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NEW BRITAIN TIMES. VOL. III. NEW BRITAIN, CONN., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1859. NO. 78. A COHTIKUATIOS OF THE I T O R T I I <TE S O T J T H . L. M. GUERNSEY, Editor and Proprietor, Jfem Britoin, (Conn. T u n : — $ 1 . 5 0 per annum, in Advaiwe. In bundles of fire or more to one address, $1.25. K«Mb«ni »f Noriul Selio*l, •abseribins in adraiice for the Term faniUhed M the •nnaal rat*. Catwi or &»TCKTitiM«: — For « Sqoue, OD« inaertioD, 75 rent* • •aolMl'litioaal iasertioa,25 cu. For half • Sqoara, OD« iowrtion, 60 eenu; eaeh additional iDiertion IfieU. •M Sltiare f^r a rear, SIO. Half Sqaare. BiuineM Cards, eoatainiog half aqoare, par year, SS.OO. DEEDS, NOT WORDS. Prune thou thy words, the thoughts control That o'er thee swell .ind throng; They will condense within thy soul And change to purpose strong. But he, who lets his feelings run In soft luxurious flow, Shrlttks when hanl service must be done. And faints at every woe. Faith's meanest denl more favor bears. Where hearts and wills are weighed. Than brightest transports, choicest prayers. Which bloom their hour and fade. WHEREFORE WEEP-' VTecp not for Death ! 'Tis but a fever stilled, A pain suppressed, a fear at rest, A solemn hope fulfilled. The moonshine on the s'umb*ring deep Is scarcely calmer—wherefore weep ? Weep ye for Change ! Fur earth''s pure dews exhaling. For joy's first te:ir, for hope's first fear. For love's fi>"st little fuling. Morn's lightest shadow ou the seas Tfllls us of midnight—weep for these ? Weep not for Death ! The fount of tears is sealed. Who knows how bright the inward light To those shut eyes revealed Who knows what fearless love may fill The heart that seems so cold and still ? Weep ye for Life ! For smiles thnt end in sighing. For love whose quest h is never i-est. For tbe bejirt's hourly dying. Weep not when sil«ioe locks the breath : Lite is the bitterne&s of Death. —Chambers^ Journal. THE AMERICAN AUTUMN. Thou comest not in sober guise. In mellow cloak of russet clad— Thine are no melancholy skies. Nor hueless flowers, pale and sad; But, like an emperor, triumphing. With gorgeous robes of Tyrian dyes. Full flush of tragnint blossoming. Ami glowing purple canopies. How call ye this the fceason's lUl, That seems the pageant of the year ? Ilicher and brighter far than all 1 he pomp that spring and summer wear. Red falls the wcstem light of day Ou rock, and stream, and winding shore; Soft weuJy banks and granite gray With aml«r clouds are curtaineil o'er; Tl;e wide, Ciear waters sleeping lie Ueneatli the eveniug's wiugs of gold. And on their gla8«y bieast the sky And banks their miiigle«I hues uufuld. Far in the tangled woods, the ground Is strewn with fallen leaves, that lie Like crimson carpets all around Beneath a crimson canopy. The sloping sun, with arraws bright, Piercts the forest's waving maze : The universe seems wrapt in lignt, A floating robe of ros-y haie. Oh Autumn ! tiiou art here a king— And round thy throne the suiiling hours A thousand fragrant tributes bring. Of golden fruits and blushing flowers. FAXXY KKMBLK. THE SACRIFICE. "There, Mary—now don't you think I deserve to be called a pretty good husband ?" said tbe young tuan laughingly as he dropped down in tbe ladyV palm a ^ I f dozen gold pieces. "Ves, you arc, Edward, the very best husband in the world," and she lifted up her 9weet face beaming with smiles, as a June day with suu-shine. "Thank you, thank you, for the very flatter-ing words. And now, dear, I want you to have the cloak by next Christmas; I am anxious to see how you look in it " "But, Edward," gazing seriously at the shin-ing pieces in her ro.-^y palm, "you know we are not rich people, and it really seems a piece of extravagance tor me to give thirty dollars for a velvet cloak." "No, it is not, either. You deserve the cloak, Mary, and I've set my mind upon your having it. Then it'll last so many years that it will be more economical in the end than a less expensive arti-cle." It was evident the lady was predisposed to conviction. She made no further attempt tore-fuse her husband's arguments, and her small fin-gers closed over tJie gold pieces, as she rose up, saying. "Well, dear, the supper has b.-en wait-ing half au hour, and I know you must be huu-gry;" Edward and Mary Clark were the husband aod wife of a year. He was a book-keeper in a large esUblish.iient. with a salary of fifteen hun-dred dollars. His fair young wife made a little earthly paradise of his cottage home in the sub-urbs of tbe city, for within its walls dwelt two lives that were set like music to poetry, keeping time to each other. Atid here dwelt also, that pcoce which God giveth to those who love him. ly, and the girl lifled her head, and then turned it away quickly, but not until the first glance told the lady that the fair face was swollen and stained with tears. Janet Hill was a young seamstress whom Mrs. Clark had occasionally employed for the last six months. She was always attracted by her young bright face, her modest yet dignified manner, and now the lady saw at once that some great sorrow bad smitten the girl. Obeying the promptings of a warm, impulsive heart, she went to her and laid her band on her arm, saying softly, ' won't you teU me what ii troubling you, Janet?" "Nothing that any body can help," answered the girl, trying still to avert her face, while the tears swelled in her eyes from the effort she made to speak. "But perhaps I can. At any rate, you know it does us good sometimes to confide our sorrow to a friend, and I need not assure you that 1 sin-cerely grieve because of your distress." And so with kind words and half caressing movements of the litrle hand laid on the seam-stress' arm, Mrs. Clark drew from her lips her sad story. She waisan orphan, supporting herself by her daily labors, and she had one brother, just six-teen, three years her junior. He had been for some time a kind of under clerk, in a large wholesale establishment, where there was every prospect of promotion ; but he had seriously in-jured himself in the summer by lifting some hea-vy bales of goods, and at last a dangerous fe er set in, which had finally left him in so exhausted a state that the Doctor despaired of his recoverj'. "And to think I shall never see him no more, Mrs. Clark," cried the poor girl, with a fresh burst of tears. "To think he must die away there, among strangers, iii the hospital, with no loving f.co to bend over him in his last hours, or brush away the damp curls from the forehead which mamma used to be proud of. O—Georg* —my darling, bright-faced little brother Geerge," and here the poor girl broke down in a storm of tears. "Poor child, poor child," murmured Mrs. Clarlc, her eyes swimming with tears. "How much would it cost for you to go to your brother and return ?" she asked at last. "About thirty dollars. I haven't so much money in the world. You see it is nearly four hundred miles off; but 1 could manage to support myself after I got there ?" A thought passed quietly through Mrs. Clark's mind. She stood still for a few moments, her blue eyes fixed in deep meditation. At last she said kindly, "Well, my child, try and bear up bravely, and we will see what can be done for you," and the waim, cheerful tones comforted the sad heart of the seamstress. The lady w^ent up stairs and took the pieces out of her ivory port monnaie- There was a brief sharp struggle in her mind. "Somehow I've set my heart on this velvet cloak," she thought, "and Edward will be disappointed. I was going to select the velvet this afternoon — But then there's that dying boy lying there with strange faces all about him and longing as the slow hours go bv, for a sight of a sister that loves him, and would not the thought haunt me every time I put on my new cloak? After all, my old broadcloth is not so bad. if it's only turned. And I am sure I am bring Edward to my way of thinking. No, you must go without a cloak this time, and have the pleasure of knowing you've smoothed the path going down to the val-ley of the shadow of death—Mary Clark " And she closed tbe portmonnaie resolutely, and went down stairs. "Janet, put up your work this moment, there is no time to be lost. Here is the money. Take it and go to your brother!" The girl lifted up her eyes a moment, almost in bewilderment, to the lady, and then, as she comprehctided the truth, a cry of such joy broke from her lips, that its memory never faded from the heart through all the after years of 3Irs. Clark's life. "George ! George ?" the words leaped from her lips, as the sister sprang forward to the low bed where the youth lay, his white, sharpenetl face gleaming deadlike from among its thick hair. He opened his la'ge eyes suddenly-a flush pas-sed over his pallid facc. He stretched out his thin arms : "O Janet! I have prayed God for the siifht of you once more before I die." "H's pulse is stronger than it has been for two weeks, and hi? countenance has a better hue," said the Doctor, a few hours later, as he made his morning visit through the wards of the hos-pital. "His sister came yesterday, and watched with him,' answered the attendant, glancing to the young girl, who hung breathless over the sleeping invalid. "Ah, that explains it. I'm not certain but that the young man has recuperative power enouffh left to recover, if he could have the care and tenderness for the next two months, which love alone can furnish." How Janet's heart leaped at the blessed words*! that very morning she had an interview with her brother's employers. They had been careless, but not intentionally unkind, and the girl's story enlisted their sympathies. In a day or two, George was removed to a quiet, comfjrtahle private home, and his sister installed herself by his couch, his nurse and com-forter. MM. Clark came into tbe sitting-room sudden- Three years have passed. The shadows of the night were dropping already around. Mrs. Clark sat in her chamber, humming a nursery tuno, to which the cradle kept a sort of rhythmic movement. Sometimes she would pause sudden-ly and adjust the snowy blankets around the face of tbe little slumberer, shining out from brown curls as red apples shine out amid fading leaver in October orchards. "Sh—sh,''s!iid the young mother, as she lifted her finget wit^ » nailing warning, as her husband e n t e r a l f "There's something for you, MsrjfV It came by express this afternoon ; he saiii the words in an undertone, placing a small p^pket In her lap. The lady opened the packet^with eyes fill^ with wonder, while her husband ^ n e d over her shoulder ond watched her movemlots.' A white box disclosed itself, and | y n a r i ag cover, Mrs. Clark discovered ..elegantly chased watch. She lifted it WTO a cry of de-lighted surprise, and touching the spring, the case flew back, and on the inside were engraved these wordi : "To Mrs. Mary Olark. In token of the life she saved." "Oh, Edward, it must have come from George and Janet Hill," exclaimed the lady, and the quick tears leaped into her eyes. "You know she's been with him ever since that time, and she wrote me last Spring, that he'd obtained an ex-cellent situation as head clerk in the firm. What an exquisite gift, and how I shall value it. Not simply for itself either." "Well, Mary, you were in the right then, though I 'm sorry to say I was half vexed with you for giving up your velvet cloak, and you've not had one yet." "No, I've not had one, but I've never regret-ted it." She said the words with her eyes fas-tened admirinoly on the beautiful gift. "Nor I, Mary, for I cannot doubt that your sacrifice brought back the young man's life." "Oh say those words again, Edward. Blessed be God for them," added the lady, fervently. The husband drew bis arm around the wife, and murmured reverently, "Blessed be God, Ma-ry, who put it into your heart to do this good deed." Daniel Webster's Confession of Faith. Dr. Smith of this city, (Concord, N. H.,) has put into our hand the following letter of Daniel Webster to Rev. Thomas Worcester, formerly pastor of the Congregational church in Salisbury, which is accompanied with a confession of his re-ligious faith, both of which "are in his own hand-writing We have seen Mr Webster's name in the records of the church in Salisbury, enrolled among its members, if we mistake not, about the time the letter below bears dale. He remained a member of that church till h | | death. The letter eoafoiiwow w w imni ^tefiiir pnhliahrd They are as follows:— BOSCAWEN, Aug. 8, 1807. DEAR SIB :—^The other day we were convers-ing respecting confessions of faith. Some time ago, I wrote down, for my own use. a few prop-ositions in the shape of articles, intending to ex-hibit a very short summary of the doctrines of the Christian religion, as they impress my mind. I have taken the liberty to enclose a copy for your perusal. I am. sir, with respect. Yours, &C, D. WEBSTER. I believe in the existence of Almighty God, who created and governs the whole world. l am taught this by the works of nature, and the word of revelation, j I believe that God exists in three persons; this j I learn from revelation alone. Nor is it any ob-jectiou to this belief, that I cannot comprehend how one can be three or three one. I hold it my duty to believe, not what I can comprehend or account for, but what my Maker teaches me. I believe the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament to be the will and word of God. I believe Jesus Christ to be the Son of God. The miracles which he wrought, establish, in my mind, his personal authority, and render it prop-er for me to believe whatever he asserts; I be-lieve, therefore, ail his declarations, as well when he declares himself to be the Son of God. as when he ileclares any other proposition. And I believe there is no other way of salvation, than through the merits of his ato^iement. I believe that things past, present, and to come, are all equally present in the mind of the Deity ; that with him there is no succession of iime,,oor of ideas ; that, therefore, the relative terms past, present, and future, as used among men, cannot, with strict propriety, be applied to Deity. I believe in the doctrines of foreknowl-edge and predestination, as thus expounded. I do not believe in those doctrines, as imposing any fatality or necessity on men'sactioas, or any way infringing free agency. I believe in the utter inability of any human being to w^ork out bis own salvation without the constant aids of the Spirit of all grace. 1 believe in those great peculiarities of the Christian religion—a resurrection from the dead, and a day of Judgement. I believe in the universal Providence of God; and leave to Epicurus, and his more unreasona-ble followers in modern times, the inconsistency of believing that God made a world which he does not take the trouble of governing. Although 1 have great respect for some other forms of worship, I believe the Congregational mode, on the whole, to be preferable to any other. I believe religion to be a matter not of demon-stration, but of faith. God requires us to give credit to the truths whieh he reveals, not because we can prove them, but because He declares them. When the mind is reasonably convinced that the Bible is the word of God, the only remaining du-ty is to receive its doctrines, with full confidence of their truth, and practice them with a pure heart. I believe that the Bible is to be understood and received in the plain and obvious meaning of its passages ; since I cannot persuade myself that a book intended for the instruction and conversion of the whole world, should cover its true mean-ing in such mystery and doubt, that none but critics and philosophers can discover it. I believe that the experiments and subtleties of human wisdom are more likely to obscore, than to enlighten the revealed will of God, and that be is the most accomplished Christian schol-ar who hath been e d u c a t ^ at tbe feet of Jesos, aod in the College of Fishermen. I believe that all true religion consists in tbe heapt and the affections, and that, therefore, all creeds and confessions are fallible and uncertain evidences of evangelical piety. Finally, I believe that Christ has imposed on all his dLBcipfi4i;;# life of active benevolence; that he who refrains only from what he thinks to be sinful, has performed but a part and a small part of his duty; that he is bound to do good and communicate, to love his neighbor, to give food and drink to bis enemy, and to endeavor, as as in him lies, to promote peace, truth, piety, and happiness in a wicked and forlorn world, believ-ing that in the great day whieh is to come, there will be no other standard of merit, no other crit-erion of character than that which is already es-tablished, "By their fruits ye shall know them." —Cong. Journal. Notes on the Nature of Iron. There is much of the real nature of this most valuable material, with regard to which we are quite in the dark. It would be hard to say just what is the real difference between wrought and cast iron. The conversion of wrought iron into a substance resembling cast iron in many of its features, by subjecting its particles for some time to a state of vibration, without any chemical change taking place, seems to indicate that the different properties of these mentals may depend on other circumstances besides the proportion the carbon bears to the iron. M. Bourrille arranged a number of railway axles so that, while revolv-ing, they should be subjected to both a twisting strain and at the same time to three shocks a t ev-ery revolution. After 10,800 revolutions and 32,400 shocks, the axle was taken down and bro-ken, but show^ no change in the texture. With 129,000 revolutions and 377,000 shocks no change was visible to the naked eye, but with a microscope the fibres appeared without adhesion, like a bundle of needles. After 388.000 revo-lutions the axle was broken, and a change in the texture was seen by the naked eye, the nze of the grain seeming to be increased. After 3,888,000 torsions a considerable change appeal-ed, which was more striking at the centre of the axle; towards the end of the length, the grains were not so large. After 23,328,000 torsions tim huu WU3 ti.jiiftilt;i'uly e>yiBMia«ii»tlM mjdjili After 78,732,u00 torsions, the fracture showed an absolute transformation of the iron, it was scaly like pewter. Afler 128 304,000 torsions the crystals were perfectly well defined, the fracture having lo?t every appearance of wrought iron. This is merely tracing, step by step, what ev-ery person who has observed the action of iron sees to occur when the wrought metal has been subjected to vibration^or to concussions. This crystalline structure, as it is termed, although ap-pearing like cast iron, is really quite different, be-cause by reheating the iron when in this state, the fibre is restored and the iron may be easily forged. This crystalline form of wrought iron is very often induced by hammer hardening, William Clay, of the Mersey Iron aod Steel VVorks, took a piece of good, tough, fibrous, bar iron, heated it red hot, and hammered it by light blows until it was black cold ; after it was cool, he broke it, and instead of bending nearly double, and then breaking with a hne silky fibre, (as it at first did,) it would not bend at all, but broke with a glassy crystaline appearance, was very brittle, and when struck, rang like a bell. By simply heating the bar to a red heat, the fibre was restored exactly as at first. A piece of good fibrous bar iron will break under the smith's hammer with a fracture of a long silky appearance, but the same piece of iron broken by a sudden heavy blow will show a crystalline structure. In some experiments, made at Woolwich, in the year 1843, to teat the effect of shot against wrought iron plates, and determine whether wrought iron was a suitable material for ships of war, it was found that the toughest and most fibrous plate iron when struck by shot was in-stantaneously crystallized, while the pieces struck out were so hot that the fragments, even afler passing a considerable distance through the air, could not be handled with the naked hand.— American Railway Times. Rev. Dr. Buckminister of Portsmouth, N. H., was a fine singer, and on one occasion he used his vocal talents with admirable effect. The whole choir of his church, like the singers in many other parishes, took offense and deserted their posts withQUt the least intimation of their pur-pose. After reading the hymn as usual, on Sun-day morning, and finding no voice raised, Dr. Buckminister stood up in the pulpit and began to sing alone. His voice was of a peculiarly sweet and silvery tone, and thrilled through the church and touched every heart. He sang the whole of the first stanza alone, but at the beginning of the second, some timid voices were heard joining in from different parts of the house; one after an-other the voices were tuned, and before the hymn was finished the whole congregation united in one burst of music. The singing had never been so agreeable to the worshippers, and it was found that the pastor could conduct all religious servi-ces. The next Sunday the choir were all in their places. Coleridge, speaking of the zest for new truth felt by those already well instructed, as compar-ed with the different mental appetite of the igno-rant, says:—"The water-lily, in the midst of the water, opens its leaves and expands its petals to the first pattering of the shower, and rejoices in the rain-drops with a quicker sympathy than does the parched shrub in tbe desert." BT HIS BXCXtUNCT W I L U A l f A. BUCEINOHAK. GOVXBNOR OV T H « STATE OP COHNECTICUT; A PROCLAMATION. The ingatberings of abundant harvests, tbe con-tiooanoe of general health and peace, and the preservation of our civil and religious liberty, re-mind us of our obligations to and of a cus-tom early establish^ by which oar fathers pub-licly manifested their gratitude to him. For the put pose of perpetuating a practice so eminently proper, I hereby recommend the peo-ple of this commonwealth to recall the manifold temporal blessing with which God has crowned the labors of their hands, and the spiritual blcss^o ings which they have received through the r i ^ es of his grace : and on THUBSDAT, the ttaeuty-fiMTlh day of November nexf, gather around the festal board, make distribution from their abundance to supply the necessities of the poor, and in public assemblies offer with faith such sacrifices of Thanksgiving and Praise to Almighty God, 3!« may be acceptable unto him, through the merits of his Son. Given under my band and seal of the L. s. State, at the city of Norwich, this, the ^v—. eighteenth day of October, in the ye-ar of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-n^ ne.and of the ludependence of the United Statc-s the eigty-fouith. WM. A. BUCKINGHAM By Hi^i Excellency's command, JOHN BOYD, Secretary of State. How t o F a t t e n Chickens- It is hopeless to attempt to fatten them while they are at liberty. They must be put in a prop-er coop; and this, 'Itke mo^t other poultry ap-purtenances, need not be expensive. To &tlen twelve fowls, a coop may be three feet long, eigh-teen inches high, and eighteen iqflys deep, made entirely of bars. No part of it sSMl^neither top, sides nor bottom. Discretioo m«et be uMd according to the sizes of the chickeas put op.— They do not want room ; indeed the closer they are, the better—provided they can all stand up at the same time. Care must be taken to put up such as have been accustomed to be together, or they will fight. If one is quarrelsome, it is 5 et-ter to remove it at once ; as, like other bad ex-amples, it soon finds imitators. A diseased chick-en should not be pot up. The food should ha ground oats; and may either be put in a trough, or on a flat board running along the front of the coop. It may be mixed with water or milk ; tlie latter is better. It should be well skkked, fri«m> iag a putpcaa tooae as ean be,, psmided it dv^ not run off the board. They must be well three or four times per day—the first time as soon after daylight as may be possible or ci'U-venient, and then at intervals of four hours.— Each meal should be as much and no more than they can eat up clean. When they have done feeding, the iMard should be wiped and so.ue gravel may be spread. It causes them to feed and thrive. After a fortnight of this treatiiteut you will have good fat fowls. If, however, there are but four or six to be fatted, they ma«t not have as much room as though they were twelve. Nothing is easier than to allot them the proper space ; as it is only necessary to have two or three pieces of wood to pass between the b:irs, and form a partition. This may also serve whuo fowls are put up in different degrees of fatness. This requires attention, or fowls will not kecj> fat and healthy. As soon as the fowl is suffin..' it^y fatted it must be killed ; otherwise it will still get fat, but it will lose ABTIL If fowls are inten led for the market, of course they are, or may be. all fatted at once; but if for home consumptioii, it is better to put them up at such intervals as will suit the time when they will be required for tUa table. When the time arrives for killing, wli: tU-er they are meant for market or otherwise, they should be fasted, without food orwater for tw.'lve or fifteen hours. This enable:! them to be Lept for some time after being killed, even in hut weather.—hindon Gardner, AN EAGLE BEAT.^N BY CROWS.—A c o r r p s p o i d - ent of the Naw York Journal of Commerce, writ-ing from Geneva, August 25th, says that on the 19th of that month a remarxable sight was seen on the east side Seneca Lake, opposite Geneva. About nine in the morning a large eagle was seen over a wood on the edge of the lake, vigoro!i-<ly pursned by three crows, two of which were fre-quently packing at his back. This assault ton-tinued for sometime, the eagle all the tiaii' fry-ing to escape ffom them, in which he finally suc-ceeded, and got high up in the air, when the crows gave up the pursuit and returned to tfieir wood. Soon afterward another eagle (prob ibly his mate) came from a wood up the lake, wueu the higher one swooped down and joined it, and they both flew off towards the south, and neither party were seen afterwards. The crows hai probably a nest of their young, and had courage-ou: jly defended it, and pursued the eagle that came alone. Compared with the eagle, they lookfJ ;»8 much smaller as the khigbird is smaller than the crow, which he sometimes is seen to attack in a similar way, and probably for a similar re.i3on. But this is tbe first instance I have ever knu>vn of any bird having the courage to attack an eagle. A Western editor, exulting that the Mobile and Ohio Railroad is about to reach the Ohio riv-er, says: "So the iron horse will in a few weeks really be snorting at Trenton. Then a city—a gr.jat big one—will spring up aroun i us; we will wear store clothes, own a spotted dog, edit a daily Standard, and have a spicy police reporflike un-to Aid Walker, of the NashciUe Banner; we'll do the railroad printing, make a fortune, ride in the cars, drive a fast horse, get a pretty wife, raise a large and respectable posterity, pot oa city airs generally, and when our form is knocked snto pi, the daily papers of oar city will be shrouded in black."
|Title||New Britain times, 1859-11-05|
|Uniform Title||New Britain times (New Britain, Conn. : 1859)|
|Subject||New Britain (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Weekly; Publication dates: Vol. 3, no. 71 (Sept. 17, 1859) -|
|Contributors||Guernsey, Lucius M|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.N5 N67|
|Relation||Preceding title: North and South, and New Britain journal|
|Rights||Digital Image © Connecticut State Library. All rights reserved. Images may be used for personal research or non-profit educational uses without prior permission. For permission to publish or exhibit, see Reproduction and Publication of State Library Collections, http://ctstatelibrary.org/reproduction-publication/|
|CONTENTdm file name||13270.cpd|
NEW BRITAIN TIMES.
VOL. III. NEW BRITAIN, CONN., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1859. NO. 78.
A COHTIKUATIOS OF THE
I T O R T I I
|CONTENTdm file name||13266.pdfpage|