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GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE,

THE editor of the Louisville Journal, is a native of Connecticut, born at Preston, New London county, December 18, 1802. He was educated at Brown University, studied law but did not engage in the profession, preferring the pursuits of editorial life. In 1828 he commenced the New England Weekly Review at Hartford, a well conducted and well supported journal of a literary character, which he carried on for two years, when, resigning its management to Mr. Whittier, he removed to the West,established himself in Kentucky at Louisville, and shortly became editor of the "Journal," a daily paper in that city, In his hands it has become one of the most widely known and esteemed newspapers in the country; distinguished by its fidelity to Whig politics, and its earnest, able editorials, no less than by the lighter skirmishing of wit and satire. The "Prenticeiana" of the editor are famous. If collected and published with appropriate notes these mots would form an amusing and instructive commentary on the management of elections, newspaper literature, and political oratory, of permanent value as a memorial of the times.

The Louisville Journal has always been a supporter of the cause of education and of the literary interest in the West. It has hence become, in accordance with the known tastes of the editor, a favorite avenue of young poets to the public. Several of the most successful lady writers of the West have first become known through their contributions to the "Journal."

Mr. Prentice's own poetical writings are numerous. Many of them first appeared in the author's "Review" at Hartford. A number have been collected by Mr. Everest in the "Poets of Connecticut." They are in a serious vein, chiefly expressions of sentiment and the domestic affections. Our specimen is taken from Mr. Gallagher's "Selections from the Poetical Literature of the West."

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Its atmosphere of roses-its white clouds
Stumbering like seraphs in the air-its birds
Telling their loves in music-and its streams
Leaping and shouting from the up-piled rocks
To make earth echo with the joy of waves.
And Summer, with its dews and showers, has gone-
Its rainbows glowing on the distant cloud
Like Spirits of the Storm-its peaceful lakes
Smiling in their sweet sleep, as if their dreams
Were of the opening flowers and budding trees
And overhanging sky-and its bright mists
Resting upon the mountain-tops, as crowns
Upon the heads of giants. Autumn too
Has gone, with all its deeper glories-gone
With its green hills like altars of the world
Lifting their rich fruit-offerings to their God-
Its cool winds straying 'mid the forest aisles
To wake their thousand wind-harps-its serene
And holy sunsets hanging o'er the West

Like banners from the battlements of Heaven-
And its still evenings, when the moonlit sea
Was ever throbbing, like the living heart
Of the great Universe. Ay-these are now
But sounds and visions of the past-their deep,
Wild beauty has departed from the Earth,
And they are gathered to the embrace of Death,
Their solemn herald to Eternity.

High human hearts The fresh dust

Nor have they gone alone.
Of Passion have gone with them.

Is chill on many a breast, that burned erewhile
With fires that seemed immortal. Joys, that leaped
Like angels from the heart, and wandered free
In life's young morn to look upon the flowers,
The poetry of nature, and to list

The woven sounds of breeze, and bird, and stream,
Upon the night-air, have been stricken down
In silence to the dust. Exultant Hope,
That roved for ever on the buoyant winds
Like the bright, starty bird of Paradise,
And chaunted to the ever-listening heart
In the wild music of a thousand tongues,
Or soared into the open sky, until
Night's burning gems seemed jewelled on her brow,
Has shut her drooping wing, and made her home
Within the voiceless sepulchre. And Love,
That knelt at Passion's holiest shrine, and gazed
On his heart's idol as on some sweet star,
Whose purity and distance make it dear,
And dreamed of ecstasies, until his soul
Seemed but a lyre, that wakened in the glance
Of the beloved one--he too has gone
To his eternal resting-place. And where
Is stern Ambition-he who madly grasped
At Glory's fleeting phantom-he who sought
His fame upon the battle-field, and longed
To make his throne a pyramid of bones
Amid a sea of blood? He too has gone!
His stormy voice is mute-his mighty arm
Is nerveless on its clod-his very name
Is but a meteor of the night of years
Whose gleams flashed out a moment o'er the Earth,
And faded into nothingness. The dream
Of high devotion-beauty's bright array-
And life's deep idol memories-all have passed
Like the cloud-shadows on a starlight stream,
Or a soft strain of music, when the winds
Are slumbering on the billow.

Yet, why muse

Upon the past with sorrow? Though the year
Has gone to blend with the mysterious tide
Of old Eternity, and borne along
Upon its heaving breast a thousand wreeks
Of glory and of beauty-yet, why mourn
That such is destiny? Another year
Succeedeth to the past-in their bright round
The seasons come and go-the same blue arch,
That hath hung o'er us, will hang o'er us yet-
The same pure stars that we have loved to watch,
Will blossom still at twilight's gentle hour
Like lilies on the tomb of Day-and still
Man will remain, to dream as he hath dreamed,
And mark the earth with passion. Love will spring
From the lone tomb of old Affections-Hope
And Joy and great Ambition, will rise up
As they have risen--and their deeds will be
Brighter than those engraven on the scroll
Of parted centuries. Even now the sea
Of coming years, beneath whose mighty waves
Life's great events are heaving into birth,
Is tossing to and fro, as if the winds

Of heaven were prisoned in its soundless depths
And struggling to be free.

Weep not, that Time

Is passing on-it will ere long reveal
A brighter era to the nations. Hark!
Along the vales a id mountains of the earth
There is a deep, portentous murmuring,
Like the swift rush of subterranean streams,
Or like the mingled sounds of earth and air,
When the fierce Tempest, with sonorous wing,
Heaves his deep folds upon the rushing winds,
And hurries onward with his night of clouds
Against the eternal mountains. "Tis the voice
Of infant FREEDOM-and her stirring call
Is heard and answered in a thousand tones
From every hill-top of her western home-
And lo-it breaks across old Ocean's flood-
And "FREEDOM! FREEDOM! is the answering shout
Of nations starting from the spell of years.
The day-spring!-see-'tis brightening in the hea-

vens!

The watchmen of the night have caught the sign-
From tower to tower the signal-fires flash free-
And the deep watch-word, like the rush of seas
That heralds the volcano's bursting flame,
Is sounding o'er the earth. Bright years of hope
And life are on the wing!-Yon glorious bow
Of Freedom, bended by the hand of God,
Is spanning Time's dark surges. Its high Arch,
A type of Love and Merey on the cloud,
Tells, that the many storms of human life
Will pass in silence, and the sinking waves,
Gathering the forms of glory and of peace,
Reflect the undimmed brightness of the Heavens.

CHARLES E. ARTHUR GAYARRE.

CHARLES E. ARTHUR GAYARRE was born in Louisiana on the 3d of January, 1805. He is of mixed descent, Spanish and French. His father, Charles Anastase Gayarré, and his mother, Marie Elizabeth Boré, were natives of Louisiana. His family is one of the most ancient in the state, and historic in all its branches and roots. Some of his ancestors were the contemporaries of Bienville and Iberville, the founders of the colony.

The subject of this notice was educated in New Orleans, at the college of the same name, where he pursued his studies with marked distinction. In 1825, when Mr. Edward Livingston laid before the Legislature of Louisiana the criminal code which he had prepared at the request of the state, Mr. Gayarré, then quite a youth, published a panphlet, in which he opposed some of Mr. Livingston's view, and particularly the abolition of capital punishment, which Mr. Gayarré considered a premature innovation, and of dangerous application to the State of Louisiana, for certain reasons which he discussed at length. The pamphlet produced great sensation at the time, anl the adoption of the code was indefinitely postponed by the legislature. In 1826 Mr. Gayarré went to Philadelphia, and studied law in the office of William Rawle. In 1829 he was admitted to the bar of that city; and in 1830 returned home, and published in French An Historical Essay on Louisiana, which obtained great success. same year, only a few months after his return, he was elected, almost by a unanimous vote, one of the representatives of the city of New Orleans in the legislature, and was chosen by that body to write the "Address," which it sent to France, to compliment the French Chambers on the revolution of 1830. In 1831 he was appointed assistant or deputy attorney-general, in 1833 pre-i VOL. 11--23

That

siding judge of the city court of New Orleans; and in 1835, when he had just attained the constitutional age, was elected to the Senate of the United States for a term of six years. Ill health prevented Mr. Gayarre from taking his seat, and compelled him to go to Europe, where he remained until October, 1843. In 1844, shortly after his return, Mr. Gayarré was elected by the city of New Orleans to the legislature of the state, where he advocated and carried several important measures, among which was a bill to provide for the liabilities of the state, and which in a short time effected a reduction of two millions and a half of dollars. In 1846 he was re-elected at the expiration of his term; but on the very day the legislature met he was appointed secretary of state by Governor Johnson. That office was then one of the most important and laborious in the state, the secretary being at that time, besides his ordinary functions as such, superintendent of public education, and constituting with the treasurer the "Board of Currency," whose province it is to exercise supreme control and supervision over all the banks of the state. Mr. Gayarré discharged his multifarious duties in a manner which will long be remembered, particularly in connexion with the healthy condition in which he maintained the banks. At the expiration of his four years' term of office, he was re-appointed secretary of state by Governor Walker in 1850. Mr. Gayarré, during the seven years he was secretary of state, found time to publish in French a History of Louisiana, in two volumes, containing very curious documents, which he had collected from the archives of France. He also published in English, in one volume, the Romance of the History of Louisiana, and in English subsequently the History of Louisiana, in two volumes. This continuous work is not a translation of the one he wrote in French. It is cast in a different mould, and contains much matter not to be found in the French work. The Romance of the History of Louisiana is appended to it as an introduction. Mr. Redfield, of New York, has published Mr. Gayarre's history of the Spanish Domination in Louisiana, coming down to the 20th of December, 1803, when the United States took possession of the colony, in which work he makes some remarkable disclosures in relation to the Spanish intrigues in the West carried on with the co-operation of General Wilkinson and others, from 1786 to 1792, to dismember the Union, and gives a full account of the negotiations which led to the cession.

As secretary of state, Mr. Gayarré made so judicious a use of the sum of seven thousand dollars, which he had at his disposal for the pur-chase of books, that he may be said to be the father of the state library; and with the very limited sum of two thousand dollars, which, at his pressing request, was voted by the legislature for the purchase of historical documents, he suc-ceeded, by dint of perseverance and after two years' negotiations in obtaining very important documents from the archives of Spain, the substance of which he has embodied in his history of the Spanish Domination in Louisiana.

Mr. Gayarre has lately given to the public two lectures on The Influence of the Mechanic Arts, and a dramatic novel, called the School for Politics, a humorous and satirical exhibition of the party

Charts Gayarın

frauds and relaxed political sentiment of the day, which may be presumed to have grown out of the writer's experiences, some of which are detailed, in a more matter of fact form, in an Address to the People of the State, which he published on the "late frauds perpetrated at the election held on the 7th of November, 1853, in the city of New Orleans." Mr. Gayarré was on that occasion an independent candidate for Congress, refusing to be controlled by the party organization, and was defeated, though he polled a large and influential vote. His undisguised sentiments, in regard to the political manoeuvres of the times, are freely expressed at the close of his pamphlet.

He has since taken part in the "Know-Nothing" organization of his native state; and was one of the delegates excluded from the general council of the party at Philadelphia in June, 1855, on the ground of their position as Roman Catholics. This drew from him a privately printed address, in which, with animation and vigor, he handles the question of religious proscription.

As a writer, the prose of Mr. Gayarré is marked by the French and Southern characteristics. It is warm, full, rhetorical, and constantly finds expression in poetical imagery. In his comedy, where the style is restrained by the conversational directness, there are many passages of firm, manly English. As an historian, though his narratives are highly colored, in a certain vein of poetical enthusiasm, they are based on the diligent study of origin: authorities, and are to be consulted with confidence; the subjects of his early volumes are in themselves romantic, and the story is always of the highest interest. His last volume brings him to the discussion of a most important era in our political history.

FATHER DAGOBERT.

The conflict which had sprung up between the Jesuits and Capuchins, in 1755, as to the exercise of spiritual jurisdiction in Louisiana, may not have been

From the History of the Spanish Domination in Louisiana.

forgotten. The Bishop of Quebec had appointed a Jesuit his Vicar-General in New Orleans, but the Capuchins pretended that they had, according to a contract passed with the India company, obtained exclusive jurisdiction in Lower Louisiana, and therefore had opposed therein the exercise of any pastoral functions by the Jesuits. The question remained undecided by the Superior Council, which felt considerable reluctance to settle the controversy by some final action, from fear perhaps of turning against itself the hostility of both parties, although it leaned in favor of the Capuchins. From sheer lassitude there had ensued a sort of tacit truce, when father Hilaire de Géneveaux, the Superior of the Capuchins, who, for one of a religious order proverbially famed for its ignorance, was a man of no mean scholarship and of singular activity, quickened by a haughty and ambitious temper, went to visit Europe, without intimating what he was about, and returned with the title of Apostolic Prothonotary, under which he claimed, it seems, the power to lord it over the Jesuit who was the Vicar-General of the Bishop of Quebec. Hence an increase of wrath on the part of the Jesuits and a renewal of the old quarrel, which ceased only when the Jesuits were expelled from all the French dominions. But the triumph of father Géneveaux was not of long duration; for, in 1766, the Superior Council, finding that he was opposed to their scheme of insurrection, had expelled him as a perturber of the public peace, and father Dagobert had become Superior of the Capuchins. They lived altogether in a very fine house of their own, and

there never had been a more harmonious community than this one was, under the rule of good father Dagobert.

He had come very young in the colony, where he had christened and married almost everybody, so that he was looked upon as a sort of spiritual father and tutor to all. He was emphatically a man of peace, and if there was anything which father Dagobert hated in this world, if he could hate at all, it was trouble-trouble of any kind-but particularly of that sort which arises from intermeddling and contradiction. How could, indeed, father Dagobert not be popular with old and young, with both sexes, and with every class? Who could have complained of one whose breast harbored no ill feeling towards anybody, and whose lips never uttered a harsh word in reprimand or blame, of one who was satisfied with himself and the rest of mankind, provided he was allowed to look on with his arms folded, leaving angels and devils to follow the bent of their nature in their respective departments? Did not his ghostly subordinates do pretty much as they pleased? And if they erred at times-why-even holy men were known to be frail! And why should not their peccadilloes be overlooked or forgiven for the sake of the good they did? It was much better (we may fairly suppose him so to have thought, from the knowledge we have of his acts and character), for heaven and for the world, to let things run smooth and easy, than to make any noise. Was there not enough of unavoidable turmoil in this valley of tri

bulations and miseries? Besides, he knew that God was merciful, and that all would turn right in the end. Why should he not have been an indulgent shepherd for his flock, and have smiled on the prodigal son after repentance, and even before, in order not to frighten him away? If the extravagance of the sinning spendthrift could not be checked, why should not he, father Dagobert, be permitted, by sitting at the hospitable board, to give at least some dignity to the feast, and to exorcise away the ever lurking spirit of evil Did not Jesus sit at meal with publicans and sinners? Why then should not

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father Dagobert, when he went out to christen, or to marry at some private dwelling, participate in convivialities, taste the juice of the grape, take a hand in some innocent game, regale his nostrils with a luxurious pinch of snuff, and look with approbation at the merry feats of the dancers? Where was the harm? Could not a father sanctify by his presence the rejoicings of his children? Such were perhaps some of the secret reasonings of the reverend capuchin.

By some pedantic minds father Dagobert might have been taxed with being illiterate, and with knowing very little beyond the litanies of the church. But is not ignorance bliss? Was it not to the want of knowledge, that was to be attributed the simplicity of heart, which was so edifying in one of his sacred mission, and that humility to which he was sworn? Is it not written; "Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Why should he understand Latin, or so many other musty inexplicable things? Was not the fruit of the tree of knowledge the cause of the perdition of man? Besides, who ever heard of a learned capuchin? Would it not have been a portentous anomaly? If his way of fasting, of keeping the holydays, of saying mass, of celebrating marriages, of christening, of singing prayers for the dead, and of hearing confessions, of inflicting penance, and of performing all his other sacerdotal functions, was contrary to the ritual and to the canons of the church-why-he knew no better. What soul had been thereby endangered? His parishioners were used to his ways? Was he, after fifty years of labor in the vineyard of the Lord, to change his manner of working, to admit that he had blundered all the time, to dig up what he had planted, and to undertake, when almost an octogenarian, the reform of himself and others? Thus, at least, argued many of his friends.

They were sure that none could deny, that all the duties of religion were strictly performed by his parishioners. Were not the women in the daily habit of confessing their sins? And if he was so very mild in his admonitions, and so very sparing in the infliction of harsh penance on them, why not suppose that it was because the Saviour himself had been very lenient towards the guiltiest of their se

It was

the belief of father Dagobert, that the faults of women proceeded from the head and not from the heart, because that was always kind. Why then hurl thunderbolts at beings so exquisitely delicate and so beautifully fragile-the porcelain work of the creator-when they could be reclaimed by the mere scratch of a rose's thorn, and brought back into the bosom of righteousness by the mere pulling of a silken string? As to the men, it is true that they never haunted the confessional; but perhaps they had no sins to confess, and if they had, and did not choose to acknowledge them, what could he do? Would it have been sound policy to have annoyed them with fruitless exhortations, and threatened them with excommunication, when they would have laughed at the brutum fulmen? Was it not better to humor them a little, so as to make good grow out of evil? Was not their aversion to confession redeemed by manly virtues, by their charity to the poor and their generosity to the church? Was not his course of action subservient to the interest both of church and state, within the borders of which it was calenlated to maintain order and tranquillity, by avoiding to produce discontents, and those disturbances which are their natural results? Had he not a right, in his turn, to expect that his repose should never be interrupted, when he was so sedulously attentive to that of others, and so cheerfully complying with the exigencies of every flitting hour?

When the colonists had thought proper to go into an insurrection, he, good easy soul, did not see why he should not make them happy, by chiming in with their mood at the time. Did they not, in all sincerity, think themselves oppressed, and were they not contending for what they believed to be their birthrights? On the other hand, when the Spaniards crushed the revolution, he was nothing loth, as vicar general, to present himself at the portal of the cathedral, to receive O'Reilly with the honors due to the representative of royalty, and to bless the Spanish flag. How could he do otherwise? Was it not said by the Master: "render unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's?" Why should the new lords of the land be irritated by a factious and bootless opposition? Why not mollify them, so as to obtain as much from them as possible, in favor of his church and of his dearly beloved flock? Why should he not be partial to the Spaniards? Had they not the reputation of being the strictest catholics in the world.

Such was the character of father Dagobert even in his youth. It had developed itself in more vigorous and co-ordinate proportions, as his experience extended, and it had suggested to him all his rules of action through life. With the same harmonious consistency in all its parts it had continued to grow, until more than threescore years had passed over father Dagobert's head. It was natural, therefore, notwithstanding what a few detractors might say, that he should be at a loss to discover the reasons why he should be blamed, for having logically come to the conclusions which made him an almost universal favorite, and which permitted him to enjoy "his ease in his own inn," whilst authorizing him to hope for his continuing in this happy state of existence, until he should be summoned to the "bourne whence no traveller returns." Certain it is that, whatever judgment a rigid moralist might, on a close analysis, pass on the character of father Dagobert, it can hardly be denied, that to much favor would be entitled the man, who, were he put to trial, could with confidence, like this poor priest, turn round to his subordinates and fellow-beings, and say unto them: "I have lived among you for better than half a century: which of you have I ever injured?” Therefore, father Dagobert thought himself possessed of an unquestionable right to what he loved so much: his ease, both in his convent and out of it, and his sweet uninterrupted dozing in his comfortable arm chair.

GEORGE W. BETHUNE.

DR. BETHUNE, the popular divine, poet, and wit, was born March, 1805, in the city of New York. After receiving a liberal education, he was ordained in 1826 a Presbyterian minister, but in the following year joined the Dutch Reformed communion. His clerical career was commenced at Rhinebeck on the Hudson, from whence he removed to Utica; and in 1834, to Philadelphia. In 1849, he again removed to Brooklyn, where he still remains, at the head of a large and influential congregation.

Dr. Bethune is the author of The Fruit of the Spirit, Early Lost, Early Saved, The History of a Penitent; all popular works of a devotional character. In 1848, he published Lays of Lore and Faith, and other Poems; and in 1850, a volume of Orations, and Occasional Discourse. He has also collected and published a portion of his Sermons.

In 1847, he edited the first American edition

of Walton's Angler, a work which he performed in a careful and agreeable manner, befitting his own reputation as an enthusiastic and highly celebrated follower of the "contemplative man's recreation," and as a literary scholar.

Ges. W. Bethund

Dr. Bethune traces his family descent from the Huguenots, and has frequently spoken on the claims of that devout, industrious, and enterprising class of the early settlers of our country, to the national gratitude and reverence. His efforts

as an after-dinner and off-hand extempore speaker, are marked by genial humor and appreciation of the subject before him. At the convivial meetings of the National Academy of Design, and of the St. Nicholas Society, he is always called out; and his response is usually among the most noticeable features of the evening.

The volume of Dr. Bethune's orations comprises funeral discourses on the death of Stephen Van Rensselaer, the patroon, President Harrison and General Jackson; lectures and College addresses upon Genius, Leisure, its Uses and Abuses, the Age of Pericles, the Prospects of Art in the United States, the Eloquence of the Pulpit, the! Duties of Educated Men, a Plea for Study, and the Claims of our Country upon its Literary Men.

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SONG.

She's fresh as breath of summer morn,
She's fair as flowers in spring,
And her voice it has the warbling gush
Of a bird upon the wing;

For joy like dew shines in her eye,
Her heart is kind and free;
"Tis gladness but to look upon
The face of Alice Lee.

She knows not of her loveliness,
And little thinks the while,
How the very air grows beautiful
In the beauty of her smile;

As sings within the fragrant rose
The honey-gath'ring bee,

So murmureth laughter on the lips
Of gentle Alice Lee.

How welcome is the rustling breeze
When sultry day is o'er!
More welcome far the graceful step,
That brings her to the door;
'Tis sweet to gather violets:

But O! how blest is he,
Who wins a glance of modest love,
From lovely Alice Lee!

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Is heard from Hudson's crowded banks to Erie's crowded shore,

NEW JERSEY, hallowed by their blood, who erst in battle fell,

At Monmouth's, Princeton's, Trenton's fight, joins u the rapturous swell.

Wide PENNSYLVANIA, strong as wide, and true as she is strong,

From every hill to valley, pours the torrent tide along.

Stand up, stout little DELAWARE, and bid thy volleys roll,

Though least among the old Thirteen, we judge thee by thy soul!

Hark to the voice of MARYLAND! Over the broad Chesapeake

Her sons, as valiant as their sires, in cannonadings speak.

VIRGINIA, nurse of Washington, and guardian of his grave,

Now to thine ancient glories turn the faithful and the brave;

We need not hear the bursting cheer this holy day inspires,

To know that, in Columbia's cause, “Virginia never tires."

Fresh as the evergreen that waves above her sunny soil,

NORTH CAROLINA shares the bliss, as oft the patriot's toil;

And the land of Sumter, Marion, of Moultrie, Pinckney, must

Respond the cry, or it will rise e'en from their sleeping dust.

And GEORGIA, by the dead who lie along Savannah's bluff,

Full well we love thee, but we ne'er can love thee

well enough;

From thy wild northern boundary, to thy green isles

of the sea,

Where beat on earth more gallant hearts than now throb high in thee?

On, on, 'cross ALABAMA'S plains, the ever-flowery glades,

To where the Mississippi's flood the turbid Gulf invades ;

There, borne from many a mighty stream upon her

mightier tide,

Come down the swelling long huzzas from all that valley wide,

As wood-crowned Alleghany's call, from all her summits high,

Reverberates among the rocks that pierce the sunset sky,

While on the shores and through the swales 'round the vast inland seas,

The stars and stripes, 'midst freemen's songs, are flashing to the breeze.

The woodsman, from the mother, takes his boy upon his knee,

To tell him how their fathers fought and bled for liberty;

The lonely hunter sits him down the forest spring beside,

To think upon his country's worth, and feel his country's pride;

While many a foreign accent, which our God can understand,

Is blessing Him for home and bread in this free, fertile land.

Yes! when upon the eastern coast we sink to happy rest,

The Day of Independence rolls still onward to the west,

Till dies on the Pacific shore the shout of jubilee,

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