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?U~UiEDAIflADVERTISING RATES. THNE H ERALD IS PUBLISHED ERY WEDNESDAY MORNING, Newberry, S. C. and 75rritr c fordi each sb qe insertior. TernDs, oper onlm aidt, nvariablyN in Advance. oA Family Companion, Devotd to Literature, I grh aper is ,tcpped at the expiration of Ad n T mAk ITh for~~~an chrg< b i. rding.NE BE RYly.C .The : mar " denotes expiratio of sub l XVII. NEWBERRY, C. WEDNESDAY, MARCH 16, 1881 N. 11- TERMS CASH. Ci ~ ~ ~ m rltden te expiration __ _ _ _ __o_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ - 3-a ~O 1 ~[JJ H 0 *C 4 GIS 10 CWIS COLU B1A,S. C Beovd o toetw doru nxtt WheemHue -- u tc ofPreMdcie, hm eas,Prfmeis,Til;*rices are an ildSes Qlasi tr n moert pries Orer prmtyatne o Apr.1,.1-tf .msenneus RE33 SH;REHOR8 oAND HIS DIEAES Cotapig n InexofDieaes"Dhi esth ..mto C- ns,ad h e twamn fee a Wal im al t -. bl mfrain aladgtacp. Kor sale a ERALD BO STRE Au.18,3-f E E. . E.N JCSON,B LD PIUAGIT EAN T S.MI COLUB,A, CADD AtteonestorwoandSoliiors nextmer Afl tcn and ForeigndiPates. li 41aFIr TRfEr, TolWASrtNGTN, GaD.e SFcie patednt lay in tor b'anhe a thePaten Ofrice,n n h upeea Creirts ofl teUnied tae.Pa ap. SeP-,180 3-tf Hamoved anposide the Ditye al, whec hieis tfellyppared withse frtass wheor mein, tdall ds ofdork ine hors line. BdiAry Bdos ffEct D and anyatte e andon a anstle hdnenginge. t yofacities atndiffon aqeamtencerwil ftebaingess eabge omte ore;ran teia vtlonl onforersior. CBand Books Railo B ok sal andBosfrtets fCek E&dgity, nd tefont.ficas andJ P.riJo, SdalOknd B. pu lai1 bLadonte Cmmossonbe terms ad thoest-Lanndr. ctrs0Ae A canorder oreigl Pattendts. 41~FI E. SR. sOKESO, D raicee oposte w Cnalit alhs, Oce. 8,S1-f . Columia, 3 .t E. W.R. STMOES. Baenk Book gMeanisfactuntoe Hrasved psite Good airy room, col fobe blyepre, thbe t far,-atsntse wo cMmoaties srants,ngandiertecharg Boks anh Bseo the rae ue of C4-rks .mI1scellaneous. J. B. LEONARD Dealer in GROCERIES, Wines, Liquors, Segar& Tobacco, &c. Respectfully informs the public that hi stock is fall and complete in all lines. Choice Goods, Low Prices, POLITE ATTENTION. Main Street, Newberry, S. C Nov. 24 48 tf NATURES OWN R EM EDY AA VEGETABLE M EDICIN E FOR THE CURA T IN E, Am ed i cin a lcorn For Blood Diseases. corbiniu in one re FrBod aration te curative - powers for the evils CVRATIt4E3 which produce all dis CURAeases Bood, th Liver, the Klidaeys. For Liver Complaints. H sin C U R A T IN E , al Boo d D - For Kidney Diseases. Ttmors. $oi ?etter,SaUltR8hCetWa -1M I , She:aaaaatisrn. Xer ICURATINE, H rms Cnstiption, For Rheumatis )CS3, d ForRhemat -gestioia, Sour Stem aela, Retentions of CURATINE, ri*' For Scrofula Diseases. ASK YOUR DRUGGIST FOR IT. CURATINE, TEBROWB EICEnt Errsipe]s, Pimples, BALTIMORE, Md. Blotches, etc. BLIOE d Wholesale by DowIE & MOISE, Wholesa1 Druggists, Charleston, S. C. 15-ly. NEVER FAILS To Give Entire Satisfaction A pill that has become standard and i having an unprecedented sale throughou the South, is GILDER'S Liver Pills, They are honest, They are certain, They have no equal And are recommended by thousands as be ing .'nd doing all that the proprietors clain for them. They have never failed to have the de sired effect where other pills have been un. successfully tried. -AT W. E. PELHAM'S. Dec. 15, 47-1y. FRED VON SANTEN fF9 KINS ST., CHARLESTON, S. C. HEADQUARTEEs FOR Children's Carriages, V elocipedes, Croquet, &c. IN and OUT DOOR GAMES STOYS, at Wholesale and Retail, French Confectionery, Home Mad Cream and Stick Candy, Rubber Goods, such as Clothing, Nur sery Sheeting, Eurekas, &c., &c. - g Orders from the country receiv prompt attention. Jan. 19, 47-Cm.. 1880. 1880. GRND UENTRIL HOTEL (Formerly the Wheeler House,) COLUTMBIA, S- C TIIORO!TGHLY RENOVATED, RIEIURNISHED AND REFITTEI -TERMlS, $2.00 T $3.00 PER DAY. JOHN T. WILLEY, Propriet"r Nov. 10, 46-tf. rHENRY BAYER, IMPOETEE 'OF BANANAS, COCOANUTS AND ORANGE! And Wholesale Dealer in Apples, Potatoes, Onions, &ec 215 EAST BAY, CHARLESTON, S. (i. [7 Prompt attention given to count1 norders. Nov. 17, 47-6m. PAVILION HOTEL CHARLESTON, S. C. This popular and centrally located Hon has been entirely renovated during the pa summer and was REOPENED to the trave Sing publ ic on August 16, 1883. Ters, $2 and $2.50 per Bay, E. T. GAITLLARD, Nov. 17, 47-tf. PROPRIE tOR. of -- - - hb IIIS FIRST LOVE. fa I remember Meeting you In September, rC Sixty-two, We were eating, Both of us; And the meeting Happened thus: Accidental, On the road (Sentimental Episode), y I was gushing, m You were shy; You were blushing- th So was I; re I was smitten, So were yon (All that's written fe Here is true); P1 Any money ? Not a bit.. Rather funny, Wasn't it? tb Vows we pligh ted Happy pair! How delighted People were! I Si But your father- b t To be sure- fe Thought it rather Premature; -e And your mother- in Strange to say Was another In the way. What a heaven gr Vanished then atb (You were seven, so I was ten)! That was many Years ago- in Don't let any Body know. b: th igital Og. st [WBrrTEN FOR THE NEWBERRY HIERALD.1 ar AT LAST. t be le BY CLYDE WAYNE. ti - - For ten years had Sadie been a true and loving wife. Loving, did I say ? An! yet'ihere were moments when a memory of the fo past would haunt her, and a feel ing that her love had been bought overshadow her peace. a IAnd now she was standing beside the bed and hearing tbese dread words from the old physician. 'Be brave, my boy. You have only a few days to live.' 'Ab, IDr.! It .is hard to die and leave her.'t Sadie heard in a dazed way, D and burying her face in her hands she kneeled beside her husband's r bed, and as the old man left them alone, she burst into an uncon- g trollable anguish. 'Oh Carlton !' she cried, 'I can not give you up ! You must not leave me, my husband.'I He put one hot hand on the bowed head before he answered: 'But, my darling, if it is God's will we must submit in patience. But, Sadie, who will care for you when 1lam gone! You have been Ia true wife to me in aLl! these years. But-you will not mind speaking of it now-I once thought you loved another. I knew he loved you, and would al ways love, for Dean Harrington was a man who would love but once and deeply. And if he should 0 eome to yongmember I am' 'Oh Ca.rlton, of what are you speaking. Do not pain me by als luding to the past. He will never come again. I sent him away,' A she cried, tbe pent-up love of long d years at last finding vent. r These were strange words to beb _uttered to a husband, but Carlton Wayne's brow did not once cloud or his loving eyes wander from the face of his wife. b) 'Don't cry now, Sadie. You could not help it. And I am to h blame. I came in his way and t* stole your heart while he was b away ; and when you awoke to the full realization of your feel- a ings it was too late, you were my I wife. I have reabi your heart, s Sadie, child. Have read all your V ,ravq tuge to overcome that b love. Anid now you will soon be S free, and Dean will c-me back to V you, and you will be happy.' With white, set face, Sadie t ehad beard him through, and when he had finished and drew s, her gently to him she burst intoy an uncontrollable sobbing. f< 'Oh Carlton, how can you love li me when I have been so base ! b Omy- husband, forgive me ! In..t ed I have tried, have prayed, , so earnestly, against it. My isband-my own !' Sbame and sorrow dyed her ir cheek as she nestled close to m. He softly lifted the full mnnd face and looked long and vingly into the dark eyes that cre downcast. 'Sadie, I have notbing to for ye, darling. No truer wife has er blessed a man's heart. And is only of you I am thinking. :u will be left alone. Promise e darling, that you will not, rough a mistaken idea of duty, fuse to be happy when I am >ne. Dean will come back-I el it-and he will come to you. -omise me, Sadie.' 'No, Carlton, I cannot promise iu that. And God forgive me at I have lived a lie.' Slowly the hours drag on, and die watches them as they rely ebb out the life pulse of r usband. Oh the agony of ling him slipping away and ing powerless to stay the part g hour! And then it was over! She s alone in the world, and a eat feeling of her loss and a adow of remorse, that he had easily read her heart, possessed r. She could not bear to stay the great, gloomy house now. erything about the place ough', back a remembrance of e dead, and at last she could mnd it no ion ger. Hasty arrangements were made, d again she turned her face to e little village home from Lece she had come ten years fore. Her aunt met her as she t the train, and for the first ne in many weeks Sadia gave nt to a torrent of tears. 'Dear child, you must not cry . Aunty knew you would come ain to the home-nest. And have your own little room ready r you. I am so glad you have me,' the dear old lady said, shing aside the long black veil d placing the soft, motherly nd on the hot brow just as she ed to do in he'r infancy. How unchanged the old place emed, Even the elder bushes ere still struggling over the low bite gate just as they were on at evening when she had met ean Harrington and told him e was married. She could well member the stern, bitter curve his lip as he said: 'Then, Sadie, od-bye. And may you be hap r.' And then he had gone away id for the first time the truth -oke upon her. Her hand be nged to Carlton Wayne but her art to Dean Harrington. And then they entered the lit e room that had always been her Truly time had not left its aces here. The tiny toilet table ood where she had left it, and 'cry picture still hung in its old ace. Even the snow-whbite cur ins were looped back with the ,me pink bows she had made. A quiet repose seemed to settle her feelings, and sbe and Aunt ia would sit for hours in the Wie oney-suckle arbor, Sadie ading some favorite poem bile the other's deft fingers ould ply the knitting-needle. nd it all seemed so like the old ys that were it not for the black >bes, Sadie would almost fancy ersel the same light girl of And almost unconsciously she agan to think of Carlton's words. )ean vill come back to you,' an d er eart would beat quickly at 2e sound of the door-bell only to e disappointed each time. The year of mourning was at n end, she wore some soft gray aterial that well became the ender figure. One evening she 'as sitting alone in~ the arbor a ook of poems on her lap. But be dlid not read. Her hands rere clasped idly on her lap r ile a tear stole softly down e full r-ed cheek. She did not look up at the uid of a foot-f2.ll, thinkingr it ras Aunt Nina. But directly she alt a and on her shoulder, and Iting her head she saw a tall, carded stranger beside her. And hen she recognized him, and with a -.glad cry of 'Dean you have come!' she sprang up. But the next moment she had shrank back blushing hotly. At last be spoke: 'Sadie, you will not welcome me?' he said looking steadily into the brown eyes. 'I am glad to see you, Dean,' she said, extending her band, which he took, and seated him self beside her. 'Is that all, Sadie? Or were you not looking for me ?' he said, a pained look crossing his face at her coldness. -And suppose I were, Dean,' she asked, not looking at him. .,Then, Sadie, I would dare to hope. Shall I stay?' he asked, this time taking her hands in his own large ones and trying to see the face under the broad hat. She did not reply at once and a tear dropped on his hands as he held hers. In a moment be had dropped them and stood up looking at her. 'Forgive me, child, I had. not mean W~ pain you. 'But, oh Sadie ! I have waited so long. If you could only love me just a lit. tIe. I never meant to trouble you again. But I could not resist the temptation of seeing you once again.' He stood looking down at her awhile, a wistful expression stole over her features, and at last she reached out her band and he took it quickly. 'Oh, Dean ! I cannot send you away ; I am so lonely,' she said, as be bent and kissed the blushing face. 'God bless you, Sadie. And you will learn to love me, for my whole life shall be devoted to y our happiness.' 'No, Dean, I will never learn to love you. I have always loved you, and he knew it, though God knows how I prayed against it. It was the memory of his kind ness to me that caused my tears. And somehow I feel like'I would be doing wrong to marry again.' 'Do you think I cannot make you happy, Sadie ?' 'I know you will. And, oh Dean ! We must remember we owe it all to him. He told me he would be willing.' MIUSK. Musk is a concrete substance, found in an animal having a near affinity to the deer tribe, a native of Tbibet, China and Siberia. The msk deer is a timid animal, and rarely appears during the day ; consequently the mask collectors watch and surprise it at night. The best musk comes from China, and to have it genuine it should be purchased in tbe natural pod or bag, as it is very often adul terated. The Bengal musk is in ferior, and that from Russia the worst of all. The hair on the pod of the best musk is afawn color; that on the inferior a dirty wite. A variety of musk is found in the musk-rat of Canada, an ani mal about the size of a small rab bit. Musk is of a bitter taste, and of an odor more powerful than anyting known ; substances in its neighborhood become strongly in fected by it, and, when once per fumed withbit, long retain the scent. It has been known to affect chests of tea placed at a considerable distance, even though both had been packed up in leaden boxes, for which reason, the East India Company gave an order not to import musk and tea in the same ships. Many persons dislike the odor. It has t'he property, when employed in ver-y small quantities, of augmenting the scent of' other su bstances, wiLhout imparting its ownB. It is not good to be angry with those who may seem with ma licious intent to assail our cher ished beliefs. .A few burning weeds may produce smoke enough to hide the stars, but the stars are shining all the same. It is not wise to vex and weary ourselves by angry denuncis.tions of the smoke which will soon pass off wihout nna labor. THE BRIDAL HAND=ED" t CHIEF. n We all prepared to go to the vedding. I was going, father was t ;oing, the gals was going and c we was going to take the baby. d 3ut come to dress the baby, I k ould not find its little shirt. a 'd laid a clean one out of the lr.awer a purpose; I knew jest vhere I'd put it, but come to look or it, it was gone. 'For mercy's sake,' says I, 'gals, ic as any of you seen that baby's d birt ?' Of course, none of 'em had seen t, and I looked again; but it van't nowhere to be found. 'It's the strangest thing in all w iature,' says I ; 'here I had a ic birt in my band not more'n ten g ainutes ago, and now its gone, o tobody knows where ! Gals,' said o 'do look round, can't ye ?' n But fretting and fu ming P vouldn't find it ; so I went to the >ureau and fished up another u birt, and put it onto the baby, tc mnd at last we were ready for a I tart. t! Father had harnessed up the iC louble team, and the gals were all P aving a good time going to see a dary Ann married ; but somehow couldn't get over that baby's 0 birt. 'Twant so much the shirt, b )ut to have anything sperrited b sway right from under my face mnd eyes, 'twas too provoking. h 'What be you thinking about J namma?' says Sophronia. 'What tl nakes you so sober?' 'I'm pestered to death thinking h bout that baby's shirt,' says I. 11 One of you must a took it, I'm artin,' says I. 'Now ma,' says Sophronia-says t 'he. 'you needn't say that.' And, as I had laid it onto 'em h m good many times, they were 0 >eginning to get vexed, and so v we had it back and forth all about he baby's shirt, till we got to the wedding. P Seeing company kind o' pat it Ut of my mind, and I was get. t tirg good natur'd again, though .' L couldn't help saying to myself; f avery few minutes, what could k bave become of that baby's shirt? f till they stood up to be married, and I forgot all about it. Mary Ann was a real modest t ereature, and was more'n half Erightened to death when she C came into the room with Stephen, ~ and the minister told 'em to jine I bands. She fast gave her left d band to Stephen. 'Your other hand,' says the I minister, and poor Steve, he ~ was so bashful, too, he didn't know ' what be was about;bec thought ( 'twas his mistake, so he, gave Mary Ann his left hand. t That iuouldn't do anyway, but C by this time they didn't know 3 what they was about, and Mary I Ann jined her left hand with his ( left, then his left with her right, then both their left hands again, till I was all in a fidget, and t thought they never would get fixed.r Mary Ann was as red as a tar key , and to make matters wuss c she began to cough-to turn it f off, I s'pose-and called for a glass of water. The minister had just been drinking and the tumbler stoodt right there. I was so narvons, and in such i < urry to see it all over with, thatt 1 ketched up the tumbler and run with it to her; for I thought to goodness she was going to faint. I She undertook to drink. I no not know how it happened, but the tumbler slipped, and, gra- I cios me! if, between us both, 1 we didn't spill the water all over < her collar and sleeve. I was dreadfully frustrated, for it looked as though 'twas all my fault, and the first thing I did was to out with my handkerchief and give it to Mary Ann. It was nicely done up. She took it and shook it out. The folks had held it pretty well up to this time, but then such a giggle and laugh as there was. I didn'ti know what had given them such1 a start till I looked and see, I'd give Mary Ann that baby's shirt ! (Here Mrs. Jones, whbo is a big, flesy woman, undulated and shook like a mighty jelly, with uirth ; and it was some time De >re she could proceed with her arrative.) 'Why,' continued she, while ,ars of mirth ran down ber heeks, 'I'd tucked it into my ress pocket, instead of a hand. erchief. That comes of being bsent-minded and all in a fid. et.' 'And Mary Ann and Stephen ere they married after all ?' 'Dear me, yes,' said Mrs. Jones; ,nd it turned out the gayest wed ing I ever 'tended.' WANTED, AN OPINION. It is a lucky thing for lawyers ho are much sought to for 'opin ns,' that they can occasionally ive a piece of wisdom not their' wn. There is a good story told the hit RogerSherman once ade by taking advantage of this rivilege. An honest farmer once called pon the -elebrated lawyer and )ld him he wanted an opinion. [e had heard a great deal about se value of Mr. Sherman's opin >ns, and how a great many peo le went to him to get an opinior, rid John, who never had, nor ras likely to have a lawsuit or ther difficulty for a lawyer to elp him from, thought be would ave an 'opinion.' 'Well, John, what can I do to elp you?' said Mr. S., when ohn, in his turn, was shown into be room. 'Why, lawyer,' replied John, 'I appened to be in town, and hav >g nothing to do, I thought I ould come and get your opinion.' 'State your case, John. What's be matter?' 'Oh, nothing. .1 ain't got no Lwsuit. I only want to get one f your opinions. They say they're al uable.' 'But, John, about what?' 'Oh, anytbipg, sir; take your ick and choice.' Mr. Sherman, seeing the no ions of his client on the matter 2 hand, took pen, and writing a sw. words .folded them up and anded them. to John, who care ally placed tbem in his pocket. 'What's to pay, sir ?' 'Four and sixpence'-Yankee ioney, seventy-five cents. When John returned home the ext morning, he found his wife, ho pretty mucb took the lead in is business matters, anxiously iscussing with his chief farm ser ant the propriety of getting in a arge quantity of oats on that day vbich had been cut on the pre ious, or of undertaking some ther labor. John was appealed to to settled he question, but he could not de ide. At length he said, 'I'll tell ou what, Polly, I've been to a swyer and got an opinion that oss me four and sixpence. There t is ; read her out. It's a lawyer's vriting, and I can't m'ike head or ail out ofit !' John, by the way. could not ead the plainest print, but Polly, vo was something of a sebolar, ~pened the paper, and read as lows: 'Never put off till to. norrow what can be done to-day.' 'Enough said !' cried John. Them oats must be got in.' And hey were 'got in,' and the same ight such a storm came on as therwise would have ruined hem. Just before visiting the menage ie, Jonny had a passage at arms vith the young aunt who assisted t his toilet, and with whom he lew into a rage. Arr-ived at the nenagerie, Johnny was imme liately interested by a strange oreign animal with a long, lithe >ody. 'What animal is that, main na ?' he asked. 'It is called an nt-eater, my son.' After a long ~ilnce : 'Mamma, can't we bring innt Mary here some day ?' A person who had an import Lt case in court sent two very andsome and expensive flagons o0 the Judge. He ordered them o be filled with costly wine and sent back to the donor. The Tudge was a pagan, however, and Iidn't know any better. Such 'oolish stories can't be told of the -,-,ts of nowadays. In the seventeenth century the mmnister of a certain parish in Scotland was the famous Samuel Rutherford. the religious oracle of the Covenanters and their adhe rents. It is among the traditions that on a Saturday evening, as one of the family gatherings, when Rutherford was catechising his ebildren and servants, a stranger knocked at the door and begged sbelter for the night. The minis ter kindly receivnd him, and asked him to take his place with the family and-assist at their religious exercises. It so happened that the ques tion in the catechism which came to the stranger was that which asks: "How many commandments are there?" He answered. "Ele ven." "Eleven!" exclaimed Ruther ford. "I am surprised that a man of your age and appearance should not know better; what do you mean ?" And be answered: "'A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another."' Rutherford was much impressed by the ans wer, and they retired to rest. The next morning, as he threaded his way to church through the thick et, he beard among the trees the voice of the stranger at his devo tions. The- elevation af the senti mnents convinced him that it was no common man, and, on accosting him, the traveler confessed that he was no other than the great divine, Archbishop Usher, the Primate of the Church of Ireland who well fulfilled that new com mandment which he bore to oth ers. He it was who had come in disguise to see Rutherford in the - privacy of his own home. Side by side they pursued their way to the little church, and from the rustic pulpit the Archbishop prea. ched to the people from the words which had so startled his host the evening before: "A new command ment i give unto you, that ye love one another."-Library NYote.s. CHANGED His MIND.-Mr. H. C. Jarrett, the theatrical manager, tells the following story: One evening, whbile his party were playing at the Opera House in Detroit, a small boy approached im, and holding out his hand, exibiting fifteen cents, said: 'Please, mister, I would so much like to see Cinderella, but that's all the money I've got.' The boy's manner touched Jar rett's tender spot, and after ask ing him two or three times if that was all the money he had, and receiving each time a pitiful affirmative answer, he gave him a quarter. The boy's countenance beamed with delight, and he did not know how to express his gratitude. Finally, moving to ward the street, he said : 'You don't know how thankfal I am, sir. I am ever so much ob liged to you, sir; but now that you have been so generous,. I guess l'll go to the other theater and see ''Jack Sheppard !" TitUE WOMEN.-EVery man of/ sense and refinement admires a woman as a woman, and when she steps out of this character, a thousand things, that in their ap propriate sphere would be ad mired, become disgusting and offensive. The appropriate char acter of a woman demands deli cacy of appearance and manners, refinement of sentiment, gentle ness of speech, modesty of feeling and action, a shrinking from no toriety and public gaze, aversion to all that is coarse and rude, and an instinctive abhorrence of all that tends to indelicacy and im purity, either in principle or ac tion. Thbese are the traits which are admired and sought for in woman. Thc greatness shows itself in igr.oring, or quickly forgetting per sonal injuries, when meaner na tures would be kept in unrest by them. The less of a man one is, the more he makes of an injury or an insult- The more of a man be is, the less he is disturbed by what others say or do against