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MY NEIGHBOR’S LITTLE WIFE. On the breeze his glad son? ringing, Flits the nieadov lark, swift, winging To the mountain-shadowed valley, where the cool dews softest lie; While the budding vines aud clover. Fling their sweetness to the rover, Aud the golden blush of sunrise, with its glory floods the slcy. From the little cottage yonder Where sweet morning-glories wander, Round the lowly doorway twining their horns of plenty gay; Floats a lassie's sweet voice lilting. List the bright-eyed birds a-tilting, On the blossom sprays, my neighbor's wife’s gay greeting to the day-. In each cheek a red rose glowing, And the wind her soft curls blowing, Ily and hy, stands she a shading her blue eyes, with slender hand; While she waits my neighbor's coming, (Storing sweets the bees are humming), For tlie sunflower proclaimeth, that ’tU noon tide o'er the land. With lullabies sweet, wooing luto dreamland, baby-cooing. Till with white lids drooped ne nestles upon her gentle breast; Then, in husv household labor. To aud fro, flits my sweet neighbor, Till the tinkling of the cowbells, tells the sun Is ill the west, When the birds have ceased their roaming In the fragrant, dewy gloaming. Through Hie meadow-path a gay lad, comes whistling “BonnieDoon;” But the oak-tree hides the meeting. And the sweet wife's tender greeting ; While over hill and meadow rises fair the cres cent moon. Grace T. Halsey. Montclair, .V. J. MORNING NEWS LIBRARY, NO. 30. NORA OF We ADIRONMCKS! BY ANNE E. ELLIS. AUTHOR OF “THEM WOMEN,” ETC. [Copyrighted, 1887, by J. H. Estill.] CHAPTER VII. “The carpeting was woven m Turkish looms, From softest wool of flne Circassian sheep, Tufted like springy moss in forests deep, Illuminate with all its autumn blooms; Tie antique chairs are made of cedar trees, l’t-llcil on the lofty peaks of Lebanon. "Sofas and couches, stuffed with cygnet's fleece, Loll round, inviting dreaminess and ease; The gorgeous window curtains, damask-red, Suspended, silver ringed, on bars of gold, Droop heavily, in many a fluted fold. “And urns of alabaster, soft and bright, With fawns aucl dancing shepherds on their sides; And costly marble vases dug from night In Pompeii, beneath its lava tides: “And on the walls with lifted curtains, see! The portraits of his noble ancestry; Thin-featured, stately dames with powdered locks. And courtly shepherdesses tending flocks, Stiff lords in wigs, and ruffles white as snow, Haught peers, and princes centuries ago, And brave Sir Arthur, the bravest of the ljne.” — Stoddard. It was indeed a lovely boudoir in which the Countess was reclining in her chair and it needs no other words than the above lines to describe it. The Countess was as sweet and beautiful as the day her husband brought her from her father’s home, but it was a maturer loveliness—and the dark hair was threaded with silver; the brow was marked with lines of care, but the sweet resignation of the mouth and gentleness of the ejes were most attractive. She was attired in a flowing morning robe of rich, blue velvet, with fewbut rare jewels and costly lace. The mother had been dreaming of her boy and feeling no little amount of anxiety in regard to him. The Countess had rarely known a mail day to pass during the months he had been away without hearing from him, even if only a few lines, to say that he was well and to send love greetings to his lady mother and the dear ones at Home. And now two weeks had passed and no word, and the Countess greatly feared he was ill or some mischief had befallen him. As the time for the mail arrived the Countess grew more and more nervous and anxious. A gentle tap at the door and Margaret entered bearing a salver which she presented to her lady. “A letter! O, Margaret!" cried the Count ess as she took the missive from the salver and, recognizing the dear, well-known hand writing, she clasped her hands in joy. “Yes, my lady, and from my bonnie boy,” replied the aged servant. The Countess opened the precious letter with trembling fingers, anxious and yet fearful to read its contents, while Margaret seated herself near by, to wait some mes sage from the nursling she loved so well. It was a long letter and the Countess read on eagerly to its close—now heaving a gentle sigh as if there were sad news and then with a countenance beaming with joy. As she finished the letter she turned to Margaret and said— “ Our boy has been ill, as we feared.” “Not bad, my lady?” asked nurse with a troubled countenance. “No, only slightly he says—he IvMw unable to write for a time, but he is now quite well again and he states (opening the letter and reading)—“Tell nurse that I send her kind love, often think of her and hope soon to see her. ’ ” “Bonnie boy, bonnie boy!” exclaimed Margaret, with tears of joy in her eyes— “said he nothing about coming home?” was her next query. “No, not yet. He will stay in the States for awhile and then visit France; after that he hopes to see us again,” replied the Countess. Margaret looked the disappointment she felt, but with the exception of the silent tear she brushed away, suid nothing. “How like! how very like!” exclaimed the Countess, looking intently at a picture that had been enclosed in the letter. Margaret looked at her lady eagerly. “Is it not?” resumed the lady, handing nurse the picture. Margaret took the drawing, expecting to see the features of her bonnie boy—but to her keen disappointment she looked upon the exquisite face of Nora, whose much loved features Sir Arthur hail striven to picture and send borne to his mother—but witli not a word of his love for the fair girl. “Nurse, is it not/like Lady Nora, the late lamented wife of Lord Dudley?” asked the Countess. “Yes, my Indy, strangely like,” replied Margaret os site scanned the < lelieato features of the fair young girl. “And who may she bef” naked she, looking at the Countess in quiringly. “She is the daughter of the people with whom nty hoy is staying, be”— The Countess was here interrupted by the entrance of the Earl. He advanced smilingly to meet his wife. “I)o not rise, my love,” said he, kissing her nirect innately as she arose to greet him with a glad snule. The Earl led his wife tenderly to a divan and, seating himself lieside her, drew the stately head on his shoulder while his arm encircled her waist. “A letter, wifle?” asked lie, taking the missive from the Countess, who had handed it to him. She answered him with a fond smile and Ktted his stem cheek with her shapely nd. Margo ret had seated herself in the recess of a window near by witli some sewing; her long years of servitude hod made her a priv ileged person and she always remained in Bearing when her “bonnie ix>y ’ was the sub jert of discussion. “Ah, from onr boy?” exclaimed the Earl, opening the letter and reading. He read it through without change of countenance. “Is it not sad, dear husband, about the foisuf girlf,’ b*ud the Countess Fadly. “Yes, my love. Hut it is Juat as likely she has eloped with the young Frenchman; people of that class aro always doing some thing strange,” replied the Earl indiffer ently; Abut'l should think he had better return home and attend to his own affaiis— I have other plans in anew for him —the girl w-ill turn up in some absurd way without him staying to hunt her up.” Sir Arthur had told of the abduction of Nora without explaining his part of the transaction, only stating that he had suffered from a slight illness. Margaret's face wore a strangely troubled expression as the letter was read entirely to her. She foresaw the danger her boy was in. which his father and mother in their pride did not dieam of. “Margaret bring that drawing to the Earl so he may also see it?” requested the lady. Nurse arose and handed the sweet picture to her lord. He took it and gazed at it with surprise aud admiration. “She is certainly very beautiful,” said he, after looking at the sweet face intently. “Yes, indeed! but is she not most strangely like the lovely Lady Nora that died while abroad?” asked the” Countess. “Most like, I must confess,” replied her husband thoughtfully. “And then that strange story of Lady Dudley reaching that wild place such a stormy night and dying there, and the two babes born the same rnght—singular is it not?” “Strange beyond comprehension,” replied the Earl. “I remember,” resumed he, “hearing something about Lad y N.ora dying in some out of the way place in America, and that she and her babe were brought home to be buried; but I never mentioned the subject to Lord Dudley—his grief al ways seemed to be so poignant that I dreaded opening the old wound. “I would show him the picture, dear; it may be a pleasure to him to see it.” “Perliap I will, wifle, if I see a fitting opportunity—but now I have come to teS you good news, so let us drop this rustic maiden.” “Good news, husband 1” exclaimed the Countess joyfully. “Yes, are you prepared to hear it, or will you be overcome with the jov? Get the sal volatile ready, Margaret, lest your lady faints when I tel! her,” replied the Earl with as much playfulness as it was possible for the proud man to assume. Margaret laughed and the Countess cried: “What is it, husband? Teh me quieklv.” “Women have no curiosity,” replied he, “but as you are dying to know, I will re lieve your anxiety”” The Countess looked up in his face anx iously. “Well, you are going to have anew daughter—you have been wishing for one.” “A daughter! O. husband! speak plainer. I do not understand you. ” “To explain matters more fully—Lord Ernst and myself, during a conversation this morning, concluded that Lauy Betty and our boy were of marriageable age, and as they had been old playmates and for aught we know lovers, we concluded they were exactly suited to each other and settled the bargain.” “O, husband!” was all the Countess could say after he had concluded; she had been listening breathlessly to his Account. “Are not you pleased, dearest?” “Pleased I—ah,1 —ah, dear husband, you do not know how pleased! I have always loved Betty like my own child, and now she will be our own dear daughter.” His wiftfs pleasure put the Earl in an extra good humor and he was more affec tionate than usual. “The Lady Betty is a beautiful girl and blushed like a rose when her father told her of the good luck in store for her in my presence,” said the Earl. “Did she seem willing?” “Perfectly. She says she always liked Arthur from a child.” “Ah! then all will go happily and lam sure our boy will be glad.” Neither saw the troubled face of Margaret as she bent over her work —her heart bled for her nursling—why, she knew not, but she felt that it was hard for the human will to control the heart, and, although her hoy had always seemed most docile and obedi ent, yet she feared from the tone of his letter that he had already learned to love the beau tiful girl ho had so strangely met in the wilds of the American Adirondacks, and she knew the haughty pride of the Earl would never allow a mesalliance for his only son and would only cause endless trouble. “Shall we tell our son the good fortune in store for him when we write, dear wife?” asked the Earl. The Countess thought for a few moments without speaking and then replied— “l think it would be better not, dear; why not wait until his return and then let the young people find out their love dream for themselves?’ “As you please, my love—but the secret seems too good to keep.” “You know, my dear husband, Lady Betty is so very lovely that Arthur cannot help but love her, and then there will lie no dan ger of his rebelling,” replied the Countess. “Rebel! my son rebel!” cried the Earl in a voice of contempt; “my love, our son is a Beaconsfield, and it is not a Beaconsfield trait to rebel against that which is for their own interests —no, wife, he ivill not refuse!” the latter expression given in a tone that im plied “he .shall not rebel! my word is law and I will bend my son to my ow r n proud will.” “But wbat if he should not love her?” asked his wife timidly. “Love! pooh!—that will do for sentiment al fools but not fora Beaconsfield. We have sense and are not w eak.” Seeing the grieved expression on his wife’s countenance ne kissed and soothed her and then withdrew. Poor Margaret, her heart ached for her boy. CHAPTER VIII. The old woman tried every means in her power to restore Nora to consciousness, but it was a long time before there were any signs of returning life —so long that she feared the young girl might be dying, i But, after vigorous rubbing and bathing, Nora opened her eyes wearily. She gazed around the room languidly, and only asked: “Where am IT “With friends,” replied the old woman. The answer satisfied and the tired girl dropped off into a troubled sleep. The woman, hard-hearted as she was, felt some pity for the young lass as she gazed upon her fresh young beauty and noted tho pale, anxious face. While Nora was sleeping the door of the lower room ojiened, and a cautious step as cended the stairs and stopped outside or the chamber door. Finding that all was still, the key was turned and the door opened wide enough to admit a head. “Hush!” said the woman, raising her finger and motioning to the person to be quiot. She stepped on tip-toe to the door and, pushing the person outside, went out with nim. “Well, how is she aiming on by this time?” asked Duvanee anxiously, for it was he who had looked in the room. “Bleepin' now, but I was most afeerd she wouldn’t come to—she laid so white and still like, and it was a long bit afore I could bring her round,” replied his companion. “Do you think she will come around all right?" asked Duvanee, anxiously. “Yes, with care; but she mustn’t be dis tort >ed or slowed, or I wouldn't answer for tho consequemwi. She’s a weakly gal, and that brain o’ hern ’ll go off like wild fire ef she’s worried any more.” “Take rare of her then, Nell, and you shall be well paid,” replied the Frenchman. “Never you fear. Nell hasn't lived this long to have revenge on them as she hatzs without carryin’ of it out. It isn’t part of my plan fur Ler to die, so I’ll take ker on her, trust Nell fur that,” replied the old woman with a chuckle. .“How soon will it be do you think before I can marry her?” asked Duvanee. “I wouldn't like to sav anything about it in less than a week. We’ll coddle her up and git her strong and then ye kin visit her and hatch up some yarn or other to work up her feelin’s—she’ll mm out all right, never fear!" was the reply. THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. JULY 3. 1887. “What shall I say!” asked Duvanee, by way of answer. “Say! you’d be a funny Frenchman ef ye didn’t know what to say—they’re all say,” replied the woman with a sarcastic laugh. Duvanee winced and looked somewhat angry at this sally, but, as he was in the woman's power, thought it best for policy’s sake to be careful. A weak voice within called: “Arthur!” The woman gave Duvanee a sign to leave and hastened into the room. Nora lay awake looking around, and now fully understanding that she was in a strange place. The woman approached the bed whereon Nora lay and said: “Well, girleen, how are yon now?” “Aunt Nell!” exclaimed Nora in surprise, and shrinking from her with instinctive dread. “Yes, it’s yer own Aunt Nell,” replied the woman with a^laugh. The woman was"indeed the sister of Mag. She seldom visited her relative, and was now supposed to be a hundred miles away. But, aunt though she was, Nora disliked tier from a little child and had always refused all caresses. Nell understood the child’s dislike and hated her accordingly, as all such low na tures do; but she had a purpose and con cealed her feelings under the false guise* of affection. “Where am I. Aunt Nell?” again asked Nora, looking around the room with its coarse furniture. “Where ye’ll lie taken good care of, honey, until yer better,” chuckled Nell. “Howdid I come here?” “Ye met with an haccident, lovie. and they brought ye here as the safest place.” “What accident? How did it happen?” again asked Nora Before the old woman could reply memory brought back the harrowing scene of the morning. “Oh, Arthur, my love!” Nora cried. “Hush, girlee! hush! ye’ll make yersel’ ill agin,” said her aunt in alarm at the sudden turn of affairs. “Aunt Nell, tell me, do tell me! Where is Arthur?” “Hush, girl, you must be quiet.” “But is He dead, Aunt Nell ? Tell me, do tell, Aunt. Nell?” cried the girl, frantically. “When you get better I will tell ye as much as I know, but ye must be quiet now,” replied the woman, impatiently. “I cannot. Aunt Nell, until I know! I saw him failing down, down, down before my eyes into that rocky chasm where lie eoulf not have been but dashed in pieces! O, my love! O, my love! if you are dead, I will die also! I cannot live without you!” shrieked Nora, falling on her knees with out stretched hands. Nell did not know what to do, but her usual wit and cunning came to her aid. “I ’spose yer cryin’ fur that young chap as come to yer father’s house, and ef ye’ll git up and behave like a sensible girl I’ll tell ye all about it,” said she. Nora looked at her, aud then arose slowly and seated herself on the lounge. Before I tell ye take a drink of this,” said the old woman, bringing a glass of wine and handing it to Nora. The young girl obeyed, drank the wine and prepared to listen, but before Nell could commence the draught which was drugged had its effect, and Nora sank ou the couch in profound slumber. Nell chuckled at her success, and, cover ing the girl with a robe, left the room mut tering: “So far, so good! she’ll not trouble any more for awhile.” CHAPTER IX. Nora slept on till next day, her slumber undisturbed even by dreams; and when she awoke she was so stupefied from the effects of the drugged wine tliat she ate her food in silence and without appearing to realize her situation. She bad been in her prison over a week before Duvanee ventured to visit her. She hail asked to be taken home and been re fused. Nell gave different excuses for not complying with her requests. Nora began to realize that she was a pris oner for some nefarious reason, and her whole thought now was how to escape. She knew that the more docile and quiet she was the better she could carry out her purpose. From the innocent, trust ing girl she had been when first brought there, she was becoming a clever actress. Nora had been imprisoned a little over a week in the hut, and was sitting at the win dow in moody silence looking out when a gentle tap at the door and, “Come in” from Nell, brought the unwelcome form of Du vanee. Nora looked at him in indignant surprise as he entered the room and advanced toward her bowing and smiling; she gave him no recognition, except a glance of loathing and contempt. “How do I find you to-day, fair lady?” Asked he, not heeding her disdainful man ners. “That I cannot tell you, Mr. Duvanee— perhaps if you were to tell me why I am thus imprisoned and restore me to my lib erty and my dear old father, whom I know to bo breaking his heart at my mysterious disappearance, I could answer you better,” replied Nora, with flashing eyes. “Is it possible! Have you told her?” said the wily Frenchman, in well-feigned sur prise, turning to Nell. “No, I felt afraid to. I thought you could tell so much better than me,” replied Nell, craftily, “Then you do not know the sad story of your being hero?” again said Duvanee, with a hypocritical sigh. “No, I do not know all, but I suspect,” re plied the young girl, sadly. “Will you tell me what you suspect?” de manded her interrogator with something like a sneer. The look did not escape Nora’s sharp eye, and she cried in anger; “Siisjiect, Henry Duvanee! Suspect! I do not snspect now! I know! You killed my lover—the man I loved better than my life! O, Arthur, my love!”cried she, clasp ing her hands in agony. “Yes, you killed Arthur Beaconsfield and brought me here because you hated him and wished to ruin me! That is what I know! But rememtior this, Duvanee, there is a God nlxive who will punish you for vour wicked act and bring you to retribution at last!” The Frenchman winced under this, but ho gave a scornful laugh and said: “That sounds very pretty, sweetheart; I think it was the best thing to bring you here after all. No one knew how much spirit there was in you before. I told your father he had better take you home, but it seems that he was right when ho insisted on bring ing you to your Aunt Nell.” Diivanoe told this barc-fneed falsehood without blushing. “My father insisted on bringing me here!” repeated the astonished girl, as she listened with dilated eyes to Duvanee. “Yes, my pretty one. Hinee you must have an explanation, I will tell you tlmt your father felt a little afraid of that white fingered gent after he hail Asked him for you—awl after that sham engagement he Had watched and caught him just in the nick of time —just as he was about to carry you off, no one knows where, or what you would have been by this time,” replied the Frenchman, watching her furtively to see the effects of his words. Nora clasped her hamls together, and then raising them to her head clasisxl her tem ples its if she feared they would buret with the terrible agony produced by Duvanee’s heartless speech. And then with eyes dilated and with hands stmohed forward as if she would tear him in pieces, Norn shrieked: ‘‘Man, how dare you slander my dear, good father and the one I loved—anil do love and will always love! Arthur Braeons geld was good and true —you knew it and that my father loved him. You know you say what is not tine when you say my father put me here! My own heart tells mo tliat my faiher would risk his life to find me and rescue me if ho knew where I was! Go!—go!—go!” shrieked the maddened girl, advancing to ward him with the knifeln her hand which she had secreted from the tray on which her dinner had been brought her. "Go. or 1 will not answer for the consequences of your in famy ! Leave me and never let me see your vile face again!” Duvanee looked at the heretofore gentle girl in amazement and hastily retreated from the room, taking care to lock the door after him. Nell was puzzled what to do—she was afraid to speatc, lest the excited girl should turn u]K>n her and wisely concluded to let her alone. But as soon as Duvanee was safely away Nora again concealed her knife, and drop ping on her chair buret into tears. The story that had been told her she did not believe, and she was now sure of wliat had been a mere surmise before. It was now growing toward dusk, and Nell went down stairs to get lights, leaving Nora aloua It seldom happened t hat she was left for a moment. Nell kept watch over her night and day, ami Nora felt that her chances of escape were small. There was a large, overhanging oak by the only window the room could boast of, and Norn often thought if she could only get to the large branch within touch she could escape, but the window was grated, and although the bars were only wood, she never liad enough tune to attempt to cut them away. As soon as Nell had left the room Nora arose and went to the window and shook the bars to see if she could loosen them. “Hist!”said a voice from the tree. Nora started back in alarm. “Do not be frightened.” again said the voice; “I'm a friend. Put your hand through the the bars, I have something for you.” Nora drew closer to the window, thrust out her hand and a note was placed in it. The white fingers closed eagerly over it aud she was once more alone; all that could bo heard was the cruckliug of the branches of the oak as if a squirrel was running over them. Nora concealed the note in her bosom, and although trembling with eagerness ana apprehension when Nell returned with the lights, her outward appearance was much the same as when the woman loft the room. Nell placed the lights ou the table, and again went Mow for Nbra’ssupper. The young girl tremblingly broke open the note and read: “My Dear Girl — Your prison has boon discovered, and you will soon be with your friends again. Sleep up your spirits—l am alive and well, and your father and mvself aro sparing no efforts to rescue vou from your unpleasant position. Bo on the lookout to-night. Your own, Arthur.” Nora's whole demeanor changed as she read the familiar writing, and when her aunt returned she fonnd her niece looking so happy and contented with nothing left of the dear note that she kissed over and over again but a few ashes on the hearth. Nora ate her supper with a relish, and Nell was more and more surprised at her joyful appearance; and indeed—relieved— as she was afraid severe measures would have to be taken to bring her to subjection. “How long will I have to stay here, Aunt Nell ?” Asked the young girl to break the silence and to prevent tHe old woman becoming suspicious. “Why, niece, that rests with yourself, yer dad’s anxious to have ye settled, afore any one sees yer party face agin—and he wants ye ter marry Mi-. Duvanee, as hez plenty of money and a nice homo ter take yer too, and then ye’ll be safe.” Nora knew this was false, but she smiled as she thought that it would not be long ere she was with her loved ones again. Nell thought she laughed because she was pleased with the idea of marrying Duvanee, and said eagerly as she raised the tray to carry down: “Shall I tell yer lover he kin come now!” “No, oh, no! replied Nora, with difficulty concealing the terror she felt at the very idea of meeting again the would-be mur derer of her lover and dostrover of her peace; “wait till we are married—that will be time enough.” Nell looked disappointed, but went below to report their success to the Frenchman. Duvanoe listened with satisfaction—he hail exp<*oted more trouble—but novy that Nora hnd expressed her willingness he would wait a week for the marriage'; only he was anxious to get the gil l away from the neighborhood as soon as posssble. CHAPTER X. In the meanwhile the new visiter at Bar ney’s was growing daily in favor witli all the frequenters of the tavern. Barney himself was more than pleased with this new acquisition—he was delighted. He had never had one who could dance a jig, sing a humorous song, or crack a joke like Martin, and the bar was nightly filled with customers who had flocked hither to see the fun. That Dobbs was one of themselves, Bar ney had no doubt. The nod of the head and the wink of the eye when a covert joke was cracked over a glass of good gin t hat eould not have lieen sold at the price if it had not been smuggled, showed that, Martin under stood the way the w ind blew. The intimacy between Dobbs and Dovro field grew into a w-artn friendship, and it was not long ere Dobbs was invited up to Dovrofielil’s room in the tavern, which, not withstanding his mysterious visits, he al ways kept. Had Dovrefield have seen the sly, covert glances given to every movement, when he was searching in his chest for a missing pi per; had he have known that every action was noted by a keen eye, Dobbs’ days would have been numbered. As it was not a suspicion entered the Frenchman’s mind, wily though he was, that his companion was merely spying upon his actions. And although Dovrefield was too crafty to tell any important secrets, Martin knew enough from wliat he hail seen and heard to convince him that Dovre field and Duvanee were one and tho same person, and that the metal casket he had seen him take from his chest more than once contained secrets that would be of value mid show many a hidden crime. The detective was also convinced that Dovrefield knew the whereabouts of the missing girl. It was an unusually dark night, and Dovrefield and Dobbs had been gaming and drinking in a small room adjoining the bar room—they played until fLst midnight, when Dovrefield, although he had lieen drinking heavily and could stnnd with dif lienity. departed for his nightly walk. Doblis was lying with his head on the table in an apparently drunken sleep—but Dovre fieldjiad no more than left the room when the fellow raised his head and looked around to be sure he was safely alone. Finding that he was in no ihmger of lin ing discovered, he went cautiously fo the window and looking outside gave a nod. Dobl* then jumped from the window to the ground, which was only a few feet. Strange os it may appear, hardly a second had elapsed ere another figure, the exact, counterpart of Dobbs, entered the window and was soon lying in the at tho table as if nothing had happened. And none too soon—the crowd in the bar room was becoming more noisy every min ute, and cries of “1 lobbs! Dobbs!” were heard above the din. Barney opener! the door and entered the room where Dobbs lay sleeping. “Halloo, Dobbs, my man! Wake up!” cried he. going to the sleeping man and shaking him vigorously. It was sometime before Pobhs could be awakened, and when be wat he raised him self and staggered to his feet, looking at Barney with a maudlin stare. "Ha—oo, did 'ce say? Hay, ’ll feller, d’ye want ter fight?” said Dobbs, doubling upnis lists and putting himself in fighting atti tude. “I'ight? no man! Como along, they want you to ing,” answered Barney, laughing ut the queer figure cut by Doblrs. “King, did ’ee say?" replied the detective, staggering into the barroom, where lie kept theeornpuny laughing boisterously unUl al most daylight with hu drunken songs and Irish jigs. Dovretleld left Barney’s and wended his way through the forest. When a few yards away from the tavern he turned aside, and taking a small dark lantern from his pocket, lit it and plunged into the heart of the forest. Had it not have lieen for the intense dark ness and the light of the lantern which made the blackness more apparent, ho would have seen another figure following him at no little distance. As it was Dovrefleld did not even suspect, so noiseless was the tread of the one behind, him, but he arrived at the dilapidated build ing—whit h answered for Nora's prison, anti entering laid down on the lounge and slept so soundly from the effects of the liquor that he heard nothing. Dobhs approached the house with the tread of a cat, and climbing the large oak in front of the tloor with the agility of a cat looked in. By the light, of the lamp that was kept burning through the night he discerned two female figures; one (Nell) was sleeping on the lounge, and the other (Nora) on the bed. He knew it was the missing girl by her beauty, which was not hidden even in the lamplight. It would have been an easy matter for Dobbs to have entered the hut then and res cued Nora, but that was not his plan. He knew if she was rescued then that Duvaneo would escape and perhaps Barney, and it was part of Dobbs’ programme to secure the persons of those two at the same time. He was sure that they were the leaders of a band of smugglers that hud been infesting the American border#, but positive proof was wanting. Suspicion of two or three murders was also pretty strong. Dobbs and his twin brother, who had also acted in concert with Martin, to make the illusion more perfect, they being so very similar in appearance as to defy the sharp est expert to distinguish them apart, were anxious to secure the reward that had been offered by the government for this very band of men. Dobbs descended from the tree and hur ried in another direction toward Timmy’s; but before emerging from the forest he stopped behind a large rock and in a mo ment proceeded on his way so completely transformed, that no one who had seen Martin Dobbs would have known this pier son to bo him. [TO BE CONTINUED.] BROWN’S IRON BITTERS. \ R j||jgj up ilffllli BESTTQNIC. ? This medicine, combining Iron with pure Vegetable tonics, quickly anti completely Bures Dyepepsln, I ihUhi-Mloii, Wenltness* lin pure Blood, .lliiluriu,(kills and Fevers, anti Neuralgia. It is an unfailing remedy for Diseases of the Kidneys and Liver. It is invaluable for Diseases peculiar to Women, and all who lead sedentary lives. It does not injure the teeth, cause headache,or produce constipation —other Iron mrdiemn< da It enriches and purifies the blood, stimulate* the appetite, aids the assimilation of food, re lieves Heartburn und Belching, and strength ens the muscles and nerves. For Intermittent Fevers, Lassitude, lack ol Energy, Ac., it has no equal. 4a- The genuine has above trade mark and crossed red lines on wrapper. Take no other. a-Unalrfcr SHOWS CHBirn (<1„ tUTIHORR, nl\ LOTTERY. _ _ 1 ■' L.S.L. CAPITAL PRIZE, $150,000. u We do hereby certify that ice supervise the arrangements for all the Monthly and Semi- Annual Drawings of the Louisiana Shite Lot tery ( 'runpony, and in person manage, and con trol the Dron ings themselves, and that the mine are conducted with honesty, fairness, and in go'xl faith toward all parties, and we authorize the Company to use this certificate , with fac similes of our signatures attached, in its adver tisements.” Commissioners. HV the undertlgned /tank, and /tanker, will put)nil Pri a. drawn in the Owimuna Stain /xtt terie. a'h>c!i way ha pretented at anr counters. J. H OGLESBY. Pres. Louisiana Nat’l Bank. PIERRE LANAUX, Pres. State Nat'l Bank. A, BALDWIN, Pres. New Orleans Nat'l Bank. CARL KOHN, Pres. Union National Bank. UNPRECEDENTED ATTRACTION' U Over Half a Million Distributed. LOUISIANA STATE "LOTTERY COMPANY. Incorporated in 1868 for 25years ly the laturo for Educational and cnttritablu yurpo*o —wit h a capital of $1,000,000 to which a r eserve fund of over $550,000 has siheo been added. By an overwhelming popular vote it fran chise waft mode a part of tho present State con- HtitJition, adopted IlecemberSd, A. f>. 187 ft. The only Lottery ever voted on and indorsed by the people of any State. It never scales or postpones. It* Grand t-in*cl*s \ii in her Drawings take place monthly, and the Semi-Animal llraw- regularly every ilx mouth* (June and Decern her). A M*LKM>ID OPPORTUNITY TO Wl* A FOKITI \K. SEVENTH GRAND DRAWING, CLASS 0, IN THE ACADEMY OF MUSK;, NEW ORLEANS, TUESDAY, July 12, 1887 2ft(il)i Monthly Drawing. Capital Prize, $150,000. 139“ Notice - Tickets are Ten Dollars only. Halves, $5; Fifths, $2; Tenths, sl. LIST nr PRIZES. 1 CAPITAL PRI/.K OF SIBO,OOO ~ .$150,000 1 GRAND PRIZE OF 60,000.... 60.000 1 GRAND PRIZE OF 80,000 20,i**> 2 LARGE PRIZES OF 10,000 ... 80.000 4LA tt< IE PRIZES OF 6,000.... 80,000 80 PRIZES OF 1,000 ... 20,01*) 50 PRIZES OF 600 ... 85,000 100 PRIZES OF 800. .. 80,000 800 PRIZES OF 200 ... 40,i*K) 600 PHIZES OF. 100 ... 60,000 1,000 PRIZES OF 50.... 50,000 APPROXTSfATIOSf PFtIZP.H. 100 Approximation Prizes of $800.... s:io,noo 100 •* “ 200.... 20,(* 100 “ “ 100... 10,000 2,179 Prize*, amounting to. $536,000 Application for rat*** to clnlw *ljoul<l !*■ marie only to the office of tlie Company in New Or leans. For further information write clearly, giving full address. POSTAL NOT Bn, Expratw Money Orders, or New York Exchange in ordi nary letter. Currency by Kxprewitnt our expense) addressed M. A. DAUPHIN, New Orlcan*, U. or 31. A. RAI PIIIN, W Hshliitf ion, U. C. Address Regislefed Letters io NEW ORLEANS NATIONAL RANK. New Orleans, La. RFMFM RF R That Mw presence of Oen n C IVI C. iVI DC. n oraU Beauregard and Early, who ore In charge of the drawings, I* a guarantee of absolute fairness ami Integrity, that the chances are all etpial, arid that no one can possibly divine what number will draw a Prize. RE ME MI) Eft that the payment of all Prizes is GUARANTEED IIY FOUR N ATIONAL R ANKS of New Orleans, and the Tickets are signed by the Presidentof an Institution, whose chartered rights are reeognlzed in the highest Courts; therefore, beware of any imitations or anonrmoiiM schemas. DRV GOODS. STRUCK BY _A_ TORNADO! 11l I TWO GREAT STORMS! The Storm of Reduction! Tie Storm of Patronage! Gray & O’Brien COTSTTXnNTTTE TO WEAR THE BUSINESS CROWN. 0 Their recent Mark Down, or in other words, their Great Closing Out Sale, Showing Reduced Prices, has been re corded in the Journal of Philanthropic Renown and posted on the credit side of Success in the Ledger of Recognition. Consult your own interest by reading the balance of this week’s bulletin. CABKB Garner Colored Lawns at 3c. a yard. 5 CARES White P. K. at 3c. a yard. CARES Crinkled Seersuckers at sc. a yard. BALES yard wide Rea Island at 5c.; worth 8a CARES well assorted Bc. Calicoes; reduced to sc. We know of no way of judging the future but by the past, and judging by the past, the people are justified in giv* ing us their confidence and patronage. CASES White India Lawn at 6J4c.; reduced from 10a SCARES White Check .Mull at 10c.; reduced from 30a CASES White Check Mull at wt£a; reduced from 25c. CASES Arlington 13-4 White Bpreads at 75c.; reduced from *1 35. CASES Twill Cheviot, for Suits or Shirts, at 12J^c.; worth 25c. Out of the cloudless sky the sun pours down its flood of golden light, giving a brilliancy to all of nature’s object® and the great closing out sale at GRAY & O’BRIEN’S. YARDS White Embroideries—a big bargain— at 5c.; worth double. 111 I I YARDS Hwlss Embroideries—a big bargain— at We.; worth double. 111 Wb bar * aln 111 YARDS Oriental Lace—* big bargain—at 5a : ■ I 1 1 I I worth double. / YARPS Oriental I-aca—a big bargain—at 10c.; worth double. The grade of our goods has never been lowered, and we unhesitatingly challenge comparison. PIECES 44-Inch Nun’s Veiling (block), at 37J4c.; market pu value 75c. I | PIECES Nun's Veiling, black and colors, at 10c,; worth Bargain y pieces Turkey Red Damask at 2214 c.; reduced from ® /ill PIECES Rummer Silks at 40c. and 50c.; worth 75a ft ■■ and $l. PIECES Plaid Ginghams at 7c. and Bc.; worth 10c. and U'Afi. The advantages presented by us to buyers are legion and can scarcely be summed up. DOZEN Genta’ Gauze Vests at 26c.; market value 50a I DOZEN Ladies’ Gauze Vests at 25c.; market value 50a BnrgnjfT || Q I DOZEN Children s Gauze Vests at 15c.; market value " I 111 Children's Solid Hose at 20c.; market value 30c. DOZEN Ludius’ Balbriggan Hose at 25c.; market value 50c. TREATMENT ALUS II BIST 1- Prices Always the Lowest! Gray & O’Brien AUGUSTA. SAVANNAH, COLUMBUS, 5