Never, during the years of his lowliness, or the days of his grandeur, had Toussaint spent a brighter hour than now, while the spirit of prophecy (twin-angel with death) visited him, and showed him the realms of mind which were opening before his race—that countless host whose van he had himself led to the confines. This spirit whispered something of the immortality of his own name, hidden, lost as he was in his last hours.

"Be it so!" thought he, "if my name can excite any to devotedness, or give to any the pleasure of being grateful. If my name live, the goodness of those who name it will be its life; for my true self-will not be in it. No one will the more know the real Toussaint. The weakness that was in me when I felt most strong, the reluctance when I appeared most ready, the acts of sin from which I was saved by accident alone, the divine constraint of circumstances to which my best deeds were owing—these things are between me and my God. If my name and my life are to be of use, I thank God that they exist; but this outward existence of them is nothing between Him and me. To me henceforward they no more belong than the name of Epaminondas, or the life of Tell. Man stands naked on the brink of the grave, his name stripped from him, and his deeds laid down as the property of the society he leaves behind. Let the name and deeds I now leave behind be a pride to generations yet to come—a more innocent pride than they have sometimes, alas! been to me. I have done with them."

Toussaint had often known what hunger was—in the mornes he had endured it almost to extremity. He now expected to suffer less from it than then, from being able to yield to the faintness and drowsiness which had then to be resisted. From time to time during his meditations, he felt its sensations visiting him, and felt them without fear or regret. He had eaten his loaf when first hungry, and had watched through the first night, hoping to sleep his long sleep the sooner, when his fire should at length be burned out. During the day, some faint sounds reached him from the valley—some tokens of the existence of men. During the two last nights of his life, his ear was kept awake only by the dropping of water—the old familiar sound—and the occasional stir of the brands upon the hearth. About midnight of the second night, he found he could sit up no longer. With trembling hands he laid on such pieces of wood as he could lift, lighted another flambeau, and lay down on his straw. He raised himself but once, hastily and dizzily in the dawn (dawn to him, but sunrise abroad). His ear had been reached by the song of the young goatherds, as they led their flock abroad into another valley. The prisoner had dreamed that it was his boy Denis, singing in the piazza at Pongaudin. As his dim eye recognised the place, by the flicker of the expiring flambeau, he smiled at his delusion, and sank back to sleep again.

The Commandant was absent three days. On his return, he summoned Bellines, and said, in the presence of several soldiers—

"How is the prisoner there?" pointing in the direction of Toussaint's cell.

"He has been very quiet this morning, sir."

"Very quiet? Do you suppose he is ill?"

"He was as well as usual the last time I went to him."

"He has had plenty of everything, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Wood, candle, food, water—everything."

"Very well. Get lights, and I will visit him."

Lights were brought. A boy, who carried a lantern, shivered as he saw how ghastly Bellines' face looked in the yellow gleam, in the dark vault on the way to the cell, and was not sorry to be told to stay behind, till called to light the Commandant back again.

"Have you heard anything?" asked Rubaut of the soldier, in a low voice.

"Not for many hours. There was a call or two, and some singing, just after you went; but nothing since."

"Hush! Listen!"

They listened motionless for some time; but nothing was heard but the everlasting plash, which went on all around them.

"Unbar the door, Bellines."

He did so, and held the door wide for the Commandant to enter. Rubaut stalked in, and straight up to the straw bed. He called the prisoner in a somewhat agitated voice, felt the hand, raised the head, and declared that he was gone. The candle was burned completely out. Rubaut turned to the hearth, carefully stirred the ashes, blew among them, and raised a spark.

"You observe," he said to Bellines; "his fire was burning when we found him."

"Yes, sir."

"There is more wood and more candle?"

"Yes, sir; the wood in this corner, and the candle on the table—just under your hand, sir."

"Oh, ay, here. Put on some wood, and blow up a flame. Observe, we found his fire burning."

"Yes, sir."

They soon re-appeared in the courtyard, and announced the death of the prisoner. Rubaut ordered a messenger to be in readiness to ride to Pontarlier, by the time he should have written a letter.

"We must have the physicians from Pontarlier," observed the Commandant, aloud, "to examine the deceased, and declare what he died of. The old man has not been well for some time past. I have no doubt the physicians will find that he died of apoplexy, or something of the kind."

"No wonder, poor soul!" said a sutler's wife to another woman.

"No wonder, indeed," replied the other. "My husband died of the heat in Saint Domingo; and they took this poor man (don't tell it, but he was a black; I got a sight of him, and he came from Saint Domingo, you may depend upon it)—they took him out of all that heat, and put him into that cold, damp place there! No wonder he is dead."

"Well, I never knew we had a black here!"

"Don't say I told you, then."

"I have no doubt—yes, we found his fire burning," said Bellines to the inquirers round him. "They will find it apoplexy, or some such thing, I have no doubt of it."

And so they did, to the entire satisfaction of the First Consul.

Yet it was long before the inquiring world knew with certainty what had become of Toussaint L'Ouverture.



APPENDIX.

Those who feel interest enough in the extraordinary fortunes of Toussaint L'Ouverture to inquire concerning him from the Biographical Dictionaries and Popular Histories of the day, will find in them all the same brief and peremptory decision concerning his character. They all pronounce him to have been a man of wonderful sagacity, endowed with a native genius for both war and government; but savage in warfare; hypocritical in religion—using piety as a political mask; and, in all his affairs, the very prince of dissemblers. It is true that this account consists neither with the facts of his life, the opinions of the people he delivered, nor the state documents of the island he governed. Yet it is easy to account for. The first notices of him were French, reported by the discomfited invaders of Saint Domingo to writers imbued with the philosophy of the days of the Revolution; and later accounts are copies of these earlier ones. From the time when my attention was first fixed on this hero, I have been struck with the inconsistencies contained in all reports of his character which ascribe to him cruelty and hypocrisy; and, after a long and careful comparison of such views with his words and deeds, with the evidence obtainable from Saint Domingo, and with the temper of his times in France, I have arrived at the conclusion that his character was, in sober truth, such as I have endeavoured to represent it in the foregoing work.

I do not mean to say that I am the first who has formed an opinion that Toussaint was an honest, a religious, and a mild and merciful man. In an article in the Quarterly Review (Number seventeen) on the "Past and Present State of Hayti," so interesting an account is given of the great negro, as to cause some wonder that no one has till now been moved by it to present the facts of his life in the form of an historical novel. In that article it is justly observed that the onus rests with those who accuse Toussaint of hypocrisy to prove their allegation by facts. I would say the same of the other charge, of cruelty. Meanwhile, I disbelieve both charges, for these reasons among others:—

The wars of Saint Domingo were conducted in a most barbarous spirit before the time of Toussaint's acquisition of power, and after his abduction. During the interval, the whole weight of his influence was given to curb the ferocity of both parties. He pardoned his personal enemies (as in the instance of the mulattoes in the church), and he punished in his followers, as the most unpardonable offence they could commit, any infringement of his rule of "No Retaliation."

When it is considered that the cruelties perpetrated in the rising of 1791, and renewed after the fall of Toussaint, were invented by the whites, and copied by the negroes (who were wont to imitate their masters in all they did), it is no small evidence of L'Ouverture's magnanimity that he conceived, illustrated, and enforced, in such times, such a principle as that of No Retaliation.

All the accounts of him agree that, from his earliest childhood, he was distinguished by a tenderness of nature which would not let him hurt a fly. He attached to himself the cattle and horses which were under his charge when a boy, to a degree which made him famous in a region where cruelty to animals at the hands of slaves was almost universal. A man who lived till fifty, remarkable for a singular gentleness and placability, ought not to be believed sanguinary from that time forward, on the strength of the unsupported charges of his disappointed enemies.

Piety was also his undisputed early characteristic. A slave bringing to the subject of religion the aptitude of the negro nature, early treated with kindness by a priest, evincing the spirit of piety from his infant years, finding in it the consolations required by a life of slavery, and guided by it in a course of the strictest domestic morality, while surrounded by licentiousness, may well be supposed sincere in his religion, under a change of circumstances occurring after he was fifty years of age. The imputation of hypocrisy is not, however, much to be wondered at when it is considered that, at the time when the first notices of Toussaint were written at Paris, it was the fashion there to believe that no wise man could be sincerely religions.

As for the charge of general and habitual dissimulation, it can only be said that while no proof of the assertion is offered, there is evidence, in all the anecdotes preserved of him, of absolute frankness and simplicity. I rather think that it was the incredible extent of his simplicity which gave rise to the belief that it was assumed, in order to hide cunning. The Quarterly Review quotes an anecdote thoroughly characteristic of the man, which is not introduced into my story, because, in the abundance of my materials, I found it necessary to avoid altogether the history of the English transactions in Saint Domingo. It was only by confining my narrative to the relations between Toussaint and France that I could keep my tale within limits, and preserve the clearness of the representation. There are circumstances, however, in his intercourse with the British, as honourable to Toussaint's character as any that I have related; and among them is the following, which I quote from the Quarterly Review.

"General Maitland, previous to the disembarkation of the troops, returned the visit at Toussaint's camp; and such was his confidence in the integrity of his character, that he proceeded through a considerable extent of country, full of armed negroes, with only three attendants. Roume, the French Commissary, wrote a letter to Toussaint, on this occasion, advising him to seize his guest, as an act of duty to the republic: on the route, General Maitland was secretly informed of Bourne's treachery; but, in full reliance on the honour of Toussaint, he determined to proceed. On arriving at head-quarters, he was desired to wait. It was some time before Toussaint made his appearance; at length, however, he entered the room with two open letters in his hand. 'There, General,' said he, 'before we talk together, read these. One is a letter from the French Commissary—the other is my answer. I could not see you till I had written my reply, that you might be satisfied how safe you were with me, and how incapable I am of baseness.'"—Quarterly Review, volume twenty-one, page 442.

The charge of personal ambition is, above all, contradicted by facts. If anything is clear in Toussaint's history, it is that his ruin was owing to his loyalty to France, his misplaced trust in Napoleon, and his want of personal ambition. He did not, as he might have done, make himself a sovereign when France was wholly occupied with European warfare. He did not, as he might have done, prepare his people to resist the power of the mother-country, when she should at length be at liberty to reclaim the colony. He sent away the French commissaries only when, by their ignorance and incompetency, they imperilled the peace and safety of the colony. He cherished the love of the mother-country in the hearts of the negroes, to the very last moment— till the armament which came to re-establish slavery appeared on the shores—till it was too late to offer that resistance which would have made him a king. Christophe's view of this part of his conduct is given in a manifesto, dated in the eleventh year of the Independence of Hayti:—

"Toussaint L'Ouverture, under his paternal administration, had reinstated, in full force, law, morals, religion, education, and industry. Agriculture and commerce were flourishing. He favoured the white colonists, particularly the planters. Indeed, his attentions and partialities had been carried to such a length, that he was loudly blamed for entertaining more affection for them than for those of his own colour. Nor was this reproach without foundation; for, a few months before the arrival of the French, he sacrificed his own nephew, General Moyse, who had disregarded the orders he had given for the protection of the colonists. That act of the Governor, added to the great confidence he had placed in the French authorities, was the principal cause of the feeble resistance the French encountered in Hayti. Indeed, his confidence in these authorities was such, that he had discharged the greater part of the regular troops, and sent them back to the tillage of the soil."—Haytian papers, page 158.

Such conduct is a sufficient answer to the allegation that Toussaint was actuated by a selfish ambition, cunning in its aims, and cruel in its use of means.

Some light is thrown upon the character of his mind by the record of the books he studied while yet a slave. Rainsford gives a list, which does not pretend to be complete, but which is valuable as far as it goes. It appears that in his years of comparative leisure he was completely engrossed by one book at a time, reading it at all spare moments, meditating its contents while in the field, and quoting it in conversation for weeks together. One of the first authors whose works thus entirely possessed him was Raynal: afterwards, Epictetus, in a French translation; then others, as follows:—

Scriptores de Re Militari.

Caesar's Commentaries. French translation, by De Crisse.

Des Claison's History of Alexander and Caesar.

D'Orleans' History of Revolutions in England and Spain.

Marshal Saxe's Military Reveries.

Guischard's Military Memoirs of the Greeks and Romans.

Herodotus.

Le Bean's Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres.

Lloyd's Military and Political Memoirs.

English Socrates, Plutarch, Cornelius Nepos, etcetera, etcetera.

Great mystery hangs over the tale of Toussaint's imprisonment and death. It appears that he was confined in the Temple only as long as Napoleon had hopes of extorting from him information about the treasures, absurdly reported to have been buried by him in the mornes [Note 1], under circumstances of atrocious cruelty. It has been suggested that torture was employed by Bonaparte's aide, Caffarelli, to procure the desired confession; but I do not know that the conjecture is founded on any evidence.

As to the precise mode of L'Ouverture's death, there is no certainty. The only point on which all authorities agree is, that he was deliberately murdered; but whether by mere confinement in a cell whose floor was covered with water, and the walls with ice (a confinement necessarily fatal to a negro), or by poison, or by starvation in conjunction with disease, may perhaps never be known. The report which is, I believe, the most generally believed in France is that which I have adopted—that the Commandant, when his prisoner was extremely ill, left the fortress for two or three days, with the key of Toussaint's cell in his pocket; that, on his return, he found his prisoner dead; and that he summoned physicians from Pontarlier, who examined the body, and pronounced a serious apoplexy to be the cause of death. It so happened that I was able, in the spring of last year, to make some inquiry upon the spot; the result of which I will relate.

I was travelling in Switzerland with a party of friends, with whom I had one day discussed the fortunes and character of Toussaint. I had then no settled purpose of writing about him, but was strongly urged to it by my companions. On the morning of the 15th of May, when we were drawing near Payerne from Freyburg, on our way to Lausanne, I remembered and mentioned that we were not very far from the fortress of Joux, where Toussaint's bones lay. My party were all eager that I should visit it. There were difficulties in the way of the scheme—the chief of which was that our passports were not so signed as to enable us to enter France; and the nearest place where the necessary signature could be obtained was Berne, which we had left behind us the preceding day. I had, however, very fortunately a Secretary of State's passport, besides the Prussian Consul's; and this second passport, made out for myself and a femme-de-chambre, had been signed by the French Minister in London. One of my kind companions offered to cross the frontier with me, as my femme-de-chambre, and to help me in obtaining access to the prison of Toussaint; an offer I was very thankful to accept. At Payerne, we separated ourselves and a very small portion of luggage from our party, whom we promised to overtake at Lausanne in two or three days. We engaged for the trip a double char-a-banc, with two stout little horses, and a brave homme of a driver, as our courteous landlady at Payerne assured us. Passing through Yverdun, we reached Orbe by five in the afternoon, and took up our quarters at the "Guillaume Tell," full of expectation for the morrow.

On the 16th, we had breakfasted, and were beginning the ascent of the Jura before seven o'clock. The weather was fine, and we enjoyed a succession of interesting objects, till we reached that which was the motive of our excursion. First we had that view of the Alps which, if it were possible, it would be equally useless to describe to any who have and any who have not stood on the eastern slope of the Jura, on a clear day. Then we wound among the singular defiles of this mountain range, till we reached the valley which is commanded by Jougne. Here we alighted, climbing the slope to the gate of the town, while the carriage was slowly dragged up the steep winding road. Our appearance obviously perplexed the two custom-house officers, who questioned us, and peeped into our one bag and our one book (the Handbook of Switzerland) with an amusing air of suspicion. My companion told them that the aim of our journey was the fortress of Joux; and that we expected to pass the frontier again in the afternoon, on our return to Orbe. Whether they believed us, or, believing, thought us very foolish, is best known to themselves; but I suspect the latter, by their compliments on our cleverness, on our return. At Jougne we supplied ourselves with provisions, and then proceeded through valleys, each narrower than the last, more dismal with pines, and more chequered with snow. The air of desolation, here and there rendered move striking by the dreary settlements of the charcoal-burners, would have been impressive enough, if our minds had not been full of the great negro, and therefore disposed to view everything with his eyes.

The scene was exactly what I have described in my story, except that a good road, made since Toussaint's time, now passes round and up the opposite side of the rock from that by which he mounted. The old road, narrow and steep, remains; and we descended by it.

We reached the courtyard without difficulty, passing the two drawbridges and portcullis described. The Commandant was absent; and his lieutenant declared against our seeing anything more than the great wheel, and a small section of the battlements. But for great perseverance, we should have seen nothing more; but we obtained, at last, all we wanted. We passed through the vault and passages I have described, and thoroughly examined the cell. No words can convey a sense of its dreariness. I have exaggerated nothing—the dim light, the rotten floor, shining like a pond, the drip of water, the falling flakes of ice, were all there. The stove was removed; but we were shown where it stood.

There were only three persons who pretended to possess any information concerning the negro prisoner. The soldier who was our principal guide appeared never to have heard of him. A very old man in the village, to whom we were referred, could tell us nothing but one fact, which I knew before—that Toussaint was deprived of his servant, some time before his death. A woman in the sutler's department of the fortress pretended to know all about him; but she had never seen him, and had no further title to authority than that her first husband had died in the Saint Domingo invasion. She did us the good service of pointing out the grave, however. The brickwork which surrounds the coffin now forms part of a new wall; but it was till lately within the church.

This woman's story was that which was probably given out on the spot, to be told to inquirers; so inconsistent is it in itself, and with known facts. Her account was, that Toussaint was carried off from Saint Domingo by the ship in which he was banqueted by Leclerc (the last of a line of two hundred), weighing anchor without his perceiving it, while he was at dinner. The absurdity of this beginning shows how much reliance is to be placed upon the rest of her story. She declared that the Commandant Rubaut had orders from the Government to treat the prisoner well; that his servant remained with him to the last; that he was well supplied with books, allowed the range of the fortress, and accustomed to pass his days in the house of the Commandant, playing cards in the evenings: that on the last night of his life he excused himself from the card-table, on the plea of being unwell; that he refused to have his servant with him, though urged not to pass the night alone; that he was left with fire, fauteuil, flambeaux, and a book, and found dead in his chair in the morning; and that the physicians who examined the body declared his death to have been caused by the rupture of a blood-vessel in the heart. This last particular is known to be as incorrect as the first. As for the rest, this informant differs from all others in saying that Mars Plaisir remained with his master to the last day of his life; and we may ask why Toussaint's nights were to be passed in his horrible cell, if his days were so favoured; and how it was that no research availed to discover to the eager curiosity of all Europe and the West Indies the retreat of L'Ouverture, if he, a negro, was daily present to the eyes of the garrison of the fortress, and to those of all the inhabitants of the village, and of all the travellers on that road who chose to raise their eyes to the walls.

Our third informant was a boy, shrewd and communicative, who could tell us the traditions of the place; and, of course, young as he was, nothing more. It was he who showed us where the additional stove was placed when winter came on. He pointed to a spot beside the fireplace, where he said the straw was spread on which Toussaint lay. He declared that Toussaint lived and died in solitude; and that he was found dead and cold, lying on that straw—his wood-fire, however, not being wholly extinguished.

The dreary impressions of the place saddened our minds for long after we had left it; and, glad as we were, on rejoining our party at Lausanne, to report the complete success of our enterprise, we cannot recur to it, to this day, without painful feelings.

How the lot of Toussaint was regarded by the generous spirits of the time is shown in a sonnet of Wordsworth's, written during the disappearance of L'Ouverture. Every one knows this sonnet; but it may be read by others, as by me, with a fresh emotion of delight, after having dwelt on the particulars of the foregoing history.

"Toussaint, the most unhappy Man of Men! Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillow'd in some deep dungeon's earless den:— O miserable Chieftain! where and when Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not: do thou Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind Powers that will work for thee: air, earth, and skies There's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee: thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and Man's unconquerable mind."

The family of Toussaint were first sent to Bayonne, and afterwards to Agen, where one of the sons died of a decline. The two elder ones, endeavouring to escape from the surveillance under which they lived, were embarked for Belle Isle, and imprisoned in the citadel, where they were seen in 1803. On the restoration of the Bourbons, not only were they released, but a pension was settled on the family. Madame L'Ouverture died, I believe, in the South of France, in 1816, in the arms of Placide and Isaac.

————————————————————————————————————

What Napoleon afterwards thought of the dungeon of Toussaint, is known through an anecdote which I have received from high authority.

The next occupant of Toussaint's cell was the Duc de Riviere, afterwards the first French ambassador to Constantinople. The Duc (then Marquis) was a young man, on the point of marriage with Mademoiselle de la Ferte, when, for some unknown offence, he was thrown into prison at Joux, and apparently forgotten. There he wasted three of the best years of his life. Mademoiselle de la Ferte never relaxed in her efforts to obtain his liberation; but she was told, at length, that Napoleon was weary of her solicitations, and that further efforts on her part would have no better result than increasing the displeasure of the Emperor. In the hour of her despair, the kind-heartedness of Josephine came to her aid. The ladies caused a model of the cell at Joux to be prepared—bearing the most exact resemblance to the horrible abode; and this model Josephine placed, with her own hands, on the bureau of the Emperor.

"Ah! fi donc! Quel est ce lieu abominable?" said the Emperor.

The Empress informed him that it was one of his Majesty's state prisons; to which he replied that it was impossible; that no man could live four-and-twenty hours in such a den. This brought out the information that the Marquis de Riviere had lived three years in it, and was still lying there, by his Majesty's commands.

"Otez-moi ca!" cried the Emperor, tartly. "Cette vue me fait fremir."

The model was removed. The Marquis was presently afterwards liberated. He retired to Germany, where he was met by Mademoiselle de la Ferte, whom he there married. In after-years he was fond of relating the anecdote which I have given, as nearly as possible, in his method and language.

————————————————————————————————————

For some years I have read whatever came within my reach on the subject of my present work: so that it would not now be easy to assign my authority for every view and every statement it contains. The authorities which I have principally consulted while actually writing, I will, however, give. They are—Rainsford's "Historical Account of the Black Empire of Hayti;" the above-mentioned article in the Quarterly Review; Bryan Edwards's "Saint Domingo"; the article "Toussaint L'Ouverture," in the "Biographie Universelle;" and the "Haytian Papers," edited by Prince Sanders.

Of these, Bryan Edwards, who did not live to complete his history, barely names my hero; and the reports he gives of the Revolution of Saint Domingo are useful chiefly as representing the prejudices, as well as the interests, of the planters. The article in the Quarterly is valuable, as being an able and liberal digest of various narratives; some derived from Hayti itself. Rainsford's book is nearly unreadable, from the absurdity of its style; but it is truly respectable in my eyes, notwithstanding, from its high appreciation of L'Ouverture's character. It contains more information concerning Toussaint than can be found, I believe, anywhere else, except in the Biographie; and it has the advantage of detailing what fell under the writer's own observation. The Biographie furnishes many valuable facts; but appears, from the inconsistency of various parts, and the confused impression which it conveys as a whole, to be a compilation in which the workman has been more careful to record dates and other facts correctly, than to understand the personage whose portrait he professes to give. The "Haytian Papers" are the most valuable of all authorities, as far as they go.

Of my other personages, all had a real existence, except Monsieur Revel, Euphrosyne, and their servants; some of the planters mentioned in the second chapter; the children of Bellair; the Abbess and her establishment; and some of the visitors at Toussaint's levee; with a few other subordinate characters.

Of the real personages, several were probably very unlike what I have represented them. I knew the names of some, without knowing their characters; as in the instances of Placide and Isaac, Messieurs Pascal and Moliere, Mars Plaisir, Madame Oge, the Marquis d'Hermona, Laxabon, Vincent, and Paul.

Of others, I knew the character and history, without being able to ascertain the names; as in the instances of Madame Dessalines and Madame Bellair. Since the issue of my first edition, I have learned that the name of Madame Dessalines was Marie; and her second name, before marriage, Claire or Clerc. I have not thought it advisable to substitute Marie for Therese in this edition, as nothing could be thereby gained which would compensate for disturbing the associations of my readers in regard to one of the chief personages of the story.

Of others, such as the wife, daughters, and third son of Toussaint, Monsieur Papalier, and the tutors, Azua and Loisir, I knew only that they existed, without being able to learn their names or characters. The only character designed to be fully and faithfully accordant with history is that of Toussaint himself. Those which have much, but less absolute, pretension to historical truth are those of Jean Francais, Christophe, Dessalines, and the other negro Generals, old Dessalines, Bellair, Raymond, the French Commissaries and Envoys, Bayou, and Moyse.

————————————————————————————————————

Note 1. I believe the term "morne" is peculiar to Saint Domingo. A morne is a valley whose bounding hills are themselves backed by mountains.

THE END