THERE is no ordinance in our church services more sacred than the one that calls for the use of bread and wine. The solemnity of it demands the most thorough preparation, both spiritually and in material arrangements.
When the children of Israel were to meet the Lord, they were commanded to cleanse themselves and wash their clothes (Ex. 19: 10, 14); and in sacrificial offerings everything blemished or defective was forbidden (Lev. 22:20–24).
The services of the old dispensation were typical of those of the new, and the principles involved have no less force and are just as obligatory now as then. When the type met its antitype, a change of ordinances took place, but it is the same Saviour to be held in remembrance and the same attributes of divine perfection to be symbolized. Such can only appropriately be represented by perfect emblems.
The use of leavened bread was forbidden in the sanctuary service. Lev. 2: 11; 6: 17. Leaven, in the New Testament, is frequently used as a symbol of spiritual uncleanness (1 Cor. 5: 7, 8), and it seems inappropriate that it should enter into that which is to represent purity and eternal things. Leaven is the result of decay. It has death in it. It is generated by decomposition.
Christ is a living Saviour. He never saw corruption. Acts 2: 27. He died of a broken heart. Ps. 69: 20. His blood is incorruptible. 1 Peter 1: 18, 19. Sin never entered the vital elements of his precious life, hence death could not hold him. Acts 2: 24.
The passover was a feast of unleavened bread. Luke 22: 1. The Lord's Supper was instituted at its close (Matt. 26: 26–28), and the unleavened bread was blessed and broken as a matter of consequence. It was to represent a pure, incorruptible Saviour, and similarity must exist between the emblem and that which is emblemized. The same is true of the wine. It is given as an emblem of his shed blood. Sweet wine only can fitly represent that which is incorruptible.
Fermentation is an opposite element from life. Wine in that condition is elsewhere forbidden in Scripture (Prov. 23: 31), and its use in the sacrament could not possibly be an exception. The following recipes for preparing these emblems are given, that those who have need of such help may clip and preserve them for reference. The first is in substance from the question column of the Review, noted a short time since. The other is kindly furnished by a lady who is very successful in making sweet wines.
UNLEAVENED BREAD.
To a cup of sweet cream, in quantity to supply the occasion, add a little salt, and stir in flour until made into soft dough. Knead thoroughly, say twenty minutes. Roll out to one-half inch thick. Cut half through the dough into squares of about one-half inch in size. Bake in a moderately hot oven. Some add a little sugar to flavor.
SWEET WINE.
Pick, stem, and wash the grapes thoroughly. Cook in their own juice until well dissolved. Strain through a cloth, removing all seeds, etc. Add a quart, more or less, of sugar to the gallon, as it suits the taste. Again boil, skimming off the sediment until it is thoroughly cleansed. Can while hot in glass or earthen jars. If properly sealed, it will keep for years.—Workers' Bulletin.
THE LORD'S RIGHTEOUSNESS.
By I. E. Kimball
BY ELDER I. E. KIMBALL.
UNLESS the Lord open our eyes to perceive his righteousness, all is vain, for we are dead to righteousness, the God of this world having blinded our eyes, to make evil seem good, and good evil. Sin becomes righteousness and righteousness sin. "Woe to them that put darkness for light and light for darkness." How much of the world has gloried in its shame! In this condition, with the eyes thus blinded, the law can do us but little good. But the Lord can speak to the dead, to those who slumber in unconscious transgression. Thus he says: "Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light."
"No man can say Jesus is the Lord but by the Holy Ghost." "No man can come to Me except the Father draw him." We are but prisoners; it remains with God to open the prison house; it remains with him to provide us with gold and silver and eyesalve, and this he will do, oh, so freely, "without money, without price"! The Saviour has taken all our transgressions upon himself and expiated them upon the tree; "surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;" "himself took our infirmities and bore our sicknesses"—all in order that we might be "filled with all the fullness of God." In him we are restored to all the privileges of sonship with God, from which sin and separation from God had excluded us, to the power, the wisdom, and righteousness of the Eternal. The testimony of Christ comes to us: "I can of mine own self do nothing." "I can do all things through Christ, which strengtheneth me."
With Christ, the Father freely gives us all things. The Spirit which raised Christ from the dead is freely given us. But not to all; the Lord testifies who are the recipients of his grace: "To this man will I look, even to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my word." "I dwell . . . with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones." "If a man love me, he will keep my words; and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him."
God dwells with the hidden man of the heart. Therefore he says, "Son, give me thine heart." He desires "truth in the inward parts." This he has always desired, hence he addressed his chosen anciently as, "Ye that know righteousness, the people in whose heart is my law;" and, looking forward to the new covenant, the Holy Ghost testified, "I will put my law in their inward parts and write it in their hearts." Then they should all know the Lord, from the least to the greatest, for, saith God, "I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh." "Ye know him, for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you." Thus God will cast out our enemy. Thus they shall all be taught of God. And the Lord himself shall "feed the flock" and teach "you all things." So the Lord declares against the false shepherds, "They shall cease from feeding the flock, . . . for, behold, I, even I, will both search for my sheep and seek them out," etc. "I will dwell in them and walk in them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people."
In the flesh, or sin, that is, in our natural carnal condition, we fulfill the desires of the flesh and of the mind. Hence the law is "weak through the flesh," for "the carnal mind ["the minding of the flesh," margin] is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God; neither indeed can be." Therefore the law cannot give us righteousness. "If there had been a law which could have given righteousness, verily righteousness would have been by the law." It cannot open our eyes; it cannot give us strength; it cannot undeceive us; it cannot enable us to crucify the flesh. "But if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live." So the righteousness of the law—the righteousness which the law calls for—can be fulfilled when we walk not after the flesh but after the Spirit. But merely to hold the law, and not have the Spirit to enable us to keep the law, what spirit will we have? We will be bound under darkness and partakers not of the divine nature, but of the Satanic.
HIS EYES BLINDED.
By Bishop E. R. Hendrix
IMPURITY sees only impurity, and doubts the very existence of God. Selfishness does not believe that there is such a thing as unselfishness in the world. Dishonesty questions every man's motive, and says there is no disinterested benevolence. Hate refuses all offers of sympathy and aid. These malign feelings and affections carry with them their own sad sting and curse. Sin thus degrades a man in his own eyes and in the eyes of the slaves of sin, and impoverishes him. It robs him of true fellowship based on mutual confidence. It robs him of self-respect. It robs him of peace. —Bishop E. R. Hendrix.
AS BAD AS ANANIAS.
By Bishop Wilson
THE man of fifty thousand dollars who brings five dollars, twenty dollars, or one hundred dollars, to the altar of God and says, "That is all I have to spare," if he does not lie to God, Ananias never did. Tens of thousands are living in luxury, spending millions for pride, vanity, gluttony, and sensuality, submitting a mere bagatelle to the uses of the Holy Spirit, and yet flatter themselves that they are on the way to heaven and sure of glory. Beware lest a worse fate than Ananias' overtake you!—Bishop Wilson, in Arkansas Methodist.
God Loves to Be Longed For
By Frederick William Faber
God loves to be longed for, he loves to be sought,
For he sought us himself, with such longing and
love;
He died for desire of us, marvelous thought!
And he yearns for us now to be with him above.
—Faber.
CORONATION.
By Rodney Welch
BY RODNEY WELCH.
It was the day before Thanksgiving, the only holiday that New England knows much about, and about which the rest of the world knows so very little. For three nights before the cold had been very severe for the time of year, and the newly-formed ice was as smooth and clear as a looking-glass. The Portland stage and the extra carriages that accompanied it had brought in most of the persons who were expected to join in the family reunions. Brave boys came from the stores of Boston and the sawmills of Oldtown. Brave girls, beautiful in the devotion they showed to the families they were supporting at home, came from the cotton mills at Lowell and Manchester. Houses where plain food had been served for many a week were now stocked with luxuries, for to-morrow was Thanksgiving, "the gladdest, merriest day" of all the year.
What were we to do on that day besides go to church and eat the feast that had been so long in preparation? Such was the question asked by my strong, earnest, older friend, who had come down from Boston to spend Thanksgiving.
"Skate, of course," I answered.
"But why not try the ice to-night?" he asked.
I could see no reason, and so we went down to the shore of the pond, fastened on our skates, and flew, as it were, over the glassy surface to the cove, where the piles of resinous boughs stood. Once there, we conceived the idea of skating back to the village, collecting the young men and women, boys and girls, taking suitable provisions for a picnic, placing them all in sleighs and on sleds, drawing them over to this place, and eating a supper on the rocks, amid the glare of the burning tree tops.
We were not long in carrying out our plans, for almost every house had its sleigh and skaters. In an hour the little lake was in possession of the merriest skating party it had ever known. And then the supper, the bonfires, the songs, and the merry-making. The sport was over at length. It was clearly time to go, and the company was arranging itself in little groups as it had done when we came over.
"Tie all the sleighs and sleds together," my strong friend shouted, as he stood upon a rock among the lingering flames. The order from the leader was soon obeyed. The little vehicles were arranged from ten to twenty feet apart, according to the length of the ropes or leading lines that we had, and three or four skaters were stationed between them. Then two much longer ropes were stretched on either side, of which some twenty skaters took hold. With a shout and a whoop, such as Indians give when rushing into battle, we started on the ice. The line, first straight, or wavering where the poorest skaters were, soon took the form of a crescent, and with a clamor of voices and the grating of the skates, we proceeded right joyfully.
My strong friend and I were on the same side, and held the place nearest the sleighs. We had not proceeded far before I perceived that the ice was bending in front of us, and I could clearly hear it crack, amid the noise of the skaters. I spoke not a word, but looked intently into my companion's face. I only thought that so long as we kept in motion as we were then doing, we might pass the terrible danger. But I knew very well that if the true state of affairs became known, a panic would spread along the line, some skaters would drop out, and the sleighs and their precious burdens must sink to the bottom.
I can never forget the horror of that moment—a moment that seemed an age. I was faint myself, but I shuddered lest some skater should fall or learn the situation. I could not speak for fear, but I most feared that other voices would stop, and that the cracking of the ice should be heard by the women, who would be sure to scream. My eyes were fixed on my companion's face. I was fairly drawn along over the curving ice, that seemed to rise higher before us every moment. Cold sweat was on my forehead, but I could not loosen my hand from the rope to wipe it off. My friend noticed that I was lagging—I, who was so expert a skater. His eye caught mine, and by that sort of intuitive knowledge we are sometimes endowed with in times of great danger, he became aware of our dreadful situation, heard the cracking of the ice, saw it, felt it rising in front of us.
What did the strong man do? Did the alarm seize him that had overpowered me?—Far otherwise. Raising his voice so it could be heard over the din of the skaters and the merry voices of those in the sleighs, he shouted: "Sing Coronation; all sing, so we can time our strokes," and, without lowering his voice, he sang:—
All hail the power of Jesus' name!
Let angels prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem
And crown him Lord of all.
The order came so unexpectedly that few joined in singing this verse, but when it came to the next stanza, almost all the voices were heard. I felt a sort of relief when the soprano, alto, tenor, and bass voices all struck the words:—
Crown him, ye martyrs of our God,
Who from his altars call.
But I feared the time when the bass would be left to carry a line alone. There were but three or four bass voices in the entire company, but my friend was numbered among them. I noticed that he husbanded his breath for this, as a strong man saves his strength for some great effort. Nevertheless, I could hear alternating with the words:—
Extol the Stem of Jesse's rod,
the crack—crack—crack—crack—crack of the brittle shell that was between us and eternity. It was a wondrous relief when four parts instead of one, and a hundred voices instead of four, took on the words, which sounded like an anthem of praise:—
Extol the Stem of Jesse's rod,
And crown him Lord of all.
We were now approaching the middle of the lake, where the water was the deepest, so deep, indeed, that no line in the village could reach the bottom, and where the ice must be the thinnest, because it was the last to freeze there. I knew this, but I felt that we were going with such rapidity there would be no new danger so long as there was no break in the singing. I singled out a tree on the shore we were trying to make, and calculated if, at the rate we were then singing, there were verses enough to last until we reached it. I feared lest the leader might omit a stanza, as was sometimes done in church, and there might be a space over which we would be left to pass in silence, or with nothing to disturb the silence but the cracking of the ice.
I had no cause for alarm, however, in the matter. There was, indeed, that dreadful crack—crack—crack—crack of the ice distinctly heard during the singing of one line in each stanza of the hymn, but it was either that I had become more accustomed to it, or because it was more faint than a little time before, that it failed to affect me as at first. So, too, there was a little breadth of ice to be passed over after the singers had closed the verse:—
Let every kindred, every tribe
On this terrestrial ball,
To him all majesty ascribe,
And crown him Lord of all.
But our momentum was then such that I knew we should reach the shore in safety, which we soon did. On reaching the shore there was the same boisterous noise that marked our starting, each one untying his sled or sleigh and joining the little party with which he came. But of the peril through which they had passed, no one of them had the slightest intimation. The two who knew all remained on the sandy beach after the party had gone to their homes. Their arms were about each other's necks as they knelt, and a tremor closed the lips that would have prayed.
The next day was Thanksgiving. Singularly enough, the opening hymn in the church service was the one that was sung on the ice, but it was not strange that two hands holding hymn books trembled when all the congregation sang "Coronation."—Chicago Times.
"YE HAVE DONE IT UNTO ME."
"Ye have done it unto me, ye have done it unto me," sang Jenny, one Monday morning. "There, I'll remember it this time sure. But, dear me, I'm forgetting, after all. The teacher said we must not only learn the words, but think of what they mean, and try to do them.
"Let me see, now," and she pressed her chubby hands to her forehead; "teacher said if we gave a cup of cold water to one of his little ones, for the Saviour's sake, he would say, 'Ye have done it unto me.' I don't s'pose I know any of his little ones, but I'll try if I can find 'em."
She ran into the kitchen, where, on the dresser, she spied a large bowl, which was used to mix cake in.
"Ah!" thought she, "the Saviour is pleased if we give his little ones a cupful of water; he'll like a bowlful better still. Bridget, may I take this bowl awhile?"
Bridget, who was busy with her washing, did not turn her head, but said:—
"Oh, yes; take what you like!"59
Jenny lifted the big bowl down very carefully, but how to fill it was the question. She did not want to trouble Bridget; besides, she had an idea that she ought to do it all herself.
A bright thought struck her; taking the cup that always hung on the pump, she filled it several times, and poured it into the bowl.
"It's cupfuls, after all," she thought.
It was almost more than she could carry without spilling; but she walked slowly to the front gate. There was no one in sight, and Jenny set her burden on the grass, and swung on the gate while she waited. Presently along came two little girls on their way to school.
"Want a drink?" called Jenny.
"Yes, indeed; it's so hot, and I'm dreadful thirsty. I most always am. But how are we to get at it?"—laughing as she saw the great bowl.
"Oh, I'll soon fix that!" and Jenny ran for the tin cup, with which they dipped out the water.
"It tastes real good," they said, and kissed her as they ran off to school.
The next that appeared was a short, red-faced Irishman, wiping his face with the sleeve of his flannel shirt, while an ugly dog trotted at his side.
"He don't look much like 'one of the little ones,'" thought Jenny, doubtfully; but she timidly held out her tin cup. He eagerly drained it, filling it again, and drinking.
"And it must be a blissed angel ye are, for it's looking for a tavern I was, and now I won't nade to go nigh one at all. And shure, after all, water's better nor whisky. Might I give some to the poor baste?" pointing to his dog.
Jenny hesitated; she did not like the idea of having the dog drink from her cup or bowl. But the man settled it by pouring the remnant of the water into his dirty old hat, the dog instantly lapping it up.
After they were gone, Jenny filled her bowl again. But I can't tell you now of all to whom she gave cups of cold water that hot day. But when she laid her tired head on her pillow that night, she thought:—
"I wonder whether, after all, any of 'em were his 'little ones'?"
And the dear Saviour, looking down, and seeing that the little girl had done all that she could for his sake, wrote after her day's work, "Ye have done it unto Me."—Selected.
THANKSGIVING AT THE OLD HOME.
By Good Housekeeper
Out from the good old country town,
Far o'er hills with gorgeous crown,—
The frost-touched trees and verdure sere,—
Out where the magic atmosphere
Quickens the blood and paints the cheek,
Over the bridge at Crooked Creek,
The long steep hill, the winding lane—
And then, the dear old home again.
Feast for the eyes! 'Gainst autumn skies
The quaint old rustic gables rise;
The chimney wide—the yeoman's pride—
Standeth guard o'er the fireside
Wherein the oak-hewn logs ablaze
Kindle the fire of memories.
Again the creak of the old well sweep,
The moss-lined bucket from out the deep.
O artist, paint, for words grow faint!
With recollections dear acquaint,
Tell of the home, the vine-clad well,
The drooping flowers, the asphodel,
The golden-rod, bright vigils keep;
That sacred acre where loved ones sleep,
While golden leaf and golden sheaf
Shall typify life's story brief.
'Tis a hallowed spot,—this sacred nook.
Merrily flowing, the little brook
Murmurs and gurgles a symphony:
"This is a happy Thanksgiving day."
Happy indeed, and full of cheer;
Father and mother and children here.
A song and a story of home and love,
And the Father is watching from above.
—Good Housekeeper.
WINE—FERMENTED AND UNFERMENTED.
By Elder W. H. Wakeham
BY ELDER W. H. WAKEHAM.
NOTWITHSTANDING the fact that a host of eminent scholars, physicians, theologians, and scientists, have presented a mass of absolutely irrefutable evidence proving that from remote antiquity to the present time, two kinds of wine—fermented and unfermented—have been in common use, yet a religious journal not long since stated that the "notion of two wines, one fermented, the other unfermented, must be dismissed as a pure invention, unsupported by any facts, unsanctified by any scholarship;" and although every intelligent man knows that alcohol is a poison, and might know that its use, even in moderation, is inimical to the best interests of the race, yet Henry A. Hartt, M.D., in a recent issue of The Arena, says that "alcohol is a gift of God, exalted by him to the first rank among earthly substances."
This last statement is based upon the supposition that the wine that in the Bible is classed with corn, oil, bread, etc., is fermented, and so contains alcohol. The former quotation also, and all other similar statements, are founded upon a misapprehension of the general tenor of Scripture teaching, and of the object of the life and work of our Lord Jesus Christ.
The influence of improper education, wrong habits and customs, have so biased the minds of many sincere Bible believers that the above citations, together with other arguments based upon a casual reading of the Scriptures, are sufficient to bewilder their minds, and to cause them to wonder just where the truth lies. For the benefit of such we wish to notice briefly some of the scriptures that speak of wine and strong drink.
But first we wish to notice another statement from Dr. Hartt in his article entitled "Alcohol and Its Relation to the Bible," to illustrate how a false theory will blind an educated man to the most common facts. Against the argument that the wine made by Christ and approved by the Bible was the unfermented juice of the grape, he says:—
"The unfermented juice of the grape is an insipid beverage, difficult, if not impossible, to preserve for any length of time, of no special value as an article of food, and utterly worthless for medicinal purposes."
It would be "difficult, if not impossible," to find another sentence containing so many errors. And as the writer makes no pretense of proving these assertions, we will present a few facts on the other side.
1. "The unfermented juice of the grape is an insipid beverage." This is purely a matter of taste. What is insipid to one might be delicious to another. Undoubtedly fresh grape juice is insipid to one whose nerves of taste have been paralyzed by alcoholic liquors until they are incapable of distinguishing the delicate flavors prepared in nature's laboratory. But what would be thought of the common intelligence of one, who should assert that sweet milk is "an insipid beverage," because thousands of people prefer sour milk? But there are many to-day, as there always have been, who enjoy the flavor of the "fruit of the vine," and to whom the poisonous product of decomposition, that "biteth like a serpent," is exceedingly distasteful.
2. "Difficult, if not impossible, to preserve for any length of time." It seems almost an insult to the intelligence of this enlightened age to seriously refute this assertion. Does not every housekeeper know that grape juice can be kept almost indefinitely without fermentation, just the same as any fruit can be preserved? The writer recently took a very refreshing drink of just such grape juice which was more than a year old, and just as free from fermentation as pure distilled water. But did the ancients know the art of keeping grape juice sweet for "any length of time"? Most abundant and conclusive evidence can be given to show that they were well acquainted with several methods. A passage from Columella, who lived during the apostolic days, describing one of these processes, is translated by Rev. Dr. G. W. Samson as follows:—
"That must (fresh grape juice) may remain always sweet, as when fresh, thus do: before the grape skins are subjected to the press, put the must, when freshest from the vat, into a new flask, stop it up, and pitch it carefully so that no water can enter; then sink the entire flask in a cistern of cold and sweet water, so that no part be out; then after forty days take it out; thus it will remain throughout the year."
Smith, in his "Greek and Roman Antiquities," gives a similar testimony (see Bible Wines).
That grape juice will keep perfectly sweet for many months when treated according to this method has been demonstrated by Dr. John Ellis, who has made many careful experiments for the purpose of establishing the truth concerning the "two-wine theory."
Long-continued boiling was one of the earliest methods used for preserving sweet wine. Gesenius says that "the honey sent by Jacob to Joseph was wine boiled down to the consistency of sirup."
Pliny says, "Some Roman wines were as thick as honey," also that the Albanian wine was very sweet or luscious, and that it took third rank among the wines.
A passage from Virgil, who lived some time before the Christian era, is rendered as follows, by Dr. Joseph Trapp, of Oxford University:—
"Or, of sweet must boils down the luscious juice,
And skims with leaves the trembling caldron's flood."
Another method is described by Dr. Ellis:—
"Fill a new or clean bottle with new wine just pressed from the grapes up to its neck, then pour about half an inch of sweet oil on the surface of the wine and cork it carefully, leaving a little space between the cork and the oil, and stand the bottle in a cellar, and it will keep. I have three bottles preserved free from fermentation for over three years; the cork must not be removed, and the bottle must not be shaken."
Much more testimony could be presented on this point did space permit; but the above is sufficient.
3. Unfermented grape juice is "of no special advantage as an article of food," but "alcohol is a gift of God, exalted by him to the first rank among earthly substance." Here fresh grape juice is represented as having little or no food value, while fermented wine is extolled as having a high nutritive value, and worthy of a place with such articles of food as corn, wheat, bread, etc. Every person who has given this matter even a slight examination knows that just the reverse is true. According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, the average per cent. of the ingredients of eight wines most popular in England are about as follows: Alcohol, 13 per cent.; acid and dry matter, 2 per cent.; glucose, 1 per cent.; water, 83 per cent. Thus it is seen that the nutritive value of fermented wine is practically nothing, while the same authority states that two analyses by Neubauer of pure unfermented grape juice showed a total nutritive value of 23 per cent. and 29 per cent.
But what becomes of the sugar, albuminoids, etc., that fresh grape juice contains, and which make it so nutritious? "In the process of fermentation the albuminoids are precipitated as components of the yeast, or otherwise, or decomposed with formation of ammonia salt; . . . the greater part if not all the sugar is decomposed, with formation from every 100 parts of sugar destroyed of alcohol 48.5, carbonic acid 46.9, succenic acid 0.7, etc."
But is not the alcohol in the wine very nutritious? Much has been said of the strengthening qualities of alcohol. The superstition of the Arabian alchemist that alcohol is the "elixir of life" has not been entirely dispelled. But listen to the following from some of the ablest physicians of this age:—
"By physiological inquiries it has been established that alcohol is a poison. . . . It is not a food, nor should it be used as a common beverage."
Dr. W. B. Richardson, of England, says, "I can no more accept it (alcohol) as a food that I can chloroform or ether." Alcohol is simply a "nerve fooler," and alcoholized wine is a "mocker, and strong drink is raging; and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise."
4. Dr. Hart says that unfermented grape juice is "utterly worthless for medicinal purposes." By this, and his reference to Paul's advice to Timothy to take a little wine for his stomach's sake and often infirmities, he gives us to understand that he considers alcoholized wine the prince of medicines. This is an ancient and popular delusion utterly swept away by facts. The most advanced physicians are discarding almost wholly the poisonous product of the still in their medical practice. The per cent. of mortality is much smaller in hospitals where no alcohol is used than where it is administered as medicine.
Work for Some Good
By Frances Sargent Osgood
WORK for some good, be it ever so slowly;
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly.
Labor! all labor is noble and holy;
Let thy great deeds be thy prayers to thy God.
—F. S. Osgood.