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cannot be accurately ascertained if the bottle or glass is held below the nurse's eye. In no case is it safe to trust to ordinary spoons for measuring medicines, as they differ so much in size. Thus, the tablespoon in some households will be hardly larger than the dessert-spoon in others; and consequently the dose given to a patient would vary according to the family plate. The medical teaspoon means one drachm, and contains sixty drops; the dessert-spoon holds two drachms; and an ounce is equivalent to the familiar two tablespoonfuls.'

When drop-doses are ordered, they should invariably be measured in a minim-glass, for a drop will vary considerably in size, according to the consistency of the fluid and the shape and thickness of the bottle used. In cases of emergency, when no minim-glass is at hand, wetting the edge of the bottle will help to regulate dropping, and it will also be found easier if the hand rests upon something steady.

It is well to make a rule of shaking the bottle each time a dose is poured out, and of immediately replacing the cork. The medicineglass must also be thoroughly washed out after each time of using; a good many home-nurses seem to consider that, with only one patient, it is quite enough if the glass is washed out once a day; but, apart from graver considerations, a dirty, smeary glass will by no means sweeten either the medicine or the patient's temper. When oily or very strong-smelling liquids are being used, a separate glass should be kept for their benefit. It is really astonishing how long the flavour of oil will cling to a glass or spoon. I well remember thinking a cod-liver oil glass had been made thoroughly clean and free from smell, and then being undeceived by the next victim, who anything but appreciated his oiled tonic.

But not only must medicine be given in proper quantities; it is equally important that it should be given at the right times. Unless special directions are given, the usual hours for three times a day' are eleven, three, and seven. 'Bedtime,' to a bed-ridden patient, means from ten to eleven, according to previous habits. Before or after food means within twenty minutes of a meal. When ordered 'every three or four hours,' medicine is to be continued through the night; and it is always well, in such cases, to ask whether the patient is to be roused out of sleep when a dose is due. It is also important to know whether, if medicine ordered after food has been forgotten at the proper time, it may be given when remembered. Should the doctor's wishes not be known, it is better to wait till the next meal, and not to risk giving a dose that might be injurious.

When the patient is too weak to sit up, it is a good plan to give the medicine in a small 'feeder,' to be obtained at any chemist's; or when small doses only are being given, a china spoon made for the purpose, and covered all but a little bit at the thin end, will be found convenient. Never tease a patient by such remarks as 'It's nearly medicine-time;' he is probably quite aware of the fact, and if not, is hardly likely to be cheered by a reminder. Of course, there is a vast difference in the way in which patients take medicine, but, as

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a rule, it is a trial, especially where there is great weakness; and a nurse should spare no pains to make this necessary penalty of illness as light as possible.

To some persons, the taking of pills is a regular pons asinorum, and not a few people will gravely declare that they cannot' take a pill; yet they are in the habit of taking food many times the bulk of the innocent little article which they make such ridiculous and exaggerated efforts to swallow. It is just these efforts that create the difficulty, and if taken simply and quietly, there is really no medicine easier to manage. If the pill is tasteless, let it be taken lightly between the lips, and a drink of water will carry it down with no trouble. If disagreeable to the taste, it is better to place the pill as far back as possible on the tongue, and then take a good draught of water or any light beverage. Let the most inveterate of pill-haters give this simplest of methods a fair trial, and he will be quite an exception if he does not own his difficulties gone. Should he, however, remain obdurate, another plan may be tried: envelop the pill in a small piece of rice or wafer paper; place this in a tablespoon; fill up with water; put the spoon as far back in the throat as possible, and the whole mass will be swallowed with ease.

And here, let me remind my readers that pills are apt to become dry and useless if kept for any length of time; and this accounts for the wonder often expressed over the failure of such a remedy, which always used to do me good,' and which probably would again if the pills were freshly made up.

Powders are frequently ordered, and to some people, form the easiest way of taking medicine; whilst, speaking from personal experience, I should say there is nothing more objectionable, unless carefully managed. If small, a powder may be taken dry by putting it far back on the tongue; or it may be mixed in a little milk or water, and swallowed quickly, dregs and all. A better way is to mix with a very little water into a stiff paste, and gradually add about a wine-glassful more water, stirring all the time, till the powder is thoroughly dissolved. To those who take pills easily, the best way of administering a powder is to place it in just enough moistened rice-paper to fold round it, and swallow whole with a draught of water. I have known a patient able to take a dessert-spoonful of powder at a time, in this way, who shuddered at the idea of half a teaspoonful in water.

In dealing with children, if the old-fashioned spoonful of jam, honey, or treacle is used, be sure the powder is carefully placed in the middle and well covered over; otherwise, the only effect will be to turn the patient against both powder and sweetener. I speak with feeling on the subject, having never lost the impression produced by badly managed efforts to take her in.' Powders are sometimes ordered to patients in a semi-conscious state, and unable to bear raising in bed; in such cases, the best way is to place the powder on the end of an ordinary paper or fruit knife; pass this as far back in the mouth as possible,

and invert; and the act of swallowing thus set up, will complete itself with no further trouble.

Saline purgative medicine should be given with plenty of warm water, and on an empty stomach. The saline waters, such as Hunyadi, Janos, &c., should also be given warm, and this can easily be done by pouring the dose into a cup, placed in boiling water. Doctors often omit to mention such details, of which many intelligent patients are quite ignorant.

Sleeping-draughts should not be given till all preparations for the night are completed; and after the dose has been administered, the patient should be told to try and compose himself for sleep. On no account must talking be allowed, and the room should be darkened and kept perfectly quiet. Only under such conditions does the medicine get a fair chance; and it is useless to follow a sleeping-draught with bustling, setting to-rights, and ceaseless chatter, a practice only too common in home-nursing.

Častor oil is another test of a nurse's skill; and in large doses it is undoubtedly a difficult thing to give to a patient in bed, especially when there is a rooted aversion to oil in any shape. There are many vehicles in use for its administration, such as brandy, milk, soup, or coffee. The last-named is perhaps the best, and may be taken as typical, the method of giving being the same, whatever medium is chosen. Take some strong coffee, without sugar or milk; thoroughly wash out the medicine-glass with it, leaving a couple of tablespoonfuls at the bottom; on to this gradually pour the oil, being very careful that none shall touch the sides; give the patient a little coffee to drink, and then the oil in one draught, followed quickly by some more coffee. Taken thus, there will be scarcely any perceptible taste; but if lemon is liked, a still better plan is to suck a slice before and after the oil. Much

of the difficulty of retaining castor oil is due to the disgust produced by its mal-administration; but if the same difficulty arises in spite of care, it is better to leave the question of perseverance for the doctor's decision.

Cod-liver oil is another troublesome remedy, at least with adults, and yet it is so valuable in many cases, that a nurse may well devote her best energies to making it agree with her patient. It may be given in the same way as castor oil; but a good many people prefer the lighter wines, as ginger, raisin, or orange, to other mediums. As a rule, it should be taken after meals; but some patients can manage better by beginning with a dose just before going to bed.

In commencing a course of oil, the amount ordered is frequently a teaspoonful; but if the patient cannot retain even this, try him with less and less, till you find how much or how little he can really manage; continue with this for a few days, and then very gradually increase to the full dose. In this way, many patients who declared they never could take oil, have been brought round to managing it easily. Should, however, bilious symptoms appear, the oil had better be discontinued for two or three days, and begun again with a lesser dose. I have known patients persevere in spite of warnings, and pay the penalty in such a severe bilious attack as to set them for ever against a remedy that,

properly managed, would have been invaluable. Indeed, without waiting for warning, it is always well, in a long cod-liver oil course, to drop taking it every now and then for a few days; and it is a good plan, on re-commencing, to adopt a fresh medium.

All nauseous medicine should be taken in one draught, with the mouth well open, and in many cases compressing the nostrils will entirely do away with disagreeable flavours. I have insisted upon the fact that it is not a nurse's place to interfere with the patient's treatment; but should she happen to know of any particular idiosyncrasy, it will do no harm to mention the fact. Some people are easily affected by medicine in general, and some by special drugs, and a doctor will be glad to know of any peculiarity, provided the information is properly given.

MY EXTRAORDINARY FRIEND.

IN THREE CHAPTERS.-CHAP. II.

My life at the school ceased to be what it had been, after the departure of Ivan. The Saturdays seemed long and dreary. I had no pleasant fourteenth day to look forward to during thirteen. I presumed that the Dolomskis had returned to Russia, as I neither saw nor heard anything of them.

Two years passed thus, during which time I kept my eyes about me for a berth, for the old relative still clung to life, and I had no other friends to help me. I had almost made up my mind to try my luck in Iowa or Manitoba, or at the Cape diamond fields, when one morning a letter was handed to me bearing the official seal of the Russian Embassy in London. I opened it with trembling fingers and a bounding heart, and read:

Dolomski, has mentioned you to me as being SIR-A very old friend of mine, Madame von in every way qualified for the position of tutor in a private family, and states that a friend of hers, Colonel Koltorf, Inspector of Criminal Police in St Petersburg, is desirous of engaging a young Englishman to instruct his two sons in the English language, literature, and history. notice, I should be obliged if you would comyou should deem this opportunity worthy of municate with her or call to see me at your earliest convenience.—I am, sir, your most obedient servant, A. VON ROBELEFF, Secretary.

If

'If I should deem this opportunity worthy of notice!' I almost scornfully repeated to myself. 'If! The only "if" in the matter is, that if I'm not tutor in Colonel Thingammy's family in less than a month, my name isn't Richard Cormell.'

I had no ties; I longed to see the world, for I believed in another old axiom to the effect that 'home-keeping youth have ever homely wit;' and, of course, I should come across a certain damsel with golden hair and kind blue eyes, and— In fact, I worked myself into such a state of ecstasy that I was utterly unfitted during the rest of the day for anything in the shape of teaching or keeping order, and my young friends the boys had a high old time of it' both in class and out.

In a week's time I had arranged matters with

my employer, who expressed genuine concern at the prospect of losing me. In a fortnight's time I had received a most flattering testimonial from the boys, and had been sent off to the station with three ringing cheers. In three weeks' time I was ready. In a month I was at my new home; and in six weeks' time, I found that I had great reason to congratulate myself on my good fortune.

Colonel Koltorf lived in one of those huge stone palaces which line both sides of the Nevski Prospect; and I soon discovered that not only did his family occupy a high social position, but that in them were to be found all those refined and fascinating arts and graces which make the society of St Petersburg perhaps the most charming in Europe. Moreover, I was treated as a gentleman, and not as a superior kind of upper servant. My hours of work were light. I was received as one of the family circle. I attended the banquets and entertainments which the colonel, as a high official, was expected to give with sufficient frequency; and it was almost pardonable, therefore, that in my intoxication at such sudden elevation, I should sometimes wonder how I had ever managed to exist for five years as usher in a school, much less have been contented and happy.

I had not been long in St Petersburg when I learned with the deepest regret that, for some reason not known, the Dolomskis had moved to Paris during the past year. The colonel's family, however, knew them well, with the exception of Ivan; about him there was a mystery, for he had taken a commission in the Guard, had suddenly resigned it, and had since almost disappeared from social life. I was curious to see him, for I had often wondered what sort of a mark the 'young Bear' of old days would make in the world, being well assured that a mark of some sort he would make. But of course I was longing to see Olga, who, I learned to my supreme happiness, was still Mademoiselle von Dolomski.

At

rose; I think she must have, the impression these few words made on me was so deep. At anyrate, it may be imagined that from the very first I stationed myself where I could observe the arrivals, and that half-a-dozen times in a minute my heart leaped when I fancied that amongst the glittering parties constantly being set down at the door I recognised Olga. length my patience was rewarded. I saw her, and to my intense delight, I noticed that as she recognised me a light of genuine pleasure broke upon her face. Our greeting of course was cordial in the extreme-so cordial, in fact, that for a minute or so I entirely omitted to take any notice of Olga's father and mother who were waiting until it should please their daughter to accompany them into the reception-room.

That was a delightful evening. Olga, although she was incessantly sought after by swaggering young officers of the Guard and attachés of the various Embassies, was more with me than with any one else. We had so much to say to one another, and the rooms were so crowded, that we preferred sitting in sheltered alcoves to mingling with the glittering, struggling throng of dancers.

I asked after Ivan.

'I can tell you very little about him,' replied Olga, and that little makes me wish that he had never left England. He is an extraordinary young man.'

'He was an extraordinary boy,' I said, laughing, 'so that I am not surprised.'

'He is so mysterious,' she continued. 'Papa tries to find out what he does and where he goes; but he cannot. He had to leave the army, you know, because of certain opinions he expressed concerning the government. He keeps strange company; is often away from home for days together; mixes in none of our society; and is barely civil to any one with a title or in a government position. I can't tell you where he is at this moment; but nothing would induce him to come here with us, because, if there is one man the world he hates more than another, it is Colonel Koltorf.'

'Then he has changed for the worse.'

Olga assented with a mournful shake of the head.

'I used to have some influence over him,' I said; but I suppose, as he thinks himself a man now, he would laugh at any efforts on my part to keep him straight. I should like to see him, however, for, somehow or other, I have great fears about him.'

Everybody knows-or perhaps does not know-in that for seven weeks preceding Easter the Russian capital mortifies itself by a rigid fast, during which not only fish and flesh are forbidden, but also dairy produce. However, the good people fortify themselves for this period of gloom by the merriest, jolliest carnival in the world. During the month of February, St Petersburg is one vast fair; business sinks into a matter of secondary importance; people who can but just make ends meet at other times of the year, contrive to find a lot of spare cash for feasting and frivolity; balls, dinners, entertainments of all kinds follow each other in constant succession. This was a period of genuine hard work for me, inasmuch as my past life had been one of very unusual monotony and sedateness; for three nights of the week the colonel gave a dinner or a ball, at all of which I was present, when I would much rather have been enjoying a quiet read in my room, or a game of billiards at the English Club. On the last night but one before the fast, the colonel gave a grand ball. I had half resolved to plead a headache, but Madame Koltorf said to me: 'Some old friends of yours are coming-the Dolomskis.'

I do not know if she noticed how my colour

'I wish you could see him and talk to him,' said Olga. 'He makes poor papa's life quite unhappy. We never know what may happen in Russia, when a man gets under the eye of the government.'

And so, with lounging and talking and sipping tea, the night sped too rapidly away.

Colonel Dolomski's carriage arrived, and I had to say good-night to Olga; but I said it with a lighter heart than when last I had bid her goodbye, for I could see her now whenever I pleased. I attended her to the carriage, and was turning back into the house, when I felt a hand on my arm. Turning, I saw in the uncertain light of the door-lamp, Ivan! He was closely clad from head to foot in furs, and his dark eyes gleaming

from under his shaggy cap gave him the appearance of some wild animal.

'Mr Cormell,' he said, 'I'm glad and I'm sorry to see you. I'm glad to see a man who has never been anything but a friend to me. I'm sorry to see him under this roof. How is it you are here to-night?'

Why, my dear Ivan,' I replied, 'I live here; I'm tutor here. Didn't you know it? Didn't Olga or your mother tell you?'

Olga! my mother!' he exclaimed almost in a tone of disgust. 'I haven't seen them for days. I didn't know they came here, of all places in the city.'

Then how is it you are here?' I asked. 'I-I have business here,' he said shortly. Then he walked up and down, as if in deep thought. Suddenly he turned to me again. 'Look here, Mr Cormell,' he said; 'I want to see you, to have a talk with you about the old school, and Quayle Major, and a lot of things.'

'Very well,' I said; 'I'll see you when I call at your house, or I'll make an appointment to see you there.'

'No; that won't do,' he said abstractedly. 'Look here. Suppose you come and breakfast with me to-morrow. There's going to be a meeting of the heads of the police here to-morrow. Your precious colonel, your lord and master, Mr Cormell, is going to preside. Madame and your pupils will be out; you won't be wanted. Suppose, I say, you meet me at the Warsaw Restaurant, near the Nevski Monastery, close by the canal, you know, at mid-day to-morrow. Eh?' 'But why at such an out-of-the-way place?' I asked.

'Because there is nowhere else,' he replied; 'at least, nowhere suitable for me.'

'Ha!' said the colonel, looking at me in a strange manner. 'Many thanks. I will take care. Good-night.'

CHAPTER III.

The next day I was at the appointed place at the appointed time. Ivan was a few minutes later.

'Strange place,' he said; 'but we are safe here; and that's more than can be said of many houses in this city.'

When I surveyed his face in full daylight, I was struck by the change which less than three short years had worked on it. He had left me a boy, a sullen, morose, pensive boy, but still a boy; now he was a haggard, care worn man; three years had written the marks of twenty on every line of his face; he had jumped from sixteen to forty.

When the man handed us the bill of fare, Ivan looked at him searchingly. 'You are a new servant,' he said. 'Where is Alexis?'

'Alexis died last week,' replied the man; 'I replace him.'

Then we talked of old times and old places and old acquaintances; and of course I spoke of Olga.

'Poor Olga,' sighed Ivan; 'she is a good girl, a loving girl, a fine girl; but a fool, a fool!' 'Olga a fool!' I exclaimed, rather warmly, although I was speaking to her brother. never thought that of her."

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'Ay, but she is, for all that,' said Ivan. 'Why, she would lay down her life for Alexander II.' 'Well, and so would any good Russian, I should suppose,' I said.

No-no good Russian would,' replied Ivan sharply.

Up to this moment he had been pretty calm; but when we had finished our breakfast and

'All right,' I said; 'to-morrow at twelve.' He nodded his head and disappeared in the darkness. 'Well,' I said to myself, he is more extra-lighted our cigars, and the monastery bell had ordinary than I imagined he could have been. He was before his age at school; but now, at nineteen, he looks and speaks like a man of forty.'

man.

I turned into the house and to bed; but even the sweet vision of the girl I loved was driven out by this strange, mysterious, old-young Then I recalled his former peculiaritieshis mechanical genius, the strange relics found in his schoolboy desk. I put two and two together. His general hatred to the government; his particular hatred to my patron as chief of police; his acquaintance with the arrangements and movements of the house; his anxiety to get me away on the morrow. The result of the consideration was summed up in two wordsNihilists, Dynamite.

I started from my bed, dressed myself, and knocked at the colonel's door. He appeared armed with a revolver, but laughed heartily when he saw me. Why, Mr Cormell,' he said in French, what is it?' 'Colonel,' I said, 'there is to be a meeting of police officers here to-morrow, is there not?'

The colonel looked astonished. "Why,' he exclaimed, how did you know that? Not a soul out of the police bureau knows it.'

'Anyhow, I know it,' I said. Please, be warned. Hold the meeting elsewhere.'

tolled the note of one, he became uneasy, restless, abstracted, and excited alternately; answered my questions in a hurried and off-handed way; seemed to be waiting or listening for something. Suddenly there was a dull boom as of a distant gun. Ivan sprang up, with a strange fierce light in his eyes. 'Where are you going to sleep tonight?' he asked suddenly; and then, as if he had said something he had not intended, added : 'I mean, hadn't you better sleep at our house to-night?'

'What do you mean, Ivan?' I asked in astonishment. 'Of course I shall sleep at the colonel's; I have my duties to perform.'

He smiled a smile I shall never forget-a smile in which pity, irony, contempt, and satisfaction were all blended, and said: "Yes, if you find a room to sleep in.'

At that moment the new servant edged in. Ivan noticed the movement; threw down a piece of gold, and, without a word of farewell to me, hurried off.

I arose, wondering, and, full of all sorts of strange fears and doubts, took my way towards the Nevski Prospect. Long before I arrived there, I became aware that something unusual had happened; people were hurrying in the same direction as myself; a regiment of infantry passed me at the double; mounted orderlies were galloping

hither and thither; and when I reached the
Prospect I saw a large crowd, kept in by a cordon
of soldiers, in front of the colonel's house.
In reply to my question, a bystander said:
"There has been a serious explosion at the house
of the chief of police.'

'Any one hurt?' I asked eagerly.
'No,' replied the man.
meeting elsewhere.'

"The chief was at a

I edged my way to the line of military and told the officer in charge that I belonged to the household. He allowed me to pass; and I then saw what a narrow escape my patron had had, for one entire side of the house was in tottering ruins.

The colonel himself was, in company with a number of officers, standing amidst the shattered remnants of his dining-room. When he saw me, he came forward, seized me by the hand, and said to the officers in French: 'Gentlemen, we may say that we owe our lives to this Englishman here, for, assuredly, had he not warned me in time, not one of us would have escaped.'

At that moment a soldier approached and whispered in the colonel's ear. The colonel looked strangely at me, I thought, and replied to the man. The latter went away, and presently reappeared, bringing with him the waiter at the Warsaw Restaurant whom Ivan had questioned. A long conversation in Russian took place between them. I did not understand it, but I could see sufficiently that I was a topic.

The colonel was evidently very much agitated, although he was chief of police in as coldblooded and unsympathetic a capital as there is in Europe. He strode up and down with his arms folded, his gaze fixed on the ground, except when now and then he raised it to cast a keen, wistful glance at me. At last he stopped short and said: Mr Cormell, you must consider yourself a prisoner.'

saved my life. With Olga was passionately in love. I was silent.

The colonel apparently was perplexed. But for my warning, he and the chief police officers of the capital might have been destroyed. Still, I was evidently in league with that political body in the dispersal and annihilation of which he was principally engaged. I watched his face, and I saw the victory of duty over sentiment. I dared not make an appeal, declaring who I was, and how I became acquainted with Ivan, for his family and that of the colonel were intimate. He had probably heard of Ivan's eccentricities, of his resignation of his commission, although he had perhaps never dreamed that a youth of nineteen, son of a colonel in the imperial service, could be one and the same as the dreaded Peter Ivanovitch, upon whose head a price had been set, and who was known to be constantly engaged in scheming and plotting. He left the room without another word.

In a few minutes a soldier entered and ordered me to follow him. I did so, and was conducted to a drojki, waiting outside. I got in. The soldier-who held a revolver in his hand-placed himself by my side, and we drove off rapidly. I had some idea that the colonel, taking into consideration the facts of my being an Englishman, and my having warned him of his danger, might intend merely to deport me; but all hopes vanished when, after half an hour's drive in the keen night-air, the vehicle drew up opposite the entrance to a building which in the weird moonlight seemed to me a tomb. I was hurried in through a double line of soldiers, who had turned out at the sound of the drojki bells, and in spite of my serious situation, could not repress a smile to think that all this careful watching and guarding was being bestowed on one who a few months before had been an obscure schoolmaster in a distant land.

I was astounded. Then the ideas flashed across me one after the other that I was held to be a Nihilist accomplice; that the fact that I had received information about what was to be done, added to the fact that this spy-waiter had seen me in the company of one of the most notorious Irreconcilables, were sufficient proofs of complicity; that I was supposed to have entered the service of the colonel on purpose to give informa-Siberia. I remained here two days, unable to tion to the plotters of all police movements.

I could not complain of my treatment as a prisoner, for the cell into which I was introduced was spacious and airy. There was a bed in it, a washing-stand; and in a few minutes a man brought me a steaming bowl of the national cabbage-soup; but I was a prisoner awaiting examination, and unless something unlooked for should turn up, I saw nothing between me and

In vain I asked to be heard. I was seized respectfully but firmly by the arms and escorted to my room, which was in the untouched part of the house. Alone here, I came to the conclusion that my position was serious. Ivan had virtually saved my life by getting me away from the house at the hour when the explosion was arranged to take place. I owed him a debt of gratitude. The only way by which I could exculpate myself would be by inculpating him.

Late in the evening, after I had had my meal passed in to me by a sentry, the colonel, attended by a couple of Cossacks, entered my room and interrogated me in French. He asked me if I knew Peter Ivanovitch. I declared that I had never heard the name before. Would I swear that the man with whom I had breakfasted was not Peter Ivanovitch? Yes, I would. Who was he, then? I hesitated. If I gave Ivan's real name, he and his family were doomed. He had

communicate with any one, even with my nation's representative; indeed, unable to make any one understand that I wished to make a communication, for my guards were all Cossacks of the Don.

On the third day my door was opened, and an officer appeared. Now's my time,' I thought, 'to save myself and betray Ivan, or to let him go and get Siberia for myself."

But I noticed that the officer was polite. I followed him through a labyrinth of icy-cold stone-walled passages, until we came to a little room, which I remembered to have noticed upon entering the prison, and here, to my amazement and joy, I saw Olga.

For the first time in our acquaintance, we embraced, and our lips met. I could not express my thanks; my heart was too full.

This lady has brought a liberation permit from the chief of police,' said the officer; 'you are at liberty, monsieur.'

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