Chapter V: Part 5

At last he sought her much loved side
And begged her to become his bride.
The maiden heard and laughed outright,
And thus let loose the fiends of night

That of late had lain at rest
Within Caucanoe's savage breast.
Now, naught could stay this rising ire
Save to light the Council Fire.

At last among his braves he stood,
Like some monarch of the wood;
While burning words flowed from his tongue,
That showed how deep his heart was wrung.

The Council heard and thus decreed:
"Our land from paleface dogs be freed.
Tomorrow night the proud paleface
Shall rue Caucanoe's late disgrace!"

"'Tis well," the haughty chief replied;
"Who scorns to be Caucanoe's bride
Shall feel a living flame of fire
Quench the last spark of life's desire!"

But, ere the morrow's sun had set,
Awakening love brought deep regret.
Love fought the savage till he fell,
And Pity's tears began to well.

He crept the cabin light within,
And there confessed his double sin.
"'Tis done," he cried, "you shall not die;
The boat is ready; up, and fly!

"Saluda's stream shall guide you right,
Caucanoe lays to die tonight!
Once you are free, I die content.
Nor deem the blow untimely sent."

The boat has left the silent shore,
And Hayward tugs at the muffled oar;
The craft sweeps on, like a thing of life,
Impelled by the prayers of a weeping wife.

Caucanoe stood on the bank hard by,
With heaving breast and tear-dimmed eye,
That proved a hero's soul could rest
In the natural dome of a savage breast.

The flashing oars in the moonlight pale
Give forth no sound and leave no trail;
Naught is heard save the breath
Of the fleeing ones in their race with death.

Hark! What means that frightful yell?
'Tis a cry of triumph, born of hell;
Their savage foe, long under way,
At last have seen their wanted prey.

They see the foe and wildly fly
The flashing oars, till they almost fly;
"We'll yet be saved," brave Hayward spoke,
But his oars shivered beneath his stroke.

He sprang to his feet, with ashen face,
And his trusty rifle flew to its place;
A maddening yell from the savage crew
Proved the ball to the mark had straightway flew.

Six times his trusty rifle spoke;
Each time an Indian skull it broke.
His gallant sons stood near their sire
And reinforced his deadly fire!

Their doom was sealed. The savage horde
Soon reached their bark and sprang aboard;
Yet scorned they even then to yield,
While strength was left a knife to wield.

Each one dared a hero's part;
Each knife it sought a savage heart,
Nor did they cease to bathe in gore
Till they sank beneath to rise no more.

Paralee and her mother lay
To savage hands an early prey;
For neither knew, nor felt they ought,
Of what they did or what they sought,

Since terror and alarm, too deep,
Had locked their senses all in sleep.
Alas! that they should ever wake:
Returning senses meant the stake.

Soon homeward with the living dead
The savage horde in triumph sped;
And bore to haunts of Ella Ree
The paleface foe she longed to see.

Better for Paralee had she died
Amid the battle's raging tide.
"Not wounded tigress in her lair
More dangerous than a jealous fair!"

Assembled around the Council Fire,
With haughty mien and rising ire,
Each chief was ready to relate
His own exploit or vent his hate.

Safely bound by cruel thong,
In the center of the throng,
The captives sat in silent dread,
Envying none except the dead.

"Brothers! the paleface Ella Ree,
Whose words from guile are always free,
Will tell you all you need to know.
Who scorns _her_ words must brave my blow!"

Thus Ulca spake, then glared around
With a mighty monarch's haughty frown,
"That held his hearers more in awe
Of his dread prowess than his law."

"Chief! Warriors! Braves in battle tried,
Your blood Saluda's stream has dyed;
Your brothers sleep no more to wake!
Will _you_ sit by nor vengeance take?"

"A traitor warned the doomed paleface;
Shall _he_ yet live to brave our race?
How the white lily wrought the spell,
Caucanoe, and not I, must tell!"

"Caucanoe does not fear to die!
'Twas he that bade the paleface fly;
Let these women now be set free;
Vent your hate alone on me."

"Paralee I loved, and her alone;
Mine was the fault--let me atone.
Ella Ree, herself, shall light the fire
And chant around my funeral pyre."

"Loose the captive! Raise the stake!
It shall be thus," brave Ulca spake.
"If love shall brave the cruel flame,
Yon captives go from whence they came."

In haste they reared the ready stake,
And bade the Chief his place to take.
He lightly stepped in proper place,
A conquering smile upon his face.

The signal given--a lighted brand--
Ella Ree raised with trembling hand,
Yet begged Caucanoe not to die,
But to her willing arms to fly.

Pardon was his, both full and free,
As the proud brave of Ella Ree;
The hated captives should atone
For all blood spilt, and they alone!

Caucanoe frowned and thus replied:
"If Ella Ree would be my bride,
Let her light the fire and stand
Here beside me, hand in hand."

Forward she sprang--the torch applied,
Even in death a happy bride!
Saluda's stream is never free
From the dying chant of Ella Ree!

_THE MURDERER'S DREAM._

Ye glittering stars! how fair ye shine tonight.
And, oh, thou modest moon! thy silvery light
Comes streaming through these iron bars before me.
How clear and silent is this lovely night!
How quiet and how bright!
I nothing hear, nor aught can hear
Me when I speak, but stone and iron that I fear;
I, shunned by all, as if alone I'd go to Hell;
I, alone in chains! Ah, me, the cruel spell
That brought me here. Heaven could not cheer me
Within these cursed walls--within this dark and dreary cell,
This gloomy, cold, and solitary Hell.

And thou, O Time! the only thing that's not my foe--
O Time! O Time! thou passeth on so slow,
Keeping my soul in terror, in bondage, and in woe;
Was I to blame? I was, they say; they say 'tis so.
Oh, God! will this deep crimson, aye, black stain
My nervous system always strain!
Will my foul crime forever haunt my brain?
Must I live here in earthly fear, and never, never hear
The sweetest voice to me of all, I've heard not for a year?
Must I this torture feel, year after year?
Live, die in Hell, and yet a Paradise so near?
Wilt Thou, Oh, God! wilt Thou not hear? 'Tis I, 'tis I they all do fear.

Am I to Thee, O Christ, as dead? Thou who sought
The lonely prisoner in his dismal cell, and to him taught
The true and only law to govern man--Thy love,
Which can be only reached by prayer to Thee above?
In this cold and darkened cell, dost Thou reprove
My soul? Dost Thou doom it to endless misery?
Am I so wicked, sinful, that I cannot move
Thy loving kindness, to a slight reprove?
Ah, me, ah, me, 'tis love Thou sayest--love.
Canst I at this late day by full repentance see
The divine, the holy, ever cleansing love In Thee?
Canst Thou be Christ and have no love for me?

What, can it be that I am lost and'll never know thy bliss?
And for my cruel, wicked crime no joy above all this?
What, world of sin! What, never? Is my destiny Hell?
Is that my cruel sentence because in sin I fell?
Aye, I did fall! Into that dark and fathomless pit,
And now in Hell my soul has fell, and for Hell it is not fit:
Into that misery eternal, where nothing lives but all's infernal--
Is there my future--is it there?
My thoughts they burn my head, my heart 'twas, ah, 'twas dead--
But now it lives, and in my breast does burn:
Those pains, and, severe as they were, they flew, yes, flew away,
And being absent for awhile, remorse came in by day.

Oh, God, Oh, God, I am not fit for this infernal Hell!
Oh, mercy, mercy! my destiny, 'tis here that I must dwell.
Away! away! ye fiery fiends, I am among you now,
O Christ, O Savior of the sinner! To Satan must I bow?
Pray, take me back to earth again, and test me one and all,
And let me live anew my life and see if I will fall.
Test me, test me once again, let me hear the old church bell,
'Cause now I'm so much steeped in sin that I'm not fit for Hell.
Oh, horrors! horrors! hear the groans of tortured victims there,
Some young, and many are quite old, I know it by their hair!
Poor, poor, poor wretches, see them there, all bleeding and in chains;
I know they realize their fate, because they all have brains.

Is this the horrid, horrid place my mother taught was Hell?
Oh, see those brutal fiery fiends, they call them "Imps" you know,
And many an one has feared them here, because of sin he'd sown.
Just see the demons of the deep! Just hear their hellish tones!
Then floating back on brimstone air comes mocking, mocking groans.
See, see the devils how they dance, with brimstone torches how they
prance;
What! can it be they look like men and 'stead of hearts they have but sin
And grinning hang around me? Oh, fearful, fearful fire of hell, what can
it be within?
They sneer and stare at me! Go 'way, ye devils cooked in sin and crime!
I'm now in Purgatory waiting for the time
When by the law of a just God I'll be removed from here,
And by the law of Christ divine, of thee I'll have no fear.

Hark! List! From yonder corner comes loud cries,
Oh, let me hold my aching, bursting head!
They come from some poor wretch that dies,
And many an one may mourn him now as dead.
I see him! I see him! There he is! My murdered victim now
Appears before me. That is him! and to him I must bow.
Oh, his cries, his groans, they haunt me
To the bottom of my wicked heart. Can it be
That I must dwell forever in this wretched misery?
Horrors! See him now reach out his bony hand
To grasp me firmly by the throat and hold me like a band.
Take me, demons, if you please, take me into Hell!
Anything you choose may do--remove me from this cell!

My soul, my soul, awake! awake! They come! they come!
The devil's come to take--Old Satan, I am thine!
Away my soul will ever roll through torturing, scorching Hell,
And down into the blackest depths my soul is cast pell-mell.
Oh, what a fate for man to meet--speak, Satan! speak, I say!
And with your torturing, devilish deeds--my ruin! no delay!
What dumb! Old Satan, canst thou speak? Look here
And speak thy want! I'm now right crisp and hard in sin and haven't any
fear.
Take me, demons! Take me, quick! I hear the awful knell
Of the roaring, moaning billows, and the bitterness of Hell.
Take me, Satan, take me! as my fate is firmly sealed,
While ye in Hades do wake me, and o'er me the batoon wield.

What! What! Am I mistaken? Was it only but a dream?
I, still living here on earth--oh, how real it all did seem.
Could I now just one chance have and in mercy be forgiven,
I would have respect for all and send prayers right up to heaven.
When on earth Christ did come to save sinners from their fate,
Any time they'd turn to Him they'd find 'twas not too late.
Holy Savior, heavenly dove, Thou who reigns supreme above!
Though in sin I have been dead, I am saved just by Thy love.
Could I only have good sight, that I could see my sad plight,
I would always to Thee cling, and to Thee cling with my might.
Now, to Thee let me give thanks, 'cause 'twas only a bad dream.
But its horrors to me cling, 'cause so real it all did seem.

_ACROSTIC TRIBUTE TO GOD'S MESSENGERS, CHAPLAIN AND MRS. C. L. WINGET._

Cyprian, the father of the orators' plan, a preacher, a priest and godly
man;
You have been, by the good Lord sent, on the mission your heart is ever
bent.
Passed through trials of life severe, God was good when He sent you here,
Right in the midst of a sweltering gang of sinners, corrupt on every
hand.
I, for one, have watched you keen, and from you haven't an evil deed
seen;
All has been so easy to see that your whole soul's bent on setting us
free--
Not from earthly, bodily pains, but from our evil, and sin, and shame!

Lee was the second choice of name, she christened her son for Heavenly
fame.
Each and every day she taught him ever sin to brave, till dear mother she
went down into an early
grave.
Every day and every hour he tries to keep that august dower, and meet
her where there's endless time, in Heaven's pure and holy clime.

Winget came unto this place to save poor sinners by God's own grace;
In eloquence and heartfelt plea he's prayed for us on bended knee;
Nor has his pleading been in vain, because from us he's driven pain.
"God help the prisoner!" is his prayer, while lingering in this prison
lair;
"Eternal justice may they have while life's hard struggle they do brave!"
"To God be praise! we see His face. God save the prisoner by Thy grace!"

Susan, his wife and better half, and one of God's own kind,
Upon each bright and sabbath morn she helps the text to find.
She's ever there, in the arm chair, through service and through song,
And with kindly smile she does beguile the prisoners from all wrong.
Nay--let us bow unto you now, thou noble, holy one, and may God speed for
all your need for the good that you have done.

Gregory is an ancient name, to you it has been given:
Right down deep in your friendly heart is found the truth of Heaven
Each of us prisoners here confined for truth will e'er contend;
Go, search each heart! and then report if truth we'll not defend.
Onward, onward, upward, upward may your labors ever roll;
Reach out for poor fallen sinner, and your work we'll all extol:
Yet 'tis not too late to labor--God will answer, "Aye, extol!"

"Fair-child" of Heaven's august plan, how comest thou to wed yourself to
Man?
A name is nothing but to designate, but, Oh--how often it does consecrate
In language pure and clear as diamond scale, while thou, Fair-child, we,
every one, do hail!
Real sympathy is not so strong a band as binds fair woman unto haughty
man!
Come, hasten! now thy work be done, 'cause life's short race is almost
run!
He whom thou wed so many years ago has been God's servant faithfully to
do
In words so full of just and holy writ, that in our chapel we do love to
sit.
Love for your duty, kind to all you meet, faithful to your Master's cause
and a smile for all you greet.
Do by us as you have done and never do complain, because the work that
you have done has not been done in vain!

"Winget" is the name you chose to support the once Fair-child.
In Christian mission go forth God's castles for to build;
Never forget the prisoner close locked in dungeon cell,
Go forth and teach to him The Life of the soul you love so well.
Each hour you spend in Christian work is never thrown away.
The Truth is known! you'll harvests reap in Heaven's golden day!

_THE MIND IS THE STANDARD OF THE MAN._

In chains and shackles closely bound;
They say I am a prisoner;
Although in this small cell I'm found,
A prisoner I am not.
The door is made of iron bars,
The lock is large and strong,
But my mind soars free, up to the stars,
As if I'd done no wrong.
The mind of man is ever free,
By nature's law itself,
While this wicked, wretched corpus
May be laid upon the shelf.
What of this wretched body?
What care we for this hand?
But there's one thing safe to wager on,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

They may chain me fast unto the rock,
And bind both hands and feet;
They may keep me far off in the dark,
Where friends I cannot meet;
They may call me vile and wicked wretch,
And murderer and thief;
They may say I am an infidel
And steeped in unbelief;
They may say I'm false and awful bad,
And lend not a helping hand;
They may sow the seed North, East, South, West,
Far, far throughout the land;
They may go right on with falsity
And it publish like a ban,
But there's one thing safe to wager on,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

If the mind was easy to be read,
And another for to see,
There would prisoner after prisoner
Immediately be set free.
If conscience was as easy known
As another's words to hear,
There would not be half so many men
That society would fear.
But what do people think or care
What's in another's brain,
So long as _they_ can all conceal
The evil in _their_ frame.
There are a few who secretly
Do not conceal their sham,
But there's one thing safe to wager on,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

If every one was now compelled
To show life in _true_ attire,
They'd cause the picture to be marred
And cast into the fire.
They'd blush with shame to bring to light
Black spots upon their life;
They kick, and squirm, and twist about,
And fight it with a strife.
Where is the man on this vile earth
But what has done some wrong,
And in his mind's concealed it,
Tho' it stings him like a thong?
There ne'er was one except the Christ
Who'd be perfect in the land!
But there's one thing safe to wager on,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

What if all conscience could be searched
Clear through with cathode rays,
How many would cheerfully submit,
Who'd reached their manhood days?
It might not be the blackest crime
Known to the criminal code,
But can it be sufficiently white
To call it very good?
It may not be so good nor bad,
Nor bad nor good indeed,
But is it plenty good enough
As a standard for a creed?
You may keep it hid in an air-tight box.
With psychological band,
Then, you see, 'tis safe to wager
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

So long as minds cannot be seen
And pictured to the folk,
So long there'll be deceitfulness
Played by the earthly crook.
The modern shylock now, who craves
The sentence of the court,
Is just the man who, many times,
Society he has hurt.
He stands aloof from other folk,
And cries with a loud voice:
"Down, down, with evil and all crime!
Arise, my friends, rejoice!"
But turn on him the cathode rays
And search him, if you can,
You'll be convinced, beyond a doubt,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

There's many a man who's been misjudged.
And met his doom and fate;
And the truth thereof could ne'er be learned
Until it was too late.
If cathode rays could have been used,
And falsehood put to flight,
There's many a false and trumped up charge
Would be knocked clear out of sight.
If the mind of man could only be,
With this mysterious light,
Just brought out plain on canvas,
In colors clear and bright,
It would spread the truth both far and near,
Just like a marriage ban,
That the rule ordained by nature is
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

Now, when with cathode rays supplied,
You start out for a search,
Just drop around some Sabbath morn
And peep into a church.
If one bald deacon, on his breast,
Wears a diamond bright and clear,
Just shoot cathode across his pate
And see what's buried there.
Then up into the pulpit,
Where the priest all devils dare,
And dart the rays around, about,
And see what's buried there.
Then to the courtroom wend your way,
To where the judges ran,
Then bet your bottom dollar
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

Then down into our Congress halls
Make a dash both bold and free,
And shoot cathode right through them all
And see what you can see.
Then back into the halls of State,
And catch them, one and all,
And learn yourself, beyond a doubt,
How many are there to fall.
Don't be surprised if now you find
Most foul and blackened crimes,
Because they're plotting for the gold,
No matter what the times.
Try and discover, then and there,
The gold bonds, if you can,
And remember, what is true as truth,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

Then, when you're done with the outside world,
And all of Congress halls,
Return to me and take a walk
Within these dismal walls.
I'll show you men who represent
Each county in this State;
They're all accused of crime, you know,
And sentenced to their fate.
But don't be hasty now to judge
These men you see about;
Fire cathode rays right through their skulls
And you may find a doubt.
Courts, lawyers and prejudiced jurors
Will convict if they can,
But there's one thing safe to wager on,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

In here you'll find there's many a mind
As free from sin and crime
As congressmen and senators
Who've been there a long time.
Some of these men in here, you see,
They got a little tight,
And broke into a chicken coop,
Because 'twas in the night.
Some men you see as you walk with me
Down through these halls so dreary,
Have, on bended knee, prayed to be free
Until life's become weary.
They have no money, neither friends,
Because they're far behind the van,
But still 'tis safe to wager
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

And now because my enemies
Have chained me tight and fast,
And cruel, heartless, brutal curs
Would hold me to the last--
Look here! I'll freely now submit,
Turn on your cathode rays
And learn, if now 'tis not too late,
The evil of my ways.
Then go up to that old bribed judge,
And prosecutor, too,
And bring their conscience here by mine
And search all through and through.
Look sharp! And now compare their minds
With this one, if you can,
And then apply the golden rule,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

Oh, men of science! if you can
Employ the cathode rays
To take the place of jurymen
In those our latter days;
Let not a man upon the bench
To judge another's fate,
Until to cathode he's been sent
To search beneath his pate!
If then you see his mind is free
From prejudice and crime,
And he'll give us all fair justice,
Let him sit there all the time!
But if, upon the other hand,
He won't, although he can,
Then cut him out with the golden rule:
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

How can you, then, a prisoner make,
When his Mind's as free as space?
You may chain his feet, and hands, and neck,
And tightly bind his face,
Do what you please, and as you please,
You cannot help but see--
That man is man, where e'er he be,
Because his mind is free!
His mind may roam back to his home,
You cannot tie it down,
And folk may look, and scoff, and scowl,
And always wear a frown.
But when of him they a prisoner make,
The mind they never can,
'Cause God ordained the Golden Rule,
"THAT MIND'S THE STANDARD OF THE MAN."

_CELL THOUGHTS._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

In the headlong rush for the Land of Fame
How many are wrecked on the Isle of Shame.
How few heads wear a glittering crown
In the far-away realm of great renown.
'Mid the crowded ranks of the legion of greed
How many are crushed 'neath the wheels of need!

How few ever feel the dainty caress
Of the lingering hand of great success!
In the mad pursuit of the god of gold
What brains are wrecked, what hearts grow cold!
How many will spend their latest day
'Mid the hurtling waters of Poverty Bay!

How many are lured by a siren chime
To a double death in the land of Crime!
How few escape, unscarred, within
The winding walks of the maze of sin!
How many that towered above the stars
Now pine and languish behind the bars!

What a trail of woe a single mistake
Across the page of a life can make!
O, shipwrecked sailor, fix your eye
On the Star of Hope in yonder sky;
Mercy's hand will bring release
And safely lead to the Land of Peace.

_THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL._

Gentle reader, this small volume clearly proves that modern man
Can control his erring brothers with a clear enlightened plan.
Ne'er till now have prison printers voiced, unchanged, a convict's tho't!
Is the change with retrogression or with onward progress fraught?
Will this volume change your custom or relieve our horrid pain?
Or shall truth be crushed and bleeding, ever bound in prison chain?
Will you cast your glances backward, gathering age along by age,
Proof that man is wholly brutal when controlled by maddening rage?
View the pen of downy feathers, where men choked and choked to death,
Without power to ask for pardon with their last expiring breath!
See your brother in that river, safely chained to yonder rock,
While his thirst is wildly raging and the waves his tortures mock!
See yon dungeon, dark and dreary, built by human art and skill,
Whose dread mission is to madden any one the _law_ says kill!
Visit to the hapless culprit, as in Pagan jail he lies;
See the jailer pass the hemlock, which he quaffs, and then he dies!
Think of club, of sword and pistol, of the bloody guillotine;
Of the whipcord, knout and gallows of the noted Wolverine;
Of starvation, rack and torture, of the lash and fiery stake,
And then tell me frankly, reader, did these wrongs one virtue wake?

Tell me frankly, honest reader, can two wrongs create a right?
And is man's inhuman conduct pleasing in Jehovah's sight?
Or do pitying angels shudder, as the cruel lash you ply,
Wondering man can be so brutal and the laws of God defy?
Does not conscience loudly thunder: "Sin is but the fruit of hate,
And who stones a helpless brother most deserves that victim's fate?
Can abuse and brutal treatment purge the sinner of his guilt?
If so, _come_, within my bosom sheath your dagger to the hilt!
Strike, till every erring mortal at your hands has met his fate,
Then sit down and calmly ponder on your awful lonely state!
_You_, perhaps, have been quite _faultless_; _you_, perhaps, no _wrong_
have done,
If 'tis _true_, my peerless brother, _you're alone beneath the sun_"!

Do but think! we once were spotless as the babe on mother's knee!
Trace the causes of our downfall with a mind from malice free.
See, on every licensed corner, fiends incarnate hourly sell
Fiery waters of _damnation_, that create _a living hell_!
Women, once as pure as angels, leading heartless lives of shame;
For the trumpery of fashion dealing off both home and name!
Hear men laud the wealthy scoundrel and attempt to clear his ways,
While the poor and honest toiler _none_ with pride or pleasure pays!
See Religion don the garments of all worldly pride and lust,
While the Savior's honest followers are but trampled in the dust!
See the press, with startling headlines, every vice and sin portray
That can sink your moral standard or lead innocence astray!
View the legions of temptation strewn along the path of youth,
See how few do practice virtue, and how few _adore_ the truth!
There! the cause of crime is patent, and our downfall you behold,
To condemn it in a sentence: "_It was women, wine and gold!_"

If you read this book with caution, you have read _between the lines_,
Learning much the careless reader and the critic ne'er divines!
You have seen the author's purpose was to tell the simple truth,
As a tribute to the prisoner and a warning to our youth.
You have seen mistakes and errors that less haste would quickly mend,
Yet, with all its imperfections, it may prove a useful friend.
And in future I may publish one with less of hasty thought
That may be--God knows the future--with undying issues fraught.
All tried means have proved abortive yet, my friend, there is a plan
That _will_ lift each erring brother _to the standard of a man_!
If I can but live to publish what I _know_ and long to tell,
You _will_ read it and believe it; so, dear reader, _fare-thee-well_!

_CONCLUSION._

Go, little book, thy destined course pursue!
Collect memorials of the just and true;
And beg of every one who comes thou near
Some token of their friendship and good cheer.
And if by chance some true friends thou should find,
Attach them to thee with both soul and mind;
And if they prove good, faithful friends and true,
To them thou sticketh, as if they loved you--
Adieu! Adieu!

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

-Fixed plain print and interpunctuation errors.

-Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.