Rob—only from that very injudicious Mrs. Marton could
any information on that subject be wrung.

Mabel Wood was but slightly changed—she was, perhaps,
a little thinner, and the stubborn waves of hair were more
tightly pressed into their coils than of old, as became a sedate
instructress of youth, but the face had the quiet steadfastness
which is slow to change, even though the eyes may have
learnt a wistfulness which used not to be there.

“There is the door-bell!” exclaimed Mrs. Marton. “TI
will take this vase down to the dining-room, bring yours
when it is ready, Mabel,” and away she sped, hoping her friend
had not remarked the flush which the sounds of arrival had
brought to her cheeks.

“Mr. Branscombe” was announced, and Mabel looked
up, smiling. Mr. Branscombe it was truly, but not the one
she had expected, and a little cry broke from her as, still
kneeling, she gazed with scared eyes at the figure of Rob,
who, standing for a moment as if petrified, muttered—

“ T did not know,” and turned to leave the room.

“QO Rob! don’t go; itis so long, so long!” and she stood
up with arms.stretched out imploringly. “Rob, don’t go.”

He wavered, and then came towards her.

“Can you bear the sight of me?” he said. “I never
meant to bring my unworthiness into your presence. - I
must be hateful to you, Mabel! Do not look at me like
30 Oliver Bransconube ; or,

that ; do not look at me so pitifully!” He stopped, afraid |
of what he might say, and a silence followed full of confu-
sion; utter shamefacedness had seized upon Mabel, and she
stood there covering her burning face with her hands and
trembling in every limb. The sight roused all the man-
hood in Rob, and a longing sense of protection towards the
_ girl; he drew a chair towards her, and said, speaking very
quietly —

“Sit down, Mabel, and listen. Don’t be frightened; I
only want you to listen to something I must say.”

She sank down on the chair, and, with her face still
hidden.in her hands, waited for Rob to speak. It was so
new to be obeying Rob. In the old days all the element of
protection and of command had been on her side; the new
tone in his voice was wonderfully sweet. Rob stood looking
down on her, and spoke rapidly, but in a voice controlled
to perfect gentleness. “Don’t be frightened,” he repeated;
“don’t think I am going to take advantage of your startled
words. All I want is, to ask your forgiveness for ever
having dared to love you, knowing that even now, ruined
and disgraced as I am, a man who can only stand here
before you on sufferance, I am not more utterly unworthy of
you than I was when I dared to take your love as my right,
and in my shallow presumption had no thought of making
myself worthy of it. It is for this I want your pardon.
Only say you forgive me, andI will go. Can you, Mabel?”

“Do not leave meagain, Rob!” The words came almost
inaudibly from the bent head, and Rob’s voice, as he went
on, betrayed the effort it cost him to speak quietly ; but he
was determined that no show of emotion on his part should
lead her to say what she might afterwards repent.

“ Mabel, you do not know what you are saying. Remen,
ber what I am—a convict. You cannot link your fate with
mine; no woman could.‘



|
}

|
|
The LTruth—the Whole Truth. 31



“Then I must be different from other women,’ Mabel
said; and now she raised her face, and, though it was wet
with tears, a faint smile broke over it as she looked up at
him; “for I never gave you up. I hold you to your word,
Rob.”

“Mabel, listen. It is madness; at least you must take
time, you must try me. The bare hope would seem to me
incredible if Oliver had not shown me how people can love,
and at the last you must be free to reject me when and how
you will, You can never owe me anything, Mabel. ‘The
hope is far more than I deserve, the joy is too great; and
yet,” he said, almost in a whisper, “I never truly felt my
punishment until now. You cannot guess what it is to a
man to have only a dishonoured name to offer the woman
he loves.”

“Hush!” said Mabel, “remember it is Oliver’s name.”
Then she took her flowers and fled.

Meanwhile the conspirators awaited the result of their
scheme with no small anxiety in the dining-room. Mrs.
Marton was outwardly far more nervous than Oliver, who
leant silently against the mantelpiece, while she moved
restlessly about the room in so irritable a frame of mind
that when he innocently remarked, “I hope she has not
been frightened,” she replied tartly—

fe How you go on about Mabel; she can quite well take
care of herself, and I have made it faite easy for her to come
down to me. One would think it was you who are in love
with her,’ and then a look on Oliver’s face made her repent
of her flippant speech. “So that has been it,” she thought ;
“was there ever such a noble soul!”

In a little while Mabel crept in carrying the vase of
flowers; Oliver quickly vanished, and in another moment
the girl was clinging with her arms round her friend’s neck,
uttering scarcely audible explanations.
32 Oliver Branscombe.



The evening was rather a trying one, but Mrs. Marton,
conscious that she had only herself to thank for it, surpassed
herself in her endeavours to make it pass off in tolerable
comfort, and then, after a silent walk, the brothers found
themselves in their own sitting-room.

Rob sank into a chair with a sort of dazzled look on his
face, and Oliver stood gazing at him with his heart full—he
was thankful to realise it—of a joy more perfect, more un-
alloyed than he had ever known. At last he went up to
his brother, saying—

“J know it is all right between us, Rob, but I want to
hear you say it,” and he put his hands on Rob’s shoulders as
he had done that terrible day, years ago; “say it, lad—say
that you believe in me.”

Rob looked up at him.

“T believe in you, Oliver,” he said, “and through you I
believe in the mercy of God—thanks be to Him.”

“Thanks be to Him,” repeated Oliver; “then it ¢s all
right, lad.”


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Published under the Direction of the Church of England Temperance Society.
% CONTENDS.



_ :
Page
Absolution, A Sermon . . : e132 Convocation Reports . ; = :
Acts, Lessons on the + 1 | Coral Missionary Magazine . .
Adult Classes, Hints to Teachers of ete. Counsels of a Godfather . , 3 é
Aids to Christian Education . 18 a on Prayer . BS "
» the Study of the Boole of Samuel 12 Count up the Sunny Days
Alice and Her Cross. . . 5 Cuddesdon Manual of Intercession for
Amethyst . . . . . . + 25 Missions. : 5 7 . 3
Artist . = 2 em . . . I
Daily Family Prayer Gs
Be ye Reconciled to God. 5 A De tee Daisy Offices and Litany
Bell-Ringers, Hintsto . 12 Service of Song
Bells, Form of Service for Dedication of . 27 Day of Intercession, Hymns for the :
Bertha’s School-Fellows . . 2 4 y Suggestions for Observing
Bible-Class Manual . i 7 O 31 if ¥ Thoughts for the.
Boy Hero : : : . + 14 os Thoughts for the au and
Brazen Serpent Pane oe Infirm . =a Z
Break up your Fallow Ground) } 33 Days thatare Past . Sey
Breaking of the Bread. + 8 | DeareChilde . . . =; oes
Bright Thoughts for the Morning + 3 | DebClinton . as
British Burma, Personal Recollections of 29 | Devotional Life, Tacructionsiit q
British Guiana, Legends and Myths of . 3 Dictionary of the English Church . ‘
Burial of the Dead, Officeof . . =. 30 Discipline of Temptation . eee F
By the Sea of Galilee . . 18 | Divine Fellowship ‘ oe
Service . = : e . .
Can She keep a Secret? . . 6 | Doctrine of Incarnation » 1.
Canticles Pointed . é . Z 14 Dogged Jack . ‘
ane ee : . : . 4 Dolly’s own Story i A
ange-Ringing 29 hurch” ‘ .
Chanee: -Ringer’s Guide to the Steeples of Double Witness of the C
England. + + 29 | Edith Vernon's Life-Work ‘
Changed Cross. . * + + 22 | Kirenicon for the Wesleyans . .
yp, with Music 12 | Evening Psalter Pointed for Chanting
Chants, A Selection of Single and Double 28 | Extra Services for Use in Church
Coetene of the Tord ono 32
Chatterbox. + + + + 4 | Family Worship for Busy Homes ..
Child-Nature . *. + 4 | Favourite Story-Book : a a:
Children Busy, Children Glad’ 23 Feild, Life of Bishop e A : ?
Children of the Church (rst and 2nd ‘series) 21 First ‘Lady EEN anleee : %
1. __,of the Old Testament * + 5 | First Steps to Holy Corie
Children’s Home Hymn-book . : 5 | Flying Leaves.
School Hymn-book . 5 | Following Christ .
Child’s Own Story-book . e . 3 3 | Footprints A
Choirmen, Hints to . e : a Forms of Prayer to accompany “Sermons .
Chorister’s Admission Card. pw 5 | Fortune-Teller - ase th
Christian Church, History gt the . 3, 925) Roan ladgiand them Lives
” ae © . : ES Four Little Sixes .
Churchand Dissent. 29. 1 13 Een ae: -nothing noe to Happy- day
» and Nonconformists 13 | From East to West .
», Congress Reports 5 ;
in Relation to Home Reunion 13
Churchman’ 's Almanac for Bight Cen- Golden Steps. : : . :
turies . . 3r Good Stories : : 5
Churchman’s Manual 30 (New Series) : s :
Churchmen and Nonconformists: a Better Gospel Missionary Se sS Sas
Understanding between ° é Ree] Gospels, Story of the d . . . .
Clockmaker of St.Laurent . . . -6 | Grainof Mustard Seed. Die
Cloud and the Star... , . 13 | Great Britain for Little Britons ote
Colonel Rolfe’s Story. 5 , 5 Gregory of the Foretop. . : .
Common-Life Sermons : S
Communicants, Two Addresses to | 32 | Happy Sunday Afternoons .
Communion of Saints . . . . 32 | Hearty Services ‘
Confession: ASermon . 7 . « 32 | Helen Morton's Trial, and Timid Lucy b
Confirmation, Officeof . . . . 3) | Helpat Hand af ue .
Consulting the Fates fo ewe ee SS Ve Helpsiby-the: Way. G0 0 es ee



Page

30
23
16

It
20
It
12

12
CONTENTS.

Page
Her Great Ambition : : Serle
High Wages 12
Hindrances and Helps 4 32
to Spiritual Life 23
Hints to Church Workers 12
Holiness to the Lord 13
Holy Baptism, Office of . 30
1» Communion . . 14
y» Communion (Sikes), . . ne 225)
»» Marriage, ‘'wo Addresses on . «= 6

» Matrimony, Office for Solemni-
zation of % é i . + 30

Holy Scripture: Temperance and Total

Abstinence . . S ES 14
Holy Week and Easter . eo ~32)
», and Easter (Bourdaloue) . 3
Home Reunion, Church in Relationto . 13
i 3 A Lecture on. 7 -* 123
53 Ry Sermonon . 13
Home Reunion Society's Publications | 13
Honor Bright 3 Z ‘ . oe ATA
Household Prayers . . n ‘ + go
How to Keep Lent . a 32
», to Deal with Temptation Sear 32,
», to Pray the Lord's Prayer mo
Index Canonum i Semeak
Inheritance of our Fathers : 2
Institution and Induction, Form of” sy 27.
Instruction for Junior Classes . s I
Isit Peace? . : ‘ Le Bt
ack Stedman . os 5
em Morrison, and the Village Artist | 3
Kalendar Notes : 7 : . 30
King in His Beauty. : I
Land of Light . ‘ : 17
Laws of Marriage . : : Ir
Lay Missioners, Hints to. fe ) 2 te
», Readers, Hintsto . A - . 12
Lectures on the Lord’s Prayer. 2 a £23
* Left till called for’ . a ms om 17,
Left to Our Father . = 5 . eee Li7,
Lent Lectures . zy : ss 32
Lenten and other Sermons G : 4
»» Sermons, Seven . e » 16
Letter of Commendation . : . » 18
Little Fables for Little Folks . S - 18
»» Helps for Daily Toilers . a he 378
»» _Lays for Little Lips : > - 8
Lost Piece of Silver . 5 A . - 418
Love is of God o . : * 127;
Lucy Graham . - ‘ . . . 6
Lucy Helmore ei es + 30
Mackenzie, Life of the Rev. W. B.. 4
Magdalen Psalter. . . 12)
Manual! for Lent . ; ‘ 2 333
7 for Advent . - + 33
Margaret and Her Friends - 2E
Marriage Service. A sy 478
Martin the Skipper . 5 s . 7
Martin Gay the Singer € 5
Minister of Christ in these Latter Day s. 28
Missionary.Conference Reports. sis AIO
Prayers . . + 20
Mission Field. re . : - 19
7 Life . . 7 . 19
Missions, Speeches on . 31

co
oer





Month by Month. 7 : 5 a
Mopsathe Fairy . 7 : : 2
More Outlines . 5 : .
Morning and Evening Pray er. .
Morning Star . . : :
Mother's Union 2 . 3 : :
x». Warm Shawl . 3 . :
My Private Prayer-book . ec

N.orM. . . 7
Necessity of Personal Testimony 7 5
Nether Stoney . : . é
Notes on the Church Service .

Number Eleven : .

Off to California . 7 , 3
Office for New-Year’s Eve | i .
Offices for Parochial Use, Five
x» . of Holy Baptism, Confirmation,
Solemnization of Matrimony, and
Burial of the Dead .

Old, Old Story . : . < .
Old’ Andrew the Peacemaker | : "
», Paths. 5 7 5 7 : .
», Ship . . fe . 5
Oliver Dale’ s Decision abe :
One of a Covey 5 . . o

Only a Girl . ; . 7
Ordination, Eve of . . Fe
Our Boys and Girls .
Our Class Meeting . .
Our Church and Our Country ; . fe S
Our Waifs and Strays. fe
Outline Lessons for each Sunday
Outline Illustrations for Little Ones to
Colour. First and Second Series .
Outline Pictures for Little Painters
Outstretched Hands . NS %
Out ofthe Way .. ; 5 3 c

Papal Claims .

Parables of Our Lord practically set forth
ae of the Kingdom 5 .

Parish Library . e . 2

» Magazine .

3, Priest, Private Life, &e.
Pastor in Parochia . < .
Pastoral Work . i .
Peace in the Sacraments . .
Peas-Blossom_ . : . ;
Penitentiary Work . . .
Pictures from the Poets .

Plain Forms of Household Prayer
» Texts for Daily Use.
3» Words, 1, 2, 3, 4, Series.

iy as Tracts . .

5 to Children . .
Position and Duty of N: on-Abstainers
Power of Suffering . ; . .

», . of Weakness . : .
Practical Sermons. d 6
Prayer for the Parish . .
Prayer-book, England's

* its History, Language, and

Contents.

Prayers and Meditations for each Day of

the Week .
Prayers for Children | a

ed » _ on Card
yy . for Schools .
Preaching, Lectureson .

Page
20

23
14
20
20
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20
31

14
33

oon

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2r

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28

22

22

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15
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86 CONTENTS.
Page Page
Present Christ . . . - 22 | Stories gre Episodes . 3 . SONee 7,
Primitive Episcopacy, Paper on . ers nh tell Me. : fi . . 24
Prize Bible : . . + 23 suidente ¢ ospel Harmony. - 26
ss for Boys and Girls | : - 6 | Studies for Stories from Girls’ Lives ae eeto
Psalter and Canticles, pointed Soe R28 » intheChurch . 17
Succession of Episcopal ‘Jurisdiction in
Queen’s Shilling . 7 ; ‘5 24 yee - és : 7
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