where he had been always used to tell her to do this and that, without the faintest fear that she would disobey him. If even he had been left to tell her himself of all the circumstances, to make her aware gradually of all that he had kept from her (for her good), to show her now how his word was pledged! But even this had been taken out of his hands. at once. All this time, no one talked but Constance, who went on with an occasional remark and with her meal, for which she had a good appetite. 'I wish you would eat something, Frances,' she said. 'You need not begin to punish yourself I feel it dreadfully, for it is all my fault. It is I who ought to lose my breakfast, not you. If you will take a few hints from me, I don't think you will find it so bad. Or perhaps, if we all lay our heads together, we may see some way out of it. Papa knows the law, and I know the English side, and you know what you think yourself. Let us talk it all over, and perhaps we may see our way.' To this, Frances made no reply save a little inclination of her head, and sat with her eyes shining, with a certain proud air of self-control and self-support, which was something quite new to her. When the uncomfortable repast could be prolonged no longer, she was the first to get up. If you do not mind,' she said, 'I want to speak to papa by himself.' Constance had risen too. She looked with an air of surprise at her little sister. 'Oh, if you like,' she said; but I think you will find that I can be of use.' 'If you are going to the bookroom, I will come with you, papa,' said Frances; but she did not wait for any reply; she opened the door and walked before him into that place of refuge, where he had been sheltering himself all these days. Constance gave him an inquiring look, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. 'She is on her high-horse, and she is more like mamma than ever; but I suppose I may come all the same.' He wavered a moment; he would have been glad of her interposition, even though it irritated him; but he had a whimsical sense of alarm in his mind, which he could not get over. He was afraid of Frances-which was one of the most comical things in the world. He shook his head, and followed humbly into the bookroom, and himself closed the door upon the intruder. Frances had seated herself already at his table, in the seat which she always occupied when she came to consult him about the dinner, or about something out of the usual round which Mariuccia had asked for. To see her seated there, and to feel that the door was closed against all intrusion, made Waring feel as if all this disturbance was a dream. How good the quiet had been; the calm days, which nothing interfered with; the little housekeeper, whose child-like prudence and wisdom were so quaint, whose simple obedience was so ready, who never, save in respect to the spese, set up her own will or way. His heart grew very soft as he sat down and looked at her. No, he said to himself; he would not break that old bond; he would not compel his little girl to leave him, send her out as a sacrifice. He would rather stand against all the wives in the world. 'Papa,' said Frances, a great deal of harm has been done by keeping me ignorant. I want you to show me mamma's letter. Unless I see it, how can I know?' This pulled him up abruptly and checked the softening mood. Your mother's letter,' he said, 'goes over a great deal of old ground. I don't see that it could do you any good. It appears, I promised-what Constance told you, with her usual coolness-that one of you should be always left with her. Perhaps that was foolish.' Surely, papa, it was just.' 'Well, I thought so at the time. I wanted to do what was right. But there was no right in the matter. I had a perfect right to take you both away, to bring you up as I pleased. It would have been better, perhaps, had I done what the law authorised me to do. However, that need not be gone into now. What your sister said was quite true. You are at an age when you are supposed to judge for yourself, and nobody in the world can force you to go where you don't want to go.' 'But if you promised; and if my mother trusted to your promise?' There was something more solemn in that title, than to say 'mamma.' It seemed easier to apply it to the unknown. 'I won't have you made a sacrifice of, on my account,' he said hastily. He was surprised by her composure, by that unwonted light in her eyes. She answered him with great gravity, slowly, as if conscious of the importance of her conclusion. It would be no sacrifice,' she said. Waring, there could be no doubt, was very much startled. He could not believe his ears. 'No sacrifice? Do you mean to say that you want to leave me?' he cried. 'No, papa: that is, I did not. I knew nothing. But now that I know, if my mother wants me, I will go to her. It is my duty.—And I should like it,' she added, after a pause. Waring was dumb with surprise and dismay. He stared at her, scarcely able to believe that she could understand what she was saying. He, who had been afraid to suggest anything of the kind, who had thought of Andromeda and the virgins who were sacrificed to the dragon. He gazed aghast at this new aspect of the face with which he was so familiar, the uplifted head and shining eyes. He could not believe that this was Frances, his always docile, submissive, un-emancipated girl. 'Papa,' she said, 'everything seems changed, and I too. I want to know my mother; Í want to see-how other people live.' Other people!' He was glad of an outlet for his irritation. What have we to do with other people? If it had not been for this unlucky arrival, you would never have known.' 'I must have known some time,' she said. And do you think it right that a girl should not know her mother-when she has a mother? I want to go to her, papa.' He flung out of his chair with an angry movement, and took up the keys which lay on his table, and opened a small cabinet which stood in the corner of the room, Frances watching him all the time with the greatest attention. Out of this he brought a small packet of letters, and threw them to her with a movement which, Journal for so gentle a man, was almost violent. 'I kept these back for your good, not to disturb your mind. You may as well have them, since they belong to you-now,' he said. POISONS AND THEIR ANTIDOTES. soda, and ammonia, with certain of their salts, such as pearl-ash (commonly called salt of tartar), carbonate of soda (commonly called washing-soda), and carbonate of ammonia; also various metallic compounds, including salts of zinc, tin, silver, and antimony, &c. Poisoning by oxalic acid is a very common method chosen by would-be suicides, probably owing to the fact that it is a substance much used in household operations, and therefore readily obtainable by any one bent on committing suicide. In speaking of the action of this poison, that renowned authority splendid work on Toxicology: 'If a person immediately after swallowing a solution of a crystalline salt which tasted purely and strongly acid, is attacked with burning in the throat, then with burning in the stomach, vomiting, particularly of bloody matter, imperceptible pulse, and excessive languor, and dies in half an hour or twenty minutes, or still more in ten or fifteen minutes, I do not know any fallacy which can interfere with the conclusion that oxalic acid was the cause of death.' 'POISON may be defined as any substance which when introduced into the system or applied externally injures health or destroys life irrespective of mechanical means or direct thermal changes. Such is the concise and apt definition of poison laid down in Dr Quain's Medical the late Sir Robert Christison observes in his Dictionary. The action of poisons is twofold, being either local or remote, or both. The local action is generally one of a corrosive or inflammatory nature, or is characterised by its effects upon the nerves and sensations. Although it is impossible to deal with so vast a subject in detail, yet nevertheless it cannot be denied that a general knowledge of some of the most virulent poisons and their antidotes is not only a subject of great interest to the public, but at times a matter of life and death. By a fair insight into poisons and their antidotes, life indeed may often be saved, when the delay caused by seeking for medical advice would probably be fatal. The purpose of this paper, therefore, will be to deal as clearly as possible with the most general poisons and their symptoms, and to point out such antidotes as in cases of emergency may be most readily employed. An acquaintance with the leading symptoms produced by certain poisons is an important factor, for thereby we may hope more rapidly to recognise the especial destructive agency at work, and thus to arrest its further progress. Great care, however, is requisite never to draw a hasty conclusion from one symptom alone, but to bear in mind other signs upon which a correct diagnosis can alone be based. Many attempts have from time to time been made with a view to classify poisons; but the most rational classification is obviously that which is in accordance with their special action. They may therefore be divided generally under the following heads (1) Corrosives; (2) Irritants; and (3) Neurotics. Under the head of corrosives, corrosive sublimate stands foremost in importance, being the most typical of this class. The effects are rapid in their development, being well marked by a burning sensation felt in the mouth and throat, followed by agonising pain in the stomach. The tongue and throat have a white appearance, and excessive tenderness and swelling of the abdomen is noticeable. All authorities agree in recommending albumen in the form of raw eggs-both yolk and white-switched up with a little water, as the best antidote in cases of acute poisoning from corrosive sublimate. The albumen combines with the corrosive sublimate to form an insoluble and comparatively inert compound. Should eggs not be immediately obtainable, gluten obtained from flour, or wheat-flour alone mixed with milk or water, may be given until the more reliable antidote is ready. The chief of the corrosive poisons are the mineral acids, sulphuric, nitric, and hydrochloric; the vegetable acids, oxalic, binoxalate of potash (commonly called salt of lemon and salt of sorrel), and occasionally in large doses tartaric acid; the alkalies, potash, It is obvious in such cases that the chances of success in applying antidotes depend very much upon their immediate employment. For the mineral acids, alkaline bicarbonates, such as bicarbonates of potash or soda (baking-soda), chalk, or magnesia should at once be given, followed by milk; whilst oxalic acid is best treated by the administration of chalk, or magnesia either plain or in the form of carbonate, whereby the insoluble and almost inert oxalates of lime and magnesia are formed. When poisoning is occasioned by the alkalies potash, soda, or ammonia, or their carbonates, carbonate of potash (also known as pearl-ash or salt of tartar), carbonate of soda (washing-soda), and carbonate of ammonia, a strong burning sensation is experienced in swallowing, followed by severe pain and great tenderness at the pit of the stomach, increased by pressure. There are frequent vomits of a brownish matter, swelling of the stomach, and hoarseness of the voice. When seeking to counteract the disastrous effects resulting from this variety of poisons, the great object aimed at is to neutralise the caustic alkalies. This may be best accomplished by means of welldiluted acid drinks copiously imbibed, as advised by Stevenson, who, further, is of opinion that the prompt use of an emetic is never inadmissible. Vinegar and water, lemon-juice with water, also oil, are recommended by Dr Russell under such circumstances. The oil forms a saponaceous compound with the alkali, whilst acid drinks neutralise the alkaline action. Irritant poisons are divisible under two heads(1) Metallic irritants; (2) Vegetable and animal irritants, the latter two being grouped together. It would, however, appear that none of them act purely as irritants, as the irritant symptoms to which they give rise are likewise usually accompanied by well-marked action upon the nervous system. The most serious poison of this class is undoubtedly arsenic. Salts of antimony, zinc, and other metals constitute a variety of other metallic irritants. Of the vegetable irritant poisons, elaterium, various essential oils such as savin, and gamboge, afford examples. Poisoning by arsenic may be either acute or chronic, the acute form being by far most common, following with cold water until the stupor is partially criminal attempts on life. Its effect on the removed. The patient should not be permitted economy is twofold, the most usual being by to sleep, but should be kept in continual motion. inducing inflammation of the gastro-intestinal A cup of strong hot coffee ought to be given to mucous membrane, or by lowering the heart's him on his recovery. action. Its effects in some instances may be purely narcotic. The first symptoms of arsenical poisoning, according to Orfila, are sickness and faintness, which arise about fifteen minutes after being taken. An intense burning pain is also felt in the stomach, quickly followed by vomiting, increased on attempting to swallow. but no Our space will not permit of a more minute inquiry into other varieties of neurotic poisons; suffice it to say, that in most instances arising from the administration of any preparation of opium, the antidotes above mentioned are considered the most serviceable. We must not omit to notice poisoning by Poisoning by arsenic is distinguished from an copper, which at times has arisen by the employordinary bilious attack by the fact that pain and ment of copper vessels for cooking purposes, which sickness are not relieved by vomiting, which never should be employed in any household. The usually happens in biliary derangements. A first indications of copper-poisoning are sudden feeble and irregular pulse, accompanied by thirst, attacks of griping pains, aggravated by pressure, with clammy hands, are prominent symptoms of often accompanied by sickness and a peculiar arsenical poisoning. The immediate employ- sallow aspect of countenance. According to Ryan, ment of emetics-except tartar emetic-diluents, the white of egg is the best antidote for poisonous and demulcents, has been suggested as perhaps preparations of copper. Lead-poisoning is usuthe most serviceable antidotes ; con-ally owing either to drinking water which has fidence should be placed in the so-called antidotes, remained for some time in leaden pipes, or by ferric hydrate and magnesia, unless a solution of arsenic has been taken. In chronic arsenical poisoning, most frequently engendered accidentally, by inhalation of arsenical vapour in factories, or by arsenical dust, loss of muscular power and failure of appetite are amongst the most prominent symptoms manifest. Under such circumstances, the cause- -which is usually some occupation connected with the manipulation of arsenic -should be promptly sought for and removed -quinine, iron, and change of air being recommended. Neurotic poisons may be divided into a large category; but in one and all, the symptoms produced from their administration chiefly attack the nervous system. Under this head are embraced pure narcotics, such as morphia, chloral hydrate, strychnia, hyoscyamus, &c. Prussic acid occupies a prominent position, as its effects and termination are very rapid in progress, being one of the most powerful of all poisons. Difficulty of breathing, speedily followed by convulsions, the commencement of which is announced by a loud shriek occasionally, are manifest; subsequently, loss of consciousness and muscular power. Fifteen minutes is the longest time known to elapse between taking this poison and its effects. In some works it is stated that the best mode of treating prussic-acid poisoning is by the application of cold affusions before or after the convulsive stage has commenced, and the inhalation of diluted ammonia or chlorine. Stevenson advises an emetic to be administered also. Friction and artificial respiration have been recommended by other authorities. Opium and its preparations deserve especial notice, as the greater number of poisoning cases are due to their action. Although the symptoms of opium-poisoning greatly vary, yet they are mostly ushered in by giddiness, listlessness, and drowsiness, followed by stupor, lapsing slowly into complete insensibility. Opium-poisoning is unfortunately often occasioned by the indiscriminate use of sleeping-draughts' and quack nostrums. In cases of opium-poisoning, the immediate use of an emetic (a tablespoonful of mustard mixed with tepid water) has been advocated. The head and face should be dashed certain avocations in which some preparation of lead is used. Goulard water taken by mistake causes lead-poisoning. Lead-colic is one of its leading symptoms, which is relieved by pressure. Paralysis of the limbs is another well-marked indication. Sulphate of magnesia has been recommended as an antidote. A dram of sulphate of magnesia, five drops of dilute sulphuric acid, and twenty drops of tincture of hyoscyamus in two tablespoonfuls of camphor-water every two hours till the bowels are relieved, and then thrice daily for five days, is the treatment which some consider most appropriate under these circumstances. In drawing this article to a close, we desire to impress upon our readers the vital importance, in all cases of poisoning, of being able immediately to administer the antidotes, while the medical man is being summoned. Many a valuable life would undoubtedly be saved, were the precautions before mentioned adopted without a moment's delay. THE FEN FLOOD. IN THREE CHAPTERS.-CHAP. III. THORPE had stated that he was going to Stetton, and incidentally that he would make inquiries there regarding Jabez Godfrey. The truth was, his errand to the little market town was solely on the old farmer's account. He entertained a respect almost amounting to affection for Ruth's father, and had all morning, in spite of his own troubles, been haunted by apprehensions for his safety. He felt certain that, if he had reached Stetton, he would make the attempt to reach Greendykes either on horseback or by boat. If the former, his fate was sealed; and if by the latter, he was exposed to many chances equally fatal. Had Thorpe not been delayed by compulsory attention to his own people and his own affairs, he would have set out earlier; but as it was, he fully expected to be in time to offer the old man a passage in his own boat. Fearing to alarm Ruth and her mother, he had not acquainted them either with his fears or his intentions. It is easy to understand that the care of the boat and the nature of his mission caused George in a measure to forget the nature of his brief interview with Ruth. He was shocked and wounded in his self-love, and every now and then recalled with bitterness some flippant word or mocking look he had received in return for his own constancy and devotion. Not being endowed with any large share of imagination, he could not believe Ruth's thoughtless conduct compatible with any solid womanly qualities, far less with affection for himself. To him, she showed only the wild spirits and the frolicsome inconsiderateness of an untamed girl; nor could he credit her even with a modicum of that sound practical sense and unselfishness which formed the real though hidden basis of her character. The more he thought, the firmer his conviction grew that his own self-respect could only suffer more and more the longer he continued his attendance on her; and his previous irresoluteness now gave place to a fixed determination to withdraw from this onesided courtship. The rain had not yet ceased; but instead of the torrents in which it fell in the night, or the steady pelt of the morning, there was only a drizzling fall, accompanied by a slight haze. This thin gray mist gave a yet more weird and sinister aspect to the landscape, if such a term can be applied under the circumstances; it also enhanced by many degrees the difficulty of the task which Thorpe had generously undertaken. Such trees and house-tops as they passed, though sure guides at ordinary times, could not now be identified, and were therefore valueless under the present conditions. Everything was dim and indistinct at a distance of half a mile. They were, indeed, on a trackless sea without beacon or compass. For a time, the smoke curling from Greendykes, in their wake, afforded them a point by which to steer; but when that had disappeared, the two boatmen rowed at random. The sign on the front of a roadway inn was at length recognised, and they once more felt at ease. Thorpe called for some refreshment. A window on the second story was opened, and a girl with a tear-stained face appeared. In answer to his inquiries, she informed George that her master, the landlord, had been drowned by falling into the channel of the dike while riding to Stetton in the morning. She pointed out the direction they should take, and closed the window. would break the force of the stream, and render their passage safer than by crossing the channel of the dike itself. He therefore gave Tom such orders as would keep the head of the boat well against the force of the tide, and so enable them to approach the drain at the required point. This bridge was exactly a mile from Stetton market, the milestone standing, as Thorpe knew, a few yards on its further side. It was now three o'clock; and the leaden sky and the haze, which seemed to gain in density, threatened to forestall the natural hour of darkness; a few minutes more, however, would bring them to one end of their journey, and both the young men began to breathe more freely. They were within two hundred yards of the bridge, when Thorpe, who stood in the bows with a boat-hook in his hand, observed another boat with a single occupant at a similar distance from the opposite side of the dike. He noticed at the same time that the boat was out of line with the bridge and higher up the stream; so that, in crossing, it would run the risk of fouling the parapet, and being dashed to pieces. He shouted to the solitary rower to go further down, giving his reasons. The advice was readily heard and understood, and the boat's head was turned accordingly. Both boats neared the bridge at the same moment. Thorpe caught the upper parapet with the hook and began to draw slowly across, when he saw that the other boat had missed the passage and was rapidly drifting down with the flow of the dike. The occupant, an elderly man, had evidently missed his way, by being unable to gauge the distance over his shoulder, and had struck the lower parapet and lost an oar. "Take the other oar and scull!' shouted Thorpe, as he noticed that the old man sat helplessly with one oar over the side, causing the boat to gyrate as if in the circles of a whirlpool. He 'Ay, ay,' returned the man, as he collected himself and proceeded to do as directed. sculled both skilfully and strongly. 'I say, master, I reckon that there's nobody else but old Daddie Godfrey hissen,' cried Tom Ashling. The same discovery had just flashed upon George. "Quick, Tom! Let us go back and follow him.' The boat's head was turned, and each having taken an oar, the distance between them and the fugitive boat was rapidly lessening. Godfrey had got free of the channel, and was manfully struggling to get beyond its influence altogether, when his boat, striking its keel against the top of a gate, heeled over, and the old man was left struggling in the water. Neither Thorpe nor Ashling had seen the accident, but they heard with alarm the wild cry for help, through the now gathering gloom. Thorpe and Ashling pulled swiftly, but in silence. Now and then their speed was arrested by the necessity of avoiding flotsam and jetsam of various descriptions-masses of hay or corn, timber, gates, harrows, carcases. They had left the inn about a mile behind, when they fortunately passed a finger-post. The road to Stetton, indicated by one of its arms, was plainly traced for a considerable way by the trees which skirted both sides at irregular distances. Here their progress was easy for a time; but by degrees they found the current increase at right angles to their route, making it difficult to retain the boat between the two lines of trees, against the stem appeared in the thickening haze, watched it in of one of which they had a narrow escape from grief, with yearning, and in dread. The newly Leing upset. Thorpe concluded that they were quickened ardour of her affection also quickened approaching the main drain or dike of her terrors. That veil of gray vapour seemed to Stetton Fen. The road they were following hide her hopes and the object of those hopes crossed it by a bridge, and this he was anxious for ever. Her love divined the real purpose to make; for, although the viaduct would be of that dangerous voyage. The man whom she flooded like the rest of the roadway, the parapets had treated with the airs and language of a saucy now Ruth had watched her lover's boat till it dis child had taken his life in his hand to save that of her father. How weak, how small, how guilty she felt! But Ruth was, as we have tried to convey, morally as well as physically robust and pliant. After another flood of bitter tears in the sanctity of her own room, she rallied her spirits, removed the traces of sorrow, and in a frame of mind composed in some degree by good resolutions, betook herself to her mother's room. The old lady expressed some surprise at her long absence, but more particularly at the fact that Thorpe had come and gone without seeing her. Ruth merely stated what the young farmer had said, that he had business at Stetton, but would call in the evening. She then told her mother that she would take Bob and go in the boat to see how the labourers' families were getting on. One of the women, she knew, was down with ague, and might require assist ance. Like all charitable thoughts, this one was as a healing balm to Ruth's heart. The excitement and change which she felt in anticipation further soothed her. There was also the secret joy of imitating, after a fashion, the self-sacrificing and generous spirit of her lover. Her arrangements were soon made. She filled a basket with trifling delicacies, such as children and invalids appreciate, and some simple medicines from her mother's pharmacopoeia. She instructed Jennie to prepare a large mess of meat, game, and vegetables for supper-a dish specially relished by her father; and having kissed her mother and told her she would be back to tea, set out on her mission. Bob, like all Fen-men in those days, was accustomed to handling a boat, and as the way to the cottages was direct and clearly defined, the journey was a short one. They had no difficulty in attracting the attention of the poor women and children, who, beside themselves with joy at seeing the 'young missus,' clustered and jostled each other at the tiny attic casements. They had been immured in those wretched little chambers the whole day without occupation or amusement, and with the terrors of their own position only varied by fears for husband and father. Ruth's visit, therefore, although limited to a chat held between the boat and the windows, was inexpressibly welcome. The children received their cakes and tarts with clamorous delight, one rogue declaring it was as good as the parson's school-feast for all the "drown'd." The women naturally spoke of little but their husbands; they were, as might be expected, full of distress at their absence, but took heart from Ruth's hopeful view of matters, and her promise to see that they wanted for nothing. She told the youngsters laughingly that if the 'drown'd' did not disappear, she would send Bob to give them a row in the boat on the morrow. The invalid was no worse, and was very grateful for the wine and medicines Ruth had brought. Having thus cheered and reassured one and all, Ruth returned to the farmhouse, chilled and wet. Night was closing over the deluged landscape. The lamps had already been lit in her mother's room, as well as in that which served as kitchen for the nonce. After warming herself by the fire, Ruth set out the tea-table, and privately ordered Jennie to place a light in every window of the house. Her courage and presence of mind were in a large measure recovered; and if her manner had lost some of its liveliness and her laugh some of its merriment, the change was unobserved by the old lady, whose thoughts seemed to dwell more and more upon her husband. Ruth tried every artifice in her extensive repertoire of feminine weapons, to distract her mind, but in vain. There was a far-off look in the pleasant round face, a wistful sadness and seriousness, so unusual, so striking, and so infectious, that the girl by degrees felt a chill creep over her own heart. Could it be that some mystic, psychic sympathy with those they loved, some secret consciousness of their danger, possessed them? The tea-table cleared, Ruth tried anew to rouse her mother by narrating particulars of her visit to the cottages, giving to every little incident a touch of her own bright humour, in the hope of extracting a smile; but with small success. The arrival of the three labourers, however, with the report that they had got the horses and cattle placed in safety and that Jackson remained to tend them, somewhat raised Mrs Godfrey's spirits. They had had a bad time of it, they said, but were none the worse. Having been first well entertained by Jennie, they set out in their borrowed boat for their homes. Ruth now went to see that the lights were still burning at the different windows. The rain had altogether ceased, and a light southerly wind had scattered the haze. The young moon was already high above the horizon, and a few stars glimmered palely between the driving clouds. This favourable change in the weather made the young girl's heart leap high with fresh hope, and she hastened to convey the good news to her mother. She took up her station once more at the window, gazing earnestly over the inundated plain in the direction of Stetton. The rays of the moon as it issued at intervals from the clouds, like the rays from a revolving beacon, fell gently athwart the scene, silvering the discoloured waters, and shimmering among the wet branches of the trees. As she gazed, she fancied she heard the noise of oars, but her straining eyes could detect no boat. She listened, and the sounds again reached her ears. And there, at last, as the inconstant moon once more pierced through the clouds, she distinctly saw a boat pulling swiftly in the direction of Greendykes. A few minutes more-though they were hours in duration to Ruth's excited mind-and the boat had drawn up to the window at which she stood, and her father, Thorpe, and Tom Ashling were speedily in the room beside her. We pass over the various greetings of the reunited friends. As soon as these were over, Jabez Godfrey and Thorpe went to change their dress, while Tom took a seat by the fire beside Bob and Jennie, where we shall leave him to his bacon and beer, and to narrate his adventures in his own way. A pleasant evening for the other characters of our simple story of Fen-life, closed a day passed in gloom, danger, and anxiety. The supperboard was amply supplied, and the two farmers partook with their customary good-will. Ruth attended to their wants almost in silence; while Dame Godfrey, as if in compensation, now asked a question of George or Jabeż, and now expatiated |
