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# ■ *r -WS r*
NORTH 9 * *
Wm. 0. MARTIN,-Editor,
Daffodils.
Thagolden sun looks gladly do*.
On golden rows of daffodils.
He crowns them with his golden crow
With golden rays each blossom fills,
And every blighting breeze he stills.
With golden trumpets in their hands,
On pliant stems they lightly swing;
In cheerful, dauntless, gorgeous bands,
Their trumpets to the breeze they flinj ,/
And sound the overture to spring.
Gone is the winter’s dreaded power,
Gone ore the cold and weary days;
Now comes the soul-refreshing shower,
Now sheds the sun his brightest rays;
Their golden trumps use turned to praise.
Praise Him, ye trumpeters of spring.
Whose mighty love new life distills!
My heart shall with your music ring
Until your rapture through me thrills.
Ye golden-throated daffodils!
—Caroline Hazard, in Independent.
HIS NEW GOAT;
_£_
**h it really tree, Max, that you are
going to have a dipner-party at the
Grange? Of learned gentlemen? And
papa is to bo invited?”
Fanny Leslie filing her little crochet
cap into the air,/and caught it again
with the dexterity of a slight-bf-hand
performer.
Max Lynfield, who was sitting on the
low stone stile that separated the well
kept grounds of the Grange from the
weedy wilderness of the Leslie estate,
with a gun balanced on his shoulder,
and ajjanie-bag slung over his back, nod¬
ded emphatically. theWentiSc ,
“Afl lights of the conven¬
tion are to ba inyifed,” said he. “Spec¬
tacles and baldhoads will be at a premi¬
um. Dbn’t you wish you were a learned
old fudge—eh, Fan? Of course, your
governor is fca be invited. Don’t ho
know (he moat^about Egyptology, and
ancient Roman letterings, of any old gen¬
tleman in the land? Isn’t Professor Tol
nmine especially anxious to make his aej
quaintance? And isn’t Doctor LAoJB
to hriii^. in bis waistcoat nA
ir tliiiiiir 1 " {l li'imtffil
r ou had no
a woman.
t isn’t that,” said Fanny, with ludi?
cro! tsolemnity. “What day is the din¬
ner to be, Max?” *■-.
“The seventeenth. Just two weeks
ftom to-day. But I say, Fan, what are
you in such" a hurry for?”
“It’s almost sundown,” said Miss Les¬
lie, gathering her scarf about her should
era in a ' lurried way. “Audi have
waisted ever so much time here already.
Good-by, Maxi*’ fS
“Yes; but I/say, Fanny—”
The only * response to his appeal was
the light, quick sound of the girl’s foot¬
steps, ns she flitted away over the carpet
of autumn leaves that covered the path,
into the yellow mist of the October after¬
noon. .
“What a pretty girl that is!” Max Lyn¬
field murmured tohimsclf. “Her eyes are
exactly the color of a hazelnut, and she has
got the sweetest little sugar-plum of a
mouth that I ever beheld! But I don’t
see why she need be in such a hurry.”
' And ho disconsolately
picked up the
game-bag which he had unbuckled from
his shoulder, and strode away, whistling.
Meanwhile, Fanny Leslie ..had sped
to the dreary, old-fashioned stone house,
blotched with mildew and full of a spec¬
tral silence, where old Mr. Leslie sat,
spectacled and absorbed, among his
books, and Alma, the eldest daughter,
was in the kitchen making a damson pud¬
ding for dinner.
She looked up as Fanny came flying in.
“I thought you never were coming,
Fan,” said she. “Did you bring the
powdered sugar?”
“Here it is.” Fanny flung a little pa¬
per-on the table. “But oh, Alma! the
dinner-party at the Grange is to be on
the seventeenth, and papa is to be one of
the invited guests!”
Alma Leslie paused in her task of
sprinkling snowy sugar over the crushed,
purple damsons in the plate.
“Oh, Fanny!” said she. "“But of
course he can’t go. He has no coat fit to
be seen at a dinner-party in Colonel Lyn
field’s house.”
“Alma, he must gol”
“How can he, Fanny?”
“It will be such a treat for him, Alma,
to meet those scientific gentlemen, and
get a glimpse of the world he has so long
left behind him,” pleaded Fanny. “We
must manage it somehow 1”
Alma knitted her black brows together.
“How much money is there in the
drawer, Fan?” she asked, abruptly.
“I don’t quite know—fifteen dollars, I
think.”
“All this proves the impossibility of
our fine dinner-party, Fan,” said Alma,
shrugging her shoulders. “Fifteen del-
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA. THURSDAY JULY 15 * 1886.
lars would just about purchase the cloth
for a new coat.”
Fanny looked gravely at her sister.
“Well,” said she, “that is all I want,
give me the cloth, and I’ll make the
coat.” ,
“What nonsense, Fanny 1”
“It isn’t nonsense at all,”
“You make a broadcloth coat!”
JWhy shouldn’t I? Didn’t I make
cloth ulster for myself, and make it nice,
too?”
“But you are not a tailor!”
“I’ll bo a tailoress, which isj:stas
go
“Tou have no pattern, Fan.”
“I can rip papa’s old coat apart and
get the pattern from that, Alma. Where
is it? Is he wearing it now ?”
“He has got on that old dressing-gown
of his,” said Alma.
“Then get the coat—that’s a dear—
and rip it carefully apart,” said Fanny,
“while I go down to the store and buy
the broadcloth. Wo haven’t a second of
time to loose.”
The next two days were days of cut¬
ting, stitching, pressing, calculating, in
the big, sunny south room which the
Leslie girls called their boudoir.
Old Mr. Leslie sat among his dusty
tomes and ponderous dictionaries, with a
pencil back of each ear and a pen in
his hand, making notes and scribbling
off paragraphs, all unconscious of what
was going on around Jiim.
“If I’m to bo at that dinner-party of
savants,'’’ he said to Alma, “I must settle
tide question as to the authenticity of the
Eudeic monograph.”
“Certainly, papa,” said Alma, in an
abstracted way, as she hemmed. a new
silk cravat, and pondered as to
practicability of hew gloves, and wheth¬
er her father could be induced to wear
them if they were bought, theeflm
“Papa,” said Fanny, ing
fore the eventful day, “we wrot t you
to-night.”
fettMu-oatvaguely SL,
*,a.
■Rile rose up, divested
aded dressing gown, and
put on the new coat.
Alma and Fanny viewed him with crit¬
ical eyes, and exchanged glances of satis¬
faction at each other.
“Does it feel quite comfortable, papa?”
said Alma.
“Very nice, iny dear—very nice,” said
the philosopher. “Really I didn’t kno
that old coat looked so nice. Take it
away, daughter, and brush it thoroughly,
and have it ready for me to-morrow,
with a fresh necktie and a clean pocket
handkerchief.”
And once more lie plunged into the
depths of the Eudeic monograph ques¬
tion.
“Funny,” raid Alma, in a low voice,
“it’s a success!”
“Alma,” responded Fanny, in the
same tone, “I knew that it would be!”
Mr. Leslie went to the dinner-party at
Lynfield Grange, and astonished several
dozen other old gentlemen by the depth
of his wisdom and the profundity of his
learning, and nobody discovered that the
homemade coat was not the chief d'eucre
of a New York clothier.
But Fanny Leslie was not destined to
hear the last of the coat. Miss Helena
St. Jacquin, who had chanced to surprise
them in the task, whispered it mysterious¬
ly to her dearest friend Mrs. Emerson
Fielding. And every one knew, pres¬
ently, that the Leslie girls had turned
tailorcsses and taken in work by the day.
“It was Fanny,” said Miss St. Jacquin.
“I saw her myself, pressing out tho scams
of a coat with a prodigious smoothing
iron—a man’s coat! They tried to shuf¬
fle it out of sight as soon as possible, but
they weren’t quick enough for me 1”
“Well,” said Max Lynfield carelessly,
“why shouldn’t they sew men’s coats as
well as woman’s worsted work?”
Mrs. Emerson Fielding elevated
pretty little nose.
“I’m afraid,” said she, “wo shall
to leave the Leslie girls off our list for
charade-parties next winter.”
Max Lynfield rose up in exceeding
great wrath.
“Then you may leave me off,
said he, and stalked out of the room.
He went straight to the old stone
house. Fanny was in the garden,
ering ebrysantheums — great
fringed beauties, and buds that were
balls of gold, and little brick-red
soms full of a strange aromatic
like Eastern spices.
“Fan,” said he, “if you had
money, you ought have come to
Haven’t we been friends long enough
induce you to put any confidence in
Fanny looked at him in eerene
“But, Max,” said she, “we don’t want
money—no more than usual, that Is to
say. Everybody wants money, I sup¬
pose.”
And she clipped off a stem of rich ma¬
roon flowers, and laid it lovingly among
the rest of her floral trophies,
Honest Max, who had no idea of di¬
plomacy, plunged headlong into the sub¬
ject.
“Then,” said he, “what’s all this story
about your taking in tailor-work?”
“About my taking in tailor-work?”
“Yes. Miss St. Jacquin saw you
working at it.”
“Did she?” Fanny’s checks flamed
scarlet. “Miss St. Jacquin had better
have been attending to her own business.
But since she has gild you half a story,
I may as well supply the other half. I
am sure it is no seerdt.”
And she told Mai Lynfield the whole
of the simple tale. |
“Fan, you’re a trump!” said lie. “And
you really made that coat yourself V
“I really made that coat myself—witli
a little help from Alina!” proudly spoke
Fanny.
“I should like a daughter like you—
that is to say, whwi I devetop into- an old
gentleman of scientific tastes, ” said Max.
“Oh, you’ll novel develop into a scien¬
tist,” said Fanny. “You are a deal too
active and wideawake. You’re not half
wise enough.”
At this Max’s honest countenance fell.
“I knew it,” said he sorrowfully.
“You despise me. You think I am a
dunce.”
Fanny dropped all her flowers, in her
consternation.
“Oh, Max,” she cried, don’t de
spise you at all. I like you 1”
“That isn’t the question,” said Max,
moodily. •> “The question is, do you love
me?”
“Max
“Fanny! No—stay here!” posting him¬
self, with lightning rapidity, in the door¬
way. “Unless you jump d wn the tor
race, you can’t get aw-ay froi 1 ‘
I’m He determined hmVAeanswcr. to have an »|M|
■Y, : V ■ -r
It is very seldom, you see, .
ouglily determined young M^PRlows
himself to be baffled.
Mrs. Fielding, the pretty widow, was
deeply annoyed; Miss St. Jacquin raved.
“But, you sec,” Mr. Lynfield after¬
ward said, “I never should havo known
how much I cared for Fan, if I hadn’t
heard those spiteful cats criticising her.”
And Mr. Leslie wore the selfsame coat
to his daughter’s wedding.
But, to the end of his learned and
scientific life, he never knew who made it.
Savants are not wise in the ordinary
events of everyday life .—Helen Forrest
Graves.
General Doubled,ty lteaten.
The lack of discipline in the Union ar¬
my in the early part of the war is exem¬
plified by a couple o^f anecdotes told by
Col. W. A. James, an old and well
known veteran: “When we were in tho
defenses before Washington in 1801 Gen¬
eral Donbleday, a rigin martinet, was in
command of the brigade, which was
made up almost entirely of young and
untrained soldiers. One of them, a lank
and overgrown Westerner, was doing
picket duty one day when Doublcday,
glorious in gilt and brass, rode by on his
charger, accompanied by his entire staff.
As they passed the big Westerner stared
at them with open-mouthed wonder, and
neglected to salute. The General no¬
ticed the error, and rode back with fire
in his eye.
“What is yonr name?” he asked the
picket.
The picket told him.
“■‘Well, I am General Doubleday,
commanding the defenses of Washing¬
ton.’
“‘Are ye, indeed 1 said tho soldier,
nonchalantly. ‘Waal, yc liev a gosli
fired fine job, and I hope ye can hold it.’
The General galloped off again without
a word.
At another time a soldier who was dig¬
ging a trench hit his captain on the head
with a clod of dirt. The officer rushed
up and reprimanded the private.
“Now, look-a-here, Cap,” said the lat¬
ter, “my business here is digging and
yours is bossing the company on parade,
and if you attend to your business I’ll at¬
tend to mine.”
A Correct Map.
“How far is it from the new capitol to
the Colorado river?” asked Hostetter Mc¬
Ginnis of Gus Do Smith.
According to the city map it is a mile,
but I think it is much longer. I’ve
walked it, and it took mo longer than it
should take to walk a mile.”
“That discrepancy is easily- explained^
The city map doesn’t go out of its way
to take drinks at all the saloons between
the two places. It isn’t that kind of a
map."— Siftings,
BASE-BALL.
Facts About the National
Game as a Business.
Tho Expense Attendant Upon Maintaining
a First-Olaas Club.
Twelve or fourteen years ago it was
predicted that baseball would ere now be
one of the things of the past. In those
days clubs were organized on the narrow¬
est monetary margins, mostly by specula¬
tive aud irresponsible men, who, in many
cases, when it came to paying their debts
failed to do so, and at once declared that
there Was nothing in baseball, and that
it would soon die out. But instead it
has struggled along, year after year, un¬
til it issnow the leading American sport,
and is backed by somo of the wealthiest
men ifi the country. To-day there arc
thoroughly organized and fully equipped
eight Associations as follows: The Na
tional League, eight clubs; the American
Association, with eight clubs; the South
em League, with eight clubs; the New
England League, with six clubs; the
Interstate League, with eight clubs; tho
Northwestern League, with six clubs,
and the Gulf League, with six clubs,
These eight organizations employ over
800 men, whose salaries for tho season
will aggregate $1,000,000 or more. The
salary list alone of any first-class club,
foots up from $25,000 to $10,000 a year,
and individual salaries, in some instances,
have nearly reached $5,000 a season, and
Zo7Vr< th l haVC rang * 3 ’-"
oOO to $J,oOO for the season. n But there is
no class of public amusement or sport
which, when properly conducted, gives
better returns than baseball.
The travelling expenses of a cl-b form
quite an item in tho expenditures, and
generally foot up to $10,000 or more dur
ing the year. This includes all railroad
fares aud accommodations at first-class
hotels. Each club has about 12,000
n * dus to cover during its regular chain
pionslnp season, not to mention how
many rWjrcwhilc playing I'm ^exhibition mhliliiii:.,!
cost of keeping tho grouuds in proper
playing condition, besides paying gate
men, ticket-takers and special men em¬
ployed about (ho grounds. All these
tilings are well understood by those who
have studied the subject, and they know
full well that a large capital is required
to properly conduct the business. The
day lias gone by when half a dozen men
can organize a club, unless they can
show that they are financially able to
carry out their engagements during the
season. A year or two ago fancy sala¬
ries were paid in a great many instances,
and players who happened to receive a
little notice demanded such exorbitant
prices that it came near ruining some of
tho clubs. To avoid any unreasonable
prices by players, the leading organiza¬
tions have pasted a rule limiting a play¬
er’s salary to $2,000 and doing away
w-ith the advance money system except
just enough to defray travelling expenses
at the beginning of tho season. Tho
paying out of a large sum of advance
money during the earlier part of tho sea¬
son proved a groat burden to most of the
clubs, and the abolishing of that system
has met with general favor throughout
the country. A year or two ago a good
first or third baseman could not be en¬
gaged for less than $1,200, and from that
up to $2,200. A first-class second base
man could obtain from $2,000 to $3,000.
A short stop with any reputation wanted
from $2,500 to $3,500 a year. Outfielders
command from $1,500 to $2,500 for the
season. The pitcher, who is a very im¬
portant man in the nine, especially if he
has any known fibilities as a twirlcr,
would make a modest demand of from
$2,000 to $3,500 for his season’s work,
and then lie would want a man to alter¬
nate with him. There are somo men
who are really worth more than the $2 >
000 limit, and they should be paid in ac¬
cordance with their merits but there
must be a line drawn somewhere, and
the men who make unreasonable demands,
simply because they happen to do well
during a season, should b-j kept down to
the limit. For $2,000 for one hour’s
work, six days in the week, for seven
months in the year, is good compensation.
—New York Mail and Express.
Circumstances Alter Cases.
wyer (to client)—Your old uncle
Isaac died this morning. I was just on
my way to your office to tell you.
Client—What? That old lunatic?*
Lawyer Yea, and what’s more, ho Ijft
you-all his money.
Client—Well, I declare, this is terribly
sudden. I trust he died peacefully.
Poor, dear, old man, I clo hope that he
didn’t suffer .—New York Graphic.
We should think a shad would bo
pretty confident of a thing when it feels
it In its bones.
Vol. VI. New Series. NO. 23.
Two Remarkable Children.
Perhaps the two most striking iustan
cos of home training that have been iP give®
■
to . the world, ,, Agnes . Repphcr ,, .
writes in
the Atlantic Monthly, are lhc*o of John
Stuart Mill and Giacomo Leopardi, the
principal difference being that while the
English boy was crammed scientifically
by his father, (he Italian boy was per
initted relentlessly to cram himself. In
both cases wo see the same melancholy,
blighted childhood, the same cold indif¬
ference to the mother, ns to one who had
no part or parcel in their lives; the same
joyless routine of labor; the same unboy
ish gravity and precocious intelligence.
Mill studied Greek at it, Latin at 8, the
Organon at 11, and Adam Smith at 13.
Leopardi, at 10, was well acquainted
with most Latin authors, and undertook
alone and unaided the study of Greek,
perfecting himself in that language be¬
fore he was 14. Mill’s sole recreation
Wii8 to waIk with hia fatb cr, lmlTating to
hira the substance of his last day’s read
ing Lcopardi beillg forbidden to go
about Recanati without ids tutor, acqui
escod with pnthetic resignation and
ceascd to wander outside of the garden
f atcs> Mill had all boyish enthusiasm
md hcaltby partisanship crushed out of
him by las father’s pitiless logic. Leo
par di’s love for his country burned like a
smothcred flamC( and added one more to
t he pang’s that ate out his soul in silence.
His was truly a wonderful intellect-, and
w hercas the English lad was merely
forced by training into a precocity for
eign to his nature, and which, according
t0 Mr - Bain > falled t0 l ,roduc<! m, y s reat
amount of scholarship, tho Italian boy
f ed on books with a resistless and crav
ing appetite,, his mind growing warped
and morbid as ' his enfeebled bodv y sank
, , , .
strai „. In the long lists of despotically
reared children there is no sadder sight
than this undisciplined, eager, impetuous
sou !, burdened alike with physical and
moral weakness, meeting tyrannical au
thority with a show of insincere submis
s ion, and laying up in his lonely infancy
jhe seeds of a.som*awhich was to (mil
in i.|„. „{ ,,k u-.ftk."
«Lifo is Only Fit to be Despised.”
........ .
Dangers In Africa!
“The most dangerous savage foes wo
have to fear,” says Mr. Stanley, “are the
crocodile, hippopotamus and the buffalo.
We lost fivo men during my last visit to
the Congo from these animals; three were
killed by crocodiles, one by a hippopota¬
mus and one by a buffalo. There are a
large number of hippopotami along the
Congo and its tributaries, and thousands
upon thousands of crocodilos. The lat¬
ter are by far the most insidious foes wo
have, because they are so silent and so
swift. You see a man bathing in the
river,” said Mr. Stanley, with one of his
vivid graphic touches; “hois standing
near the shore laughing at you, perhaps,
laughing in the keen enjoyment of his
bath; suddenly ho falls over and you see
him no more. A crocodile Juts approach¬
ed unseen, lias struck him a blow with
its tail that knocks him over, and he is
instantly seized and carried off. Or, it
may be that the man is swimming; ho is
totally unconscious of danger; there is
nothing in sight, nothing to stir a tremor
of apprehension; but there, in deep wa¬
ter, under the shadow of that rock, or
hidden beneath the shelter of the trees
yonder, is a huge crocodile; it has spot¬
ted the swimmer, and is watching tho
opportunity; the swimmer approaches; ho
is within striking distance; stealthily,
silently, unperceived, the creature makes
for its prey; the man knows nothing till
he is seized by the leg and dragged un
der, and he knows no more! A bubble
or two indicates the place where he has
gone down, and that is all.”
A Penny Fraud.
In the year 1804 there were very few
pence coined at the mint, says an English
paper. This arose simply from the fact
that there was little or no demand for
them. A short time ago this fact seems
to have dawned upon some ingenius per¬
sons supposed to be the flower-sellers
round the Bank of England. It is cer¬
tain that the subsequent “bullying the
market” commenced with them, The
story became circulated that through ac¬
cident or oversight a quantity of gold
had become mixed with tho bronze used
for coining, and that'this bad been made
into pence in that year. Those in tho
f«ud—-for fraud it was—eagerly offered
twopence apiece for as many 1804 pen
nies as they could obtain. Tho story got
fabroad. Everybody endeavored to get
these coins, and tho original colleofOrs
rapidly sold their pennies at three and
four times their value. Tho fact that
there are comparatively few pence of
that year in circulation materially assist
ed tho deception, and the “speculators”
did a good trade. It is perhaps needless
to say that there is not an iota of truth
la the story of the gold.
forgive!
Forgive the hand (hat harshly strikes
ll1 an e cr ’ s recklessmood
Fei'hays the heart behmd it mourns
hot and rude;
tbo „„j, *he insult sends tho blood
Indignant (;»Jh° face,
pardon to the "injured brings
No su'itcw or disgrace,
tho tongue- whoso -hasty words
Like flaming arrows burn,
Behind it, too, a heart may aighv
Ami for forbearance yearn;
there is none of human kind
That doth not sometimes need
An ii[ . uso , ( neighbor’s clemency
For grievous word or deed,
h lmto sh „ uia follow, hard and close
With every cruel wrong,
This thought will always cheer the soul—
It. cannot be for long;
While on an easier lax! ho lies,
Who from revenge is free,
Who says, “Sly heart forgives them s.
As God forgiveth me!"
HUMOROUS. a
Firm friends—Partners.
Telephone is feminine—it talks back.
Drawing instruments—Mustard pl<«s
tors.
„ t ,,r, . °us transfoin , - ,„ ation-When w ,,„ n „ h .
. lnto pa»t»
13 a r <~
The labor question with tho tramp is
how he C!W mam ‘£° to avoid lt -
“We meet but to part,’ as the brush
in the dude’s hand said to the comb,
Modist Worth is really recognized by
society women. He makes dresses in
Paris.
Shakespeare somewhere uses the term
“ a mad wag.” Ho probably referred to
the tail ‘ of a mad dem “i
* mlght t,y tn to uolch .
as ' s< l ftn an
Irishman’s love of country as undertako
to convince a young mother that her baby
13 n0t forward for lts a S c :
A young lady, on being asked what
calling she wished her sweetheart to fol
low, unblushingly replied that she wisli
ed him to be a husbandman.
Maggie stepfather, who is very
l w l« d “r
, ' ad
aHve - Bill eaeb oiker
so much. ■
A clergyman who married four couples
in one hour the other day, remarked to a
friend that it was “pretty fast wCrk. ” •
“Nobvery,” responded his friend; “only
four knots an hour.”
“Thomas, spell weather,” said the
master “W-i-a-e-t-h-t-h-i-a-e-r, weath¬
er.” “You may sit down, Thomas.
You’ve given us the worst spell of weath¬
er we’ve had this year.”
A man hearing of another who was a
hundred years old said contcmptously:
“Pshaw! what a fuss about nothing.
Why, if my grandfather were alise he
would now be a hundred and fifty years
old.”
There was a wedding breakfast. The
groom to tho little girl—“You have a
new brother, now, you know.” “Ycth,”
responded the little one, “ma seth it
wath Lottio's lasth chance, so she had
better take it.” The rest of the little one’s
talk was drowned in a clatter of knives
and forks.
Lunar Fancies.
In Devonshire it is believed that on
seeing tho first no tv moon of the year, if
you take off on stocking and run across
a field, you will find between two of your
toes a hair which will bo the color of
the. lover you are to have. In Berkshire'
the proceeding is more simple, for you
merely look at the new moon and say:
“Now moon, new moon,-1 hail theol
By all the virtue In thy body,
Grant this night that I may seo
Ho who my true love shall be.’’
Te result is guaranteed to be as satis¬
factory as it is iu Ireland, where tho
people arc said to point to the now moon
with a knife, and say;
“Now moon, true morrow, be true now to
me,
That I, to-morrow, my true love may see.”
In Yorkshire, again, the practice was
to catch the reflection, of the new mooa
in a looking-glass, the number of reflec¬
tions signifying the number of years
which will elapse before marriage. All
those superstitions are suggestive of that
which Tylor calls “one of the most in¬
structive astrological doctrines”—name¬
ly, that of the v “sympathy of growing
and declining nature with the waxing
and wailing moon. Tylor says that a
elnssieaUpreeftpt was to set eggs under
. the hen at new moon, and that a Lithu
anikti precept was to wean boys on a
and girls on a waning moon—to
Duke yifc boys strong and the girls dcli
Cilte - Un the samo grounds, he says,
ol> 3 ect to marry excopt with
4frowing moon, and Mr. Dyer says that
i" Cornwall, when a child is born in the
int'cfvul between an old and a new moon,
it is believed that ho will never live to
manhood.- All the Year Hound.