North Carolina Newspapers

Lib YOU PRESS. PEOPLE READ The paper that mves them ( )ur Advertising .Columns uul tii Gold Leaf .ring the trade. is is the expe nee of those ,v!i have tried it -.itiieiently to be ,ine news, l his is reputation the! 111V Gold Leaf has as a local newspaper, as is evidenced by its large and intellieent' ihle to judge by actual results.! constituency. Are you one ofl IT IS THE POPULAR MEDIUM. THE GOLD LEAF'S READERS? THAD R. MANNING, Publisher. AS,OX.I3STA., UAROLINA, ri.T ATVEnST'S BT iF.SSQTGS ATTEND TTp.-r " I SUBSCRIPTS $1.50 Cash. VOL. XI. HENDERSON, N. C, THURSDAY, APRIL 21, 1892. NO. 18. A SOLDIER'S ROMANCE MEMORIAL DAY THOUGHTS. A STORY THAT FITS THE DAY. M'lri.i: is ( STiti:(iTiov : imiam:m i ii;ka-i io-, I AMI V AlM'l.li:i. I I S SKI 1. 1. : i i. i m;iih ki.v i,i'aic.m:u The E'.ectropoise is an Instrument for the ( i Kh OF DISEASE WITHOUT MEDICINE. iiim ii on iifv theories f the cause :-. 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An April sky, half smiles, half tears, leaned over the two cities the city of the living and the city of the dead. Above, below, around, permeat ing; the air, tan gible to the senses, was the breath of flowers, pro claiming life and its perennial resurrec tion. Flowers, flowers; gray moss and cy press. Life, life: death, death. Eternity. Peace and prosperity smiled on the land; union and brotherhood. Up in the face of the blue sky an old oak Haunted his pennons of gray moss gray and blue. Out on the rim of Lake Pontchartrain a low cloud gathered and broke blue and gray. Down close to the grass woven sod of Metairie cemetery a woman's blue skirts fluttered across the knees of a gray uni formblue and gray. The skirts were silken, lace edged and sweet with a faint scent that was not of southern flowers. They bothered the man. He was oW; gray were his beard, his e-es, his hair. But his figure was ma jestic. His black slouch hat drooped, uncreased, low crowned and round brimmed over his face. Only his mouth and chin were visible, and they were very sad and stern, despite the softening effect of the beard. This much the woman saw, and something in them made her long to see the rest of the face. But lie continued to look upon the ground, lie was one of the Confederate veterans, who were standing in some what broken file around a monument to which they were then doing honor. He had taken his sword from its scabbard ami stuck the point of it in the ground, making an unsteady staff upon which to rest his folded hands. The old blade was rusty; the damp earth would not hurt it; its days of usefulness, like its masterV, wore over. It was midafternoon and the ceremo nies were in full blast. The cemetery was crowded to suffocation. The wind had risen, and the woman could not help her skirts blowing across his knees. 'Clash!" went the presentation of arms. Boom! boom! boom! roared the salute of three guns, and volleys of gray smoke rolled oil on a blue sky. Then there were priestly tones praying: "Heavenly father comrades honor memory of , brothers who sleep flowers and prayers messengers of love to thy mercy seat Christ Jesus, Amen." These were the drifts of the prayer as the old soldier heard it. The blanks were filled in with the roulades of mock ing birds; the chatter of children on the . outskirts of the crowd, and the champ ing and stamping of horses at the gates. Then the procession began to move. It was long, and kept with difficulty its line of march through the pushing crowd. Fans and parasols fluttered and ban ners got entangled. In the midst of it, said a sweet young voice at the old soldier's elbow: "Pardon me my skirt, sir, is caught by your sword.'' lie started, lifted the old blade, looked, and removed his hat, murmuring words of apology. "Felice!" he gasped and staggered back. "What is it, colonel?" some one asked. "Tho colonel is ill! Stand back air! Colonel Beaumont has fainted!" Strong arms were under him; the crowd fell back and the soft wind came in, fanning and kissing the pallid, rug ged cheeks. A woman sprinkled the water from a florist's wreath in his face, and the gray wing of a passing cloud lingered between it and the hot sun. But he was slow to revive. 'Home comrades home," he said. They bore him to the entrance, where his carriage and servant waited. The bands played on, and their dirges seemed to the stricken man dirges for the dying, not the dead; the dead were at peace. The sky was all gray to him gray like his hair and his heart. Yet, the vision hat face that voice! They were young, unchanged; that was twenty-seven years ago. Was it a dream the hallucination of an overheated or suddenly disordered brain? He lifted the sword weakly, as he lay back in his servant's arms and the carriage rolled along the smooth, white shell road with its shady copse on the right. There was a jagged bit of blue silk forced upward above the point. The old pain came back in his heart and a mist before his eyes. Out of that mist came a woman's voice, saying, "Pardon me: my skirt is caught by your sword." They were the casual words of today, but the voice and the face were of the far off yesterday. The shutters were closed in his" room at the St. Charles hotel and his physician sat by his bed. The house and streets were very quiet. "Ho will sleep now," the physician aid, after having given him a white powder. But he did not sleep. His body may have slept, but the mind leaped with a, newborn vigor back to the past, and was living and loving and hating as it had not for many and many a year. Living the life of a young, impassioned southern boy; loving the love of a strong man's youth; looking into the brown eyes of a maiden, demanding and re ceiving her troth "till tho war is over." j They were standing on the veranda of one of those old entre-sol houses down ' in Frenchtown. It was another April i day a tlay like this a day made for lovers. Roses leaned down and brushed his hair and shoulders, a great pain? spread its green fronds between them and the street, a mocking bird poured out its soul on a trellis, but he heard i saw them not. He had eyes, ears, for Copyright, 192, P pawner s jy naught but the maiden. Her white arm curved with the rim of a huge stone jar full of tall green spikes and creamy blos soms blossoms not more fine grained and creamy than the arm. There were red roses on her breast, in her hair, on her cheeks and lips. "I veel be true to you, my Auguste!" she was saying in those low, liquid, Creole tones, all vowels and wooing like a dove's cry. "Ve veel vait teel dez terrible var ez of er. You veel come back to me, dear one, and ve veel be so happee togezzer!" Those faltering words of the faith of a weak woman would thrill and sustain him on the field of battle as no bugle's reveille or inflamed patriot's address ever could. His servant saw the sad face smile, frown and settle down into the old un complaining. The servant was old too. He and his master had been boys together. It seemed to him such a little while since that other April morning when he had buttoned his young master up in his fine new uniform and gone out with him into the old Place d'Armes, where the volunteers were mustering and the bands were playing "Dixie," and the old Pontalba buildings were gay with bunt ing and white dresses and ribbons and rose garlands. When they marched down Chartres street he remembered his master's eyes wandered to the balconies as they passed. Over the ledge of one a maiden VOL WILL COME BACK TO ME. leaned, lying her handkerchief and a rose from her breast on his bayonet. 'To thy country!" she cried, waving her white arms: "the good God guard thee." i ' After the rose crowned bayonet, then came long marches and hardships, battle smoke and death groans, tired feet, the glare of camp fires and the gnawing of hunger; fighting all day, marching . all night; sleeping on he frozen ground ; with a frozen moon o'erhead one dream I ing of a cabin's log fire and the cheer of ' glad black faces, one of a maiden on a , rose balcony down in old Frenchtown. i At rare intervals came letters, pink : sealed, travel stained carried for weeks, perhaps, in a brother soldier's pocket. Then tliere was no deed of daring too great for tlte voting man. Then no more letters came. The rumor came, somehow or other, to the camp that Felice Le Blanc was married to a Yankee officer. Then how the boy fought! Into the foremost lines! into the cannon's mouth! over the writhing dead! up to the belch ing muzzles! Strike! shoot! kill! I With this came promotion, stripe upon ' stripe, title upon title up from a private in tlie infantry to a colonel at the head of his regiment, j Richmond. Second Manassas, Chan cel lorsville. Gettysburg. uksburg, Petersburg. Appomattox, the end! "FELICE!" HE GASPED. Lee. with his grand, sad, ashen face, and (riant, scarcely less sorrowful. Conqueror and conquered were, after all. but man and man. Long lines of ragged gray coats pass ing slowly in file, handing the hilts of their swords to the victors; long lines of blue coats, ragged, too, and sad faced, sorry for the boys in gray, who had fought so valiantly in vain. Then marching back home to "Dixie." but a i. Qgy.JtJL SMI t-) wr. TASc, fl PW "Dixie" from whose tones all the heart had gone out. At last, home. New Orleans with her black veiled women gliding along her black draped streets. Up Chartres street they marched again. The little entre-sol was dark and silent. The old jar stood on the balcony, but the green spikes and white blossoms were dead; the rose vine was torn away; only the palm waved on. On to the old Place d'Armes, where the white walks were grass grown and a string of purple violets ran around them the purple of mourning. Then on to their homes, such of them as had homes left, the others to quarters prepared for the troops in the public buildings. Among these latter were young Colo nel Beaumont and his valet. That night when all was quiet the master arose from his pallet. Slowly he walked, as one might walk in sleep, toward the street, his servant following. On past the guards with solemn uplifted hand he went. On to Chartres street and the little entre sol. Down on the wooden threshold ho sank face to earth, heart to earth. In the shadow of a neighboring court way the servant waited and kept watch. At daybreak the soldier crept back to the quarters and lay down on his pallet, covering his face w ith his old gray cape. He had kept the death watch of his love. Never more was her name men tioned. Twilight came. The crowds poured back into tho city. Life looked up and smiled. The corridors were full of tired, mer ry, chattering people. Servants dashed hither and thither with trays of jingling ice water. Out at Metairie, down at Chalmette, south and north had done honor to their dead. In speech and song each had eulogized the other. The flag of the Union covered all. They were brothers now the dead and the living. It was as it should be. It was the peace that comes of time and common interests not of the sword. Still the old colonel slept in his dark ened room. The dining room was a blaze of light, flowers, silver and glass, bright eyes and ribbons. Tliere were many northern tourists among the guests. At one table 6at a middle aged woman and her daugh-s ter. Tlieir faces were the same one of yesterday, the "other of today. The girl was very beautiful. She had full red lips and round, creamy arms. She had Creole eyes and hair and north ern skin the eyes were her mother's. She wore a blue dress, and her cheeks and throat were pink from the wind and aun. "Did you know, mamma," she was saying, "that the grand old man whose sword cut my dress today in the ceme lery fainted in the procession and was brought back to the city?" "Indeed!" the mother answered. Then, sadly: "No, I did not. I did not see him; I did not see nor hear anything: I was back in my childhood" She paused; her ej-es filled with tears, and her hands trembled. The daughter changed the subject. Then some men opposite them began talking. One said: "Have yon heard from the colonel?" "Beaumont? Yes; he's resting all right. The day was too much for him." They went on talking, the girl listen- j ing intently. j She was interrupted by her mother ; touching her arm. She turned toa face j grown old in a moment. It was mute, ! haggard. The girl sprang to her feet and leaned pver her mother's chair. "What is it, , dearest?" she asked tenderly. "You are ill. I have let you tire yourself to death to please me." She held a glass of water to the blue lips, and the gentlemen sprang to her as sistance in taking her mother to their rooms. j "It is August,e, Alice," she said when they were aldne; "Auguste Beaumont, who should have been my husband. Oh, the cruel necessities and contingencies of that awful war! Will he ever forgive me? Dare I go to him? You shall go, Alice. He will forgive your mother for your sake." Eager eyed and quick breathed the girl sped to the sick man's rooms. She loved her mother with a love bordering upon worship. She scarcely remem bered her father. She knew that her mother had been forced into a marriage with him against her will. The old servant admitted the girl. The room was dimlv lit and the colonel still slept. "I am come to inquire about Colonel Beaumont," she said. "My mother wishes to know how he is. They were old friends in their childhood here in New Orleans" The old negro was rubbing his eyes and looking from her to his master. "Miss Felice Le Blanc!" he gasped, not hearing a word she had said. At the name the sick man started. He opened his eyes and looked steadily at his vis itor. "I understand," hesaid gently. "I have been thinking it out since the drug wore off and my mind got clear. You are her child. God bless you." Down at his bedside the girl knelt. Her sweet lips fluttered an instant on his so tremu lous and sad. "My mother has always loved you," she whispered. "She and I have always loved you. My father died before I was old enough to love him. My mother wrote to you twice she wrote I was six years old the first time and seven the next. Did you not 'get her letters?" The old soldier sighed, smoothing the dark hair. "Yes, child, I got the letters, but I could not answer them. It seemed like digging up the bodies of my com rades from the battle plains. It was a part of the whole which was dead. I had learned to endure." "But you will see her now you will forgive us?" He closed his eyes. It was the maiden down in French town. He felt her breath on his cheek; her arm touched his hand. She was more sweet than strong, but he loved her. Yes, he would forgive. That was what the day meant forgive and forget cover up the graves with flowers. The remnant of his old life should not be given to vengeance and uncharitable ness. This love which had lived through a lifetime of sorrow and separation de served its reward. Its day had been a troubled one, but the sunset promised fair. "Go and bring your mother, my child," he said. Belle Hunt. A Poem for the Day. Among the sweetest poets of the south during the war, and one whose name ; will be long remembered in connection j with its literature, was Henry Timrod, j of South Carolina. The following beau , tiful lines not only exactly foretold the i circumstances and hour of his own death, ! but they become doubly interesting from the fact that Governor Andrew, of r Massachusetts, a determined opponent of the south, was wont to repeat them almiringly and with emphasis before nis own decease: j Somewhere on tbis earthly planet, I Iu the dust of flowers to les j In the dewJrop, in the suiihiiie, Iee:s a solemn day for me. j ! At this wakeful hour of midnight, i I behold it dawn ia mist. And I hear a souud of bobbin;; Through the darkness-Hist: Oh, histi In a dial and murky chamber I am breathing life away, tome one draws a curtain S4ftly, And I watch the broadening day. As it purples iu the zenith. As it brightens ou the lawn. There's a hush of death about me, And a whisper "He is uone'" The Queen of Portugal is accredited by fashion leaders with being the most dressy woman in Europe. Her pale complexion and auburn hair admit of great latitude in dress variety, aud she indulges in every caprice of fashion. Housekeepers who nre subject to ex cessive strain on their energies require midiluy rest. If they train themselves to it they can form a habit of dropping to sleep as soon as they lie down. It is claimed by southern women now that there are more men ia South Caro lina willing to grant the suffrage to worn men than tliere are women willing to re ceive it. F. O. de Fontaine 'Writes of tho Devo tion of the Private Soldier. HEN one recalls how, without rank, without ti tle, without an ticipated distinc tion, animated only by the high est and noblest sentiments which can influence our common nature, the citizen sol diery of the south marched forth at the sound of trumpet and drum to participate in the battles of their country, it is easy to un derstand why the memory of the dead among them is so precious to the living. In their ranks were to be found men of culture, men of gentle training, men of intellect, men of social position, men en deared to a domestic circle of refinement and elegance, men of wealth, men who gave tone and character to the society in which they moved. As we gather on Memorial Day to strew their graves with flowers we long ! for "the touch of the vanished hand and the sound of the voice that is still." There are memories of these dead to which we turn, even from the charms of the living: They come like ghosts from the grass shrouded graves, And they follow our footsteps on life's wind ing way. And they murmur around us as murmur the waves That sigh on the shore at the dying of day. There is not a heart but is haunted so Though far we may stray from the scenes of the past. Its memories will follow wherever we go, And the days that were first sway the days that are last. Among the pictures that come troop ing by at this moment I see a broad, rolling expanse dotted all over with the j canvas homes of our soldiers. It is the i camp of the army of northern Virginia. The summer's campaign is ended; the thunder of battle has ceased and All's quiet along the Potomac, except here and there a stray picket Is shot as he walks to and fro on his beat by a rifleman hid in the thicket. The winter winds are sighing and the smoke curls lazily upward from 10,000 clay built chimneys. The landscape, once teeming with a forest, is bare save in the far distance beyond the reach of the soldier's ax. Turnpikes are lost in a labyrinth of footworn paths, and fields that once resounded with the music of the growing corn or yielded to the tread of the plowman are as hard as the bed of a billiard table, giving echo only to the jar of arms or the tramp of men on drill. Tho old homestead yonder had become the headquarters of the com mander in chief, but the fences are down; the granary is exhausted, the garden is in weeds and ruin is written everywhere. Of the family, none re- mams. The old planter and "the boys, they say, have "gone to the war." WHERE SAT THE MOTHER. The big parlor that could tell of gen erations of warm southern welcomes, of jolly Christmas holidaj-s, of love inak ing merry at the country wedding, of grief dropping her tears over the cold, white facts of the dead, is now the office of him whose brain is the mainspring that moves the mighty machinery of the surrounding camp and field. The com fortable room across the hall, where only a little while before sat the mother of the now broken household knitting and dreaming in the cozy light of the great fireplace, has been turned into the workshop of the adjutant general and his assistants. Pistols and swords hang upon the walls, and all that remains to remind one of the gentle dominion of peace is the stately clock in the corner that has stood there, perhaps, for a hun - dred years, but is beating time now as if it were strangely out of place. A few hnndred yards distant begin the tented villages of The Men. Who are these? . Let one of them answer in the Stirling verses he wrote the night before the battle in whicli he was killed. They were found in his haversack stained with the brave fellow's blood: In thediisk of a forest shade, A ragged but mgg4'd group reclined: A horseman galloped up the glad "Where will I your leader find? "Tidings I bring of the morning's scout Which I've borne o'er mound and field and fen." "Well, sir, stay not hereabout, b'or here are only a few of the men. "Here, no collar has star or bar. No rich lacing adorns a sleeve: Farther on our officers are. Let them your message receive. Higher up on the hill up there There are their quarters don't stop here. For we are only a few of the men. "But stay, courier! If you bear tidings that a light is near. Tell them w e're ready, and that where they wish us we'll soon appear. "Tell them only to let us know Where to form our ranks and when. And we'll show the cming foe That they've met & few of the men. And these are the men who, living or dead, the people of the south delight to honor. The veteran, with his tattered suit of gray, and the spot where" lies buried the loved one who "went down to his grave in a bloody shroud, are alike obiects of affectionate Bolicitude, and as time moves on, the halo around them will continue to grow brighter and brighter, until at last their memo ries will be a part of the glory of a com mon country. F. G. de FonTaixe. ! The train dispatchers of two New Eng . land railroads are women. Roth are said 1 to be efficient in this most exacting work. Speaking about the graves that are covered with flowers ou Decoration Day, said Colonel A. G. Dickinson, who was a member of the staff of General Magruder and a part of the force that captured the United States revenue cut ter Harriet Lane, near Galveston harbor, one of the most affectiu incidents in my war experience was the meeting be- j tween Major Lea. of the Confederate j army, and his eldest son, who held a commission as first lieutenant on the ill j fated vessel. Nearly two years prior to the strug- . gle the father, then residing iu Texas, i had repeatedly written to his son, who I was stationed on the coast of China, antl asked him to determine the course he would pursue if the differences between the north and the south should result in a disruption of the Union. "Decide as you may," he wrote, "such is my confi dence in your conscience that I shall not dictate and I shall continue to regard you with the respect of a gentleman and the affection of a father." The premonition was strangely veri fied. The father liad served nearly eighteen months east of the Mississippi, and on arriving at Houston, Tex., en route for San Antonio, he incidentally heard of an intended attack on the Har- riet Lane, on board of which he knew that his son was then an officer. It seemed as if an act of providence car ried him to the spot, and he' solicited permission to join the expedition. It was known in advance that it would call for the utmost daring on both sides. BESTOWED HIS LAST MOMENTS IN FARE WELLS, j During the fight Major Lea, tho fa-1 ther, was ordered by General Magruder j to keep a lookout from a housetop upon ! all movements in the bay. When day- j light enabled him to see that the Har-1 riet Lane had been captured, his first J request was to be allowed to go aboard. As he reached the deck his worst fears ! were realized. j Pale and exhausted with the loss of j blood, there lay his son scarcely con- j scions. "Edward, here's your father.'-1 "I know you, father," the young man j faintly exclaimed, "but I can't move."" "Are yon seriously woundei?" "Yes, but I hope not mortally." "Do you suf fer pain?" "Cannot speak, father," wae the reply in a whisper: "give my love to all at home." In a little while he recovered sufficient strength to inquire, "How came yon here, father?" and when told, a look ol surprise and pleasure passed over his fine face. Then he bestowed his last moments in farewells to those who wert : near and dear to him his ccmirades and his family. His father knelt by his side, l holding him in his arms while life throbbed itself away, and listening foi ! his last words heard this firstborn, who was so close to his heart, utter the aying message, "woo is nere: lamer is nere: i have done my duty!" ..c His body was borne m procession the grave from the headquarters of Gen eral Magruder, together with that of hi captain, and they were buried with ap- ; propriate military honors in the presence of officers, soldiers and citizens, all of whom could do little else than sympa thize with the bereaved father, who,! standing by the side of the upturned j earth, said with a broken voice: "Sure- j ly this is a time when we may weep with those that weep. Allow one so sorely tried in this, his sacrifice, to be seech yon to believe that while we de fend our rights with strong arms and honest hearts, those we meet in battle also have hearts brave and honest as our own. We have here buried two brave i and honorable men. Peace to their ashes! Tread lightly on their graves." Today the flowers are blooming above ' them that tell how well they are remem-1 J bered Persoxse. The Old Time Southerner. In 1834 M. Michael Chevalier, a dis-! tinguished political economist of France, was sent to tne unueu states ror the purpose of inspecting the public works of the country. He spent two years awl visited nearly all parts of the L nion. While in the south he wrote the follow ing. What was true then is true of the men of 1861 and 18G."i: "The southerner of pure race is frank hearty, open, cordial in his manners, noble in his sentiments, elevated in his ! notions. H is a worthy descendant of the English gentl ish gentleman. Surrounded from infancy by his slaves, who relieve him from all personal exertion, he is rather indisposed to activity and is even indolent. lie is generous an4l profuse. "To him the practice of hospitality is at once a duty, a pleasure and a liappi ness. ..TT. 1 4.1 - - . i ' . 1 ne loves me insiuutruns oi ins conn- try, yet he Bhows with pride his family nlate. the arms on which, half effacelbv rimp. ttst hia dpucpnt from th first colonist and prove that his ancestors were of a good family in England. "Ardent and warm hearted, he is of the block from which great orators are made. He is better able to command men than to conquer nature and subdue the soiL When he has a certain degree of the spirit of method I will not say will, for he has enough of that but of that active perseveraMe so common at the north, he has allTfie qualities need- f ul to form a jrreat statesman. ! Such were tho soldiers of the south, j around "whoise graves a grateful people : assemble on Memorial Day aud leave ! their tribute flowers. t ! A Frenchwoman Mine, ltcnjlx has been elected a member of the Academy of Madrid, an honor never before exteuded to ' woman. ' FOR SALE BY V. W. DRUGGIST. PARKER, J. II. lt;liK;i:Ks, ATTORXhY AT LAW, HKM)i:usN. - Office: Over Tost Office. leyT.l ill t. m. ri n wan. w. n. shaw. pm US & SHAW, ATTOUMCVS AT 1,AV. HENDERSON, N. C. Prompt mention i r!eKKliiial Lu, ness. Practice in ne Niale and Kedeim curt. Offlw: i:oin 2, Itnrwell UuUding. W. It. II KMC Y ATTOHNKY AT L.A. V. '1ENDEKSON. N. C, OFK'CEIH BURWELL BUILDING. Courts: -Vance. Franklin, Wnrren.Grat.. ville, Uni eu States t'ourt at Kalelgli, an.l Supreme 'ourt of North Carolina. Office U4':rs 9 n ni. to 5 p.m. mcb.7 8i L. C. EDW.VRDfl, Oxfoi i. N. C. A. K. WORTH AM, Henderson, N. U JTI WARDS & WORTH AM, ATTOItNKYH A.T L. JK V, HENDERSON, N. C. Oiler lliclr Nervier to llic people ,,f Vn,t county. 'ol. KilwurdH will ntiend nil in t'ourlsof Vniice county, anil will ci iin- I llentlcisoi! nt nny niul all tin.es I n . assistance muy be lieetU-d by Ills pnrtnrr. Dental Surgeon, HKNOKKHON.N. -ialisfiiction guaranteed as t work 1 prices. The Bank of Henderson. o (Established 1882. Incorporated 1891.) in;NI)l:RS().TVancc Co., N. C. qeneral'mnkinq, EXCHANGE and COLLECTIONS. -O OFF1CKKS : Wm 1! S umuaVYN, President. J. r. TAYLOR, Vice-l'rcKiiteiit. 'asliier. J. A. r.UWaVYN, Assistant Cashier. T. M. HAWKINS.Teller. WALTER M. HEXDKRSON.Collecting Clerk. DIUF.CTORS : JAMES H. LASSITER, .eneral Met fhant. V. S I'ARKER, Commission Mei clmnt, OWEN DAVIS, Tobacco Ware housem;.!!. MELVILLE DORSE Y, Drn trist. HENRY TERRY, Clerk Siij-rioi Court. Tins B nU solicits accounts from Indi viduals, Firms and ('oriiomtious ; an.i 1 OlII'I OCtlfll no; Iniui otlier ISanks. iro,iip. vet urns maile on Collections V. W. PARKER, DRUGGIST HHNDr.RSON, -N. CAROLINA A fuil ami complete line of CJS AX!) IRI mtucj;isT.s SITMHtir.K, Hair, Tooth andSPerfomery.Soaps Kail Brusnes, JffR Cigars, fie. Prescription Wirt a Specialty. 1 car.y a beautiful assortment of TiM:r ani FANCY AHTICLi:S. I'HM S vl KM OKI; US' (lOODS. Just ivceiveil a fiesli supply of Field and Garden Seeds. j I'AKKKIi'S HEALING SALV K Will cure Old Sore, Cuts, IJurns, Ac. U'Neil Mock, IIKNDKUSON', X. C. I nu:-l c.l ; You Can Saye Money! By Buying Your i f V 1 ( ( x 17 11 17' --1 : V-I IS V VJJ lt.l -i'i ! CANXhh GOODS, &c, ! at I torLOUGHLIN'S CHEAP CASH STORE! ) j yu Um r Clu.ice Fn-sli Roods kIxvjiV". , t,ck. Havini a4h.ptt the CSI! i I'LAX iif.ib.iiiif buin" nltosrether. ru- i bles me 4 sdl on VERY CUttK M Ai:- iIS and I will u:;;k' it to your advantai. to trad4-with me. You will fiml every thinz in thf line of KIN K FAMILY tiKO- ckkkis ci;.i:s. 'iohacco. ck;ak- ET'J'KS, v. l'ioiuiii-K my best efforts iu lelislf i4f tb4-f vln favor me with their pati4.ii ig,'. I r..Mct fully invite my fi iemU anil tic jmbii' generally t Klw meacall. J J. LOUGHLIN, O'Ncil l!U;k, 0 hex I :::), SOUTH CAUOMNA. Iii adilitiou to my Onicery is a bii-ine, and apart from Well Kspt Saloon, Where :v.i I fouml the let ami Purest LIQUOK-j. "VISES, UKKHS, ALES. Jec. Pure Oi- 1'- nd Genuine North Csro lina Corn hike a specialty. npr 7 i I j J yH. C. S. It O V I r