want of v better name, the habitues of Monks'B club-house called " Moses," was on hand, and winning in a way that amazed every one. About midnight Tom Pegg saw Monks taking two thousand dollars in bills from his pocket and placing it in the depleted bank. Still the man called Moses played till the two thousand dollars were in hi* possession, and then Monks, with a smile that seemed genuine and hearty, said : "Gentlemen, the game is closed for the night." Tom Pegg did not leave with the others, nor was he surpsiscd when Monks drew him to one side, and said : "I agree to help yon through, but you must pay me the balance at once, for the bank is broke." " And if I do this you will do as I say ?" " If I don't, Tom," said Monk*, with an oath, " may I be sruck dead." " Then,"replied Tom Peg", " the money ia your*." (To be continued.)

THE WEIRD SISTERS.

A ROMANCE. Bi' lUCIIARD DOWLIXG, Author op " Inn Mystery op Kiixahd."

PART ill: HUSBAND AND WIFE.

CHAPTER IX. BANKBK AND BARONET. NEXT noon as appointed, Grey called at the " Wiii-finger Hotel'" and saw Sir Wil liam, 'the interview was a brief one. Sir William informed the banker he had made up hia mind to only one thiny so far, namely, to keep the secret and do nothing for a month or two. " This looks very like eonipouuding a. felony,'1 said the young roan, 'but I am prepared to take that risk." Grey went away respited. It was a gr«et relii-f nothing was to be done at once, but when souiethini: came to be dune what would it be ? That v/as the question which followed Urey day and night, waking uud sleeping, through two long weary months. One qualifying fact operated gre illy in his favour: uay after day he lost siiHceptibilitj. Something was happening which "lulled hia sense of danger or exposure. lie had begun to forget more and more, and it was only on rare occasions he ha.i a c.ear and well-defined idea of his poxitiOD. He had a weak conviction Sir William would not have him prosecuted, but what would the youug man do? But if the tyranny of the theft had lost its poignancy, he bad two fiercer troubles left. Every old brokea-down woman he met in the street was his mother. By day he met his mother a thousand times ; she crawled close to the wall, ehe had sold all her clothes for bread, she had worn out her boots, and her bare feet, her poor old bare feet, touched the cold wet streets. If he took up a paper his eye fell on some paragraph relating to the death in great misery of an old woman over seventy who had seen better days. But it was when the twilight had died, and all the land lay in the dark trance of night, the prime actor in hia mental disaster entered on the scene. In order that he might marry Maud and so cover up his robbery, tie had taken upon him the awful burden of blood. Now Maud had slipped through his grasp, and thero was a cbaoce his theft might still re main undisclosed. W hat was his position with regard to the deed of the seventeenth at August ? 1£ the warm-breathing body of his wife were by his side he should be in no worse position. When the du*k came down upon the earth, vrhen the fields lay under the shadow of the wings of ill angels, the warm and breuthiuf body of his wife was not at his side, but there, no matter where he might sit, was the clammy cold thing he had left that night on the top of the Tower of Silence. It lay in passage and hall, and in the dining-room it was always stiff and stark behind hi« chair, where he could not see it, but whence the clammy chill radiating from it reached his back and froze his spirit. That was not the worst, for it was vague ; not the figure of his wife so much as that of the victim of murder. Over one shoulder, he knew not which, came that face, not calm and passionless as before, but fall of love and tender reproach, an expression in which the love out-measured the reproach ten thousandfold. It was this new look of old love made him shut bis fists, and grind his teeth, and sob and groan, From the ghastly caverns of night's silence whispers of her voice came to him pleading for mercy. "Do not, for God's sake, Wat, do not Bead me in my sin befoie my Maker !" Those awiul whispers made him start and stare, and caused toe cold sweat to start from all tUe pores of his body. Then followed night and dreams. When he awoke after dreams he always thought the dreaming worse thun waking. When he sought his bed at night he prayed for dreams as a relief. In the privacy of his own room, and in the still deeper privacy of dreams, he was always in her presence when the rustle of her dress made his pnlses thicken with joy. These dreams were his only resting placet. But, unfortunately, not only did they not last always, hut towards the end of each it changed and died in an awful sense of nnascertainable disaster. Some thing had happened to his love, something so hideous and unheard of, that not man or woman, beast or stone, would tell him the secret. With a great shout he awoke, sprang out of bed to seek for his love through all the world, tors open the door, and found his murdered wife lying across the threshold, aad upon his hands her blood. Day by day the influence of these terror wrought on Grey until his eyes grew dim, his hauds. palsied, bis gait feeble, and his mind dull. He forgot oftener now than for merly. In the midst of business transactions he would stop suddenly, put his hand to his head, mutter a few incoherent words, cease speaking for a while, and then exclaim ' plteonsly : " I have forgotten something ! i have forgotten something !" All who came in contact with him saw tie wim" breaking down. They said : "Poor urey loved his wife bo deeply, so tenderly, he is losing hia reason for loss other." This popular verdict was not only a great cause of drawing sympathy towards the widower, but almost wholly washed away the stain which had smirched his dead wife's name. For those who had heard of her failing, and believed it fact, novr asked themselves : " How could any man care for a woman

so afflicted ? How could any man wear away Mb life in sorrow, for tne lost of an in temperate ■wife ?''. Jhe evening Grey first visited Sir Wil liam Midharrt at the " WarfinKer Hotel" the young man went to the Castle and had a_ long talk with Maud, in which she told him of Grey's extraordinary con duct on the unknown old woman's visit. She did not tell him she suspected the banker had been trying to make himself more than agreeable to her. He did not say anything to her of the scene between the banker and himself at the " Warfinger." He heard all Manu had to say to him without comment beyond expressions of surprise. " I know the whole secret," he thought, " but I must have time to think oat the situation before I decide on a course of action. When I have considered all the points I shall not be slow to move." As he was going down a corridor after saying good-night to Maud Mrs Grant overtook him. She said : " How can yon account for Mr Grey's conduct, Sir William ? I cannot understand it at all. sif cour-e Maud told you all. You do not thi&k his manner of wooing likely to win?" ■ "His manner of wooing? I was told nothing of his wooing. Did he make love to Maud ?" " Ah, she did too not tell you? I suppose the poor child felt it might not be delicate to mention the matter. He has been making downright love to her. bhe told me all about it. That's the extraordinary sart of tbe thing; he has beer* making love to her, and then he breaks out into that violent manner all at once. Acting, indeed ! I don't believe a word of it. ' "So," thought Sir William to himself, as he went home to^his hotel, " I did not know the whole secret, bnt 1 think I have it all now. Of conrse, if he married Maud he need say nothing about the money. It's all gone, no doubt. A maa would not tell such a lie and offer to back it up with a bullet. liet me see now. My return has forced his hand. Be saw he had no chance of winning Maud. What a preposterons idea to think of his making love to my angel Maud 1 What Insolent presumption ! Poor Maud a beggar through his means ! It ia well lam not. I suppose we cau live on tbe old estate as the Midharsts have done for generations before as. lam f ullof hope. I am drunk with tnu belief Maud shall be mine. I think t-he is glad I am back, and will be glad to see me everyday. Fancy seeing Maud every day from this out I Fancy being permitted to take her hand, and to feel that hand on my arm ! Fancy being able to say 'Maud' a thousand times a day to herself and not to an image of her. Oh, Maud my beautiful, be with me for ever as the flowers are with summer. '' What shall Ido whh this Rcoundrel Grey? He was very nearly too deep for me. He imposed on me. but that is all over now. What am Ito do with him? If he is prosecuted there will be worry, and the past will be gone into, and the peculiarities of Sir Alexander, among other things his hatred of me and the, let me say, friendship between his daughter and me. " They might call Mand, these lawyers have no taste, no sense of propriety. Think of patting Maad in the box and cross examining her, and—yes, by Heavens, some of those legal bullies might be ungentle to ray lily sweet Maud. '« What a wonderful thing Maud's hand is. It is like the moon, always the same, and yet yon can't be in sight of it without looking at it often. "But this scoundrel Grey. I wish I were done with him, I hare given up all taste for affairs and difficulties. lam becoming bucolic Suppose be is prosecuted we can't get the monay back, for such a prosecution womld shut np his Bank. We should have all the trouble and worry for nothing. Then what is the object of prosecuting the scoundrel ? "It is strange about Maud's band. 1 thought as 1 100 ed at it this evening that if I were dying of wounds on a battle-field, parched with that last terrible thirst, and Maud came and put her hand on my fore head, the thirst would leave me. I know it would. " But about Grey ? " Yes. Isn't it too bad that when I have Maud to think about this wretched Grey should thrust himself in between Maud and me, I wish the devil would take Grey. He'll want that bland burglar sometime, and he'd oblige me greatly by taking him now. " What a beautiful thing Maud's ear is. While I was looking at it to-night I found out why when 1 speak to her I seem to pray; it is because I know my words must reach the spirit of a saint. " But here is this Grey. I am to meet him to-morrow and let him know my decision. I wish the devil would take him now, or Heaven would inspire me what to do with him. If the money had been mine I should before going to - bed to-night sign a receipt for the full amount, send the receipt to him, and beg of him never to allude -o the matter again, " If the money was mine ! "Ah 1 That is a thought worth consider ing twice '' If I marry Maud the supposititious money will be mine. I don't want the money if I could get it, and I can't get it, or any of it If I wanted it. The prosecution would involve nothing but trouble and worry. " Come, on the day I marry Maud, I'll give him a clear receipt for it! But I'll put him off for a couple of months and then tell him, " If all the rest of the world were mine on the day I marry Maud, and it would save her worry not to take it, I should pass it by. "Mygentle Maud, yon are the infinite sum of all my earthly hopes, to which nothing can be added, from which nothing can be taken away." CHAPTER X. GEEY BEMBMBBBS. Gbey sat in his breakfast-room turning over his letters. Suddenly his eyes fell on one and remained fixed on it. " At last," he thought, "at last I am to hear something of her, of my poor old mother. Whatever this tells me is all lam likely ever to know of her until I die. To night I cut off for ever my connection with the career of Wat Grey. To-day Wat Grey departs this life of Daneford." He broke the envelope and found these unsigned, undated words: "Through the kindness of some honest friends of your honest father I am now in a London almshouso, so I am fuih provided for. I think it only right you should know this. I have seen by the papers that Sir William Midharst will, the morning you get this, marry Miss Midharst. I handed that lady all I had 'in the world to the last penny. I do not know how you have evaded discovery so long. But follow my example, and give back to the robbed all you have left in the world. These are my last words to.yo.ri." ■ He put down the letter, sighed, and muttered : "An ungracious , final leave-taking, mother, an ungracious farewell. The giving back forms no part of mv plan/ Sir William would not touch a 'penny. You yourself will relent and ba sorrowful

when you hear ol this aay's events, for they will get into the papers as well as the marriage of Sir William. The new*, papers will have the marriage paragraph, and then one headed, ' Stucking Death of Mr Henry Walter Grey.1 "No, mother, I must save my name and Bave my reputation, and both can be best preserved by sacrificing "Wat Grey. Wat Grey must go to keep his name good. There is no need ke should really die. It will be quite enough if lie change his habi tation and bis name. "I am not strong enough to fight it out any longer. I cannot leave this house as it is, and this house is killing me. It is kill ing me slowly with its awful sights and sounds and memories. I must, I will fly. This very night I shall leave it for ever, and I shall leave it incapable of telling any tales. " At one blow I shall destroy its sights, and its sounds, and its memories, and cut myself off from it, Daneford, and the past for ever I shall get rid of all the burden I bear. I shall break away from all my old associations, all things to remind me of the past. With twenty thousand pounds in my pocket, and the whole breadth of sunny France between me and this place, I shall be at ease. They may charge my memory with the crime of theft, but X shall leave evidence of my innoceuce behind me. far leg may comeback and accuse my came of murder; but he will have neither Wat Grey nor evidence against Wat Grey, for Wat Grey and the evidence again &t him will disappear together, and I will live a quiet life beyond the Alps or the Pyre nees." He leant back in his chair and re viewed his preparations with the deliberate complaisance of one whose plans were un assailable. '.' Yes, eveiythiog so far is arranged. I bave the jmoney. I have the letter written to Aldridge, saving I euelose Sir William's acknowledgment for the amount of Consols converted into cash a f. his re quest, and Handed to him on this the day of his wedding with Miss Midharst. I also tell Aidridge I send him this to put in the strong-room, as I shall not go into town to-morrow, but-stay at home attending to some final business connected with the Midharst affairs. I have paid ail the small legacies, and made investments to yield the I annuities. For two months I hive been sleeping in the to\\er-room, so that no one will expect me to sleep anywhere else. 1 have got that rope-ladder ready to hook on the bar of the back wiudow, and the piece of twine rove through the hook to unship the ladder when 1 am down safe oq tlie ground. Once 1 am on the ground I start on my way to France, and I walk to-night at the burial of the past. There cau be no hitch. Things must run smooth. To morrow I shall be free ! Free 1" JHe stood up and looked around him triumphantly. Suddenly his face grew pale and expressionless. He pressed bis hand to his forehead, his lips opened feebly, anil he muttered : "I have forgotten something ! I have forgotten something !" He dropped down in his chair, and for a few minutes his face did not alter. All at once the natural look came back. He rose again, shook himself briskly, and said : " Another of those half-fainting fits I have been free from so long. They were worst when my mind jvas smost tortured. Of late I have been almost free from them. They will disappear altogether when I yet south, and to-morrow at this hour I shall he out of bondage." It was no.w time to set out for the Castle. It had been arranged that he should attend and give away the bride. "Itl am not present," said the banker to Sir William, " there will be no end of remarks made, and if I do attend it will be as Miss Midharst's guardianjin which capacity, there being no relatiyp, I ought to give away the bride." And Sir William, seeing no harm in this, and wanting to avert comment as much as possible, consented. A full year had not elapsed since the death of Sir Alexander, but several con siderations beyond the impatience of the baronet made 'ft desirable the wedding should take place at once. Maud was alone in the world and had no protector but him. She was in mourn ing, and .objected to go to London and be brought out so soon after her father's death. Xhe Castle was lonely and dreary. They were engaged to be married, and it could make no difference to anyone, and could be no offence against the puny laws of society, if they got married within tne year and lived quietly at the Castle until the time of mourning had passed, "i hen they could go to London. They should know very few people at firat.but that would soon be alteied. So the marriage had been fixed to take place oh Wednesday the eight of August, 1877. Xhe wedding was to be strictly private. No one was to be present but Mrs Grant and Mr Orey. The ceremony was to be performed by the rector, and the tenants were informed that thebrjfle and bridegroom desired no demonstration of any kind. After the ceremony Sir William and Lady Midharst were to return to the Castle, where no unusual preparation would be made to receive them. THb simple programme wss carried out without let or accident. Grey and the baronet drove from Daneford, Maud and Mrs Grant from the Castle, to the Quiet country church, where the rector performed the short service by request. In the vestry Sir William handed Grey an envelope con taining something. Ho said, " Thia is it, Grey. No more. From the church the four drove back to Island Ferry. Here Grey bade the party good-bye. Sir William in sayipg good-Dye added, under his breath, so that no one but Grey beard him, "forever." Grey echoes the " for ever " in his heart, but took no farther notice of the supplement to the farewell. The banker then drove back to the Manor House. " My last viait to the Castle," he thought, as he swept up the carriage-drive. '■ My last entry into the Manor House. To-day I bid a life-long adieu to the Weird Sisters. lam not sorry. lam over weary and want rest. I have allowed nothing to stand be tween me and ambition. 1 have lost the game and now I want only peace. Whai i have done cannot be undone. In a new climate, among new people, the past, the Weird Sisters, the Towers of Silence, and the story of my tower will fade into the background, and the thing of the seven teenth of August will become as vague and shadowy to my mind as the story of the ■Spanish lady whose bones were found on the top of the tow<*-r in Warfinger Castle." He had many things to arrange at the Manor-that day, and had determined not to go to the Bank. He opened the enve lope Sir William had given him, and found in it what he had been promised : a receipt in full of claims upon him in settlement of Misa Midbarat's money. This receipt he put into the letter he had already written for Aldridge and posted it. There had been trouble about the marriage settlement, but as Grey was guardian, and th« Baronet knew ,all about, the money, things, had gone smoothly in the end. He spent most of the remainder of the day in the library looking through various

books and accounts, but having slight interest in them. Tbe day btifore a girl marries she cfmnot take a very lively in. terest in the srardener's work at her father's house. She is going t>> wear another name, break from old associations and take up her re?idence iii a new home. By to-morrow Grey would have changed his name, broken from old asiociations, and taKen up his residence in a Dew home. Uay grew on snd at last dinner-hour arrived. He was too much excited to eat; he piayed with a cutlet, and drank three glasses of marvellous brown sherry for which he was famous. After dinner, al though he rarely touched spirits, he had a glass of brandy-anci-water with his cigar. At eigiit o'clock he rang for coffee. When James came with it he said :" I am going to bed soon, I shall not require you or any of tbe others again to-uight. I shall want breakfast halt an hour earlier in the morning, at eight o'clock. Call me at live minutes to seven. lam not going to town to-morrow, but shall stay at home all day. Good-nifiht." Grey waited a few minutes to give James time to qct out of hearing. Then he rose, and took his way to the room he had slept in of late, the 'first floor of the Tower of Silence. It was now half-pa*t eight. " In half an hour I shall be free." he ex claimed rapturously to himself, as he turned up the Mas. de shook the thick shutters of the window to ascertain that they were secure. tie lit a cmrlle, went up those hideous stairs to the first floor, bolted the shutters on the front window mere and the shutters on the landiog window. " I do not want the neighbours ro sec it too soon or they might come aod rescue me " He chuckicd at ibe i.iea of being rescued, and descended to the storey beneath. On the landing here the window stood open. He looked out. All was still below. None of his household had ever uccasion to go to ths rear of the house after nightfall. No f-trant:er could approach the house at the rear unless by passing through that hideous grove. Tin night was calm and dark and still. " Nothing could be bettrr," thought Grey, as he fixeii the hooks of a ladder of ropes to an iron bar of a small balcony, and ascer tained that the twine by which these hooks were to be unshipped ran freely through the ring screwed into the window-frame. "All's well," he thought. "Now be quick I" tioing back again into the first-floor room, he rapidly took oil' his black irock coat, ligir, trousers, and waistcoat, and put on a tiaht-fitting corduroy suit, a pair of 'alse whiskers and mustaches, and a low round hat. When this was done he looked in the glass, and started back with a shout. "By Jove 1" Cried he, after a moment ; " I thought all was lost. I thought my own re lleeii.n was another man's ! 1 am already another man. I feel it in every fibre. No one who know me, and thiokn I am dead, would recognise me. I might walk down the streets oE Daueford to raorrowyand talk about my own sad end to my most intimate friend, and he would not recognise me. The D.meford Bank would open an account for me to-morrow in the name of Grey, and observe no likeness be tween their new cusiomer and their old master. lam a new man already. I feel new blood iv all my veins, new einewe in all my limbs ; the nightmare of the past is vanishing ; I shall sleep now of nights, and whistle once more while I dress of mornings. Ten thousand times better this feeling than all the pomp my ambition, longed for with the canker and the care.1' He took from the pocket of the coat be had removed a small packet, thinking: " All I want is the money, Tweaty thousand pounds will be a large fortune in either Spain or Italy." He threw thecioihea he had worn on the bed, opened the cupboard, and took out one after another four cans. Two of these he emptied over his own bed, one on the floor and furniture, and one on the lauding and first flight of stairs. Turpentine ] He then threw the four cans on the bad, wrenched off the gas-brackets and set fire to the gas at the ends of the broken pipes. He cast one hasty glaiice around. "All right!" He struck a match and held it to the saturated bed. A little spirt of flame shot out of the counterpane to the match. The spirit of flame then fell back aod spread slowly until it formed a spire as large as a pine-cone. Grey backed to the door and seized the handle. From that cono flashed twenty javelins of light this way aud that. The air of the room sobbed, and a solid mass of white flame stood up over that bed. Swiftly opening the door Grey sprang oat, and shut the door leading to the landing. A second he stood there, threw up his hands and cried in a husky voice : " Saved !" He looked out of the window. " All right." He put his hand on the iron bar, " Quite firm." Suddenly he drew back. Had he seen anyone below 1 No. He put his hand on his breast. "The money is here," he whispered to himself, "but I have forgotten something. What is it ?" A few seconds passed and he yelled :" I know 1 I know ! What I for got is on the roof.'1 With furious speed he dashed up the noisome stairs. A8 he did so there arose a soft flapping sound at the doo- on the landing and a lazy serpent of white flame crawled a«ross the lanuing and climbed up the stairs. A sweetheart of one of the maid servants, leaving the Manor House by the side door at half-past nine, saw fire issuing from the window on the first floor of the tower, ran back to' the servants' hall, and gave the alarm. By that time the fire raged madly, riot ing on the par»hed woodwork of the stair case and the dry joists and planks of the floors. Xhe staircase was a cavern of white ilame. In front of the glare rushed a fierce column of black suffocating smoke. Twice already had a man tried to force his way down, and twice be had been driven back before the scalding vapour. Now he crouched on the roof in the corner furthest from the tank. By ten a, email crowd had assembled and he could hear men at work. The roof was getting hot; now and then the opening lrom the staircase panted forth a cloud of sparks. " If they 866 me tbey will try to save me, They will come here, find out all, and save me—for the gallows. Better the fire." He crouched closer and held his breath lest they should hear him breathe. He had no memory of how he came to that roof. He must nave rushed there in one of those unconscious moments. At half-past ten red tongues began to issue from the opening in the roof. By a quarter to eleven the weight of the tank told on the sapped roof, That portion showed signs of subsidence. Still the man crouched low, bis eyes now fixed in agonised expectation on the tank. The man on the roof heard the clocks of Dune ford strike eleven. Just then the tank trembled, swayed a moment, then shot downward with a roar. Up'

the hate matte by it danced a cloud of flame. The maa en the roof sprang to his feet and with » shout leaped on the parapet crying: c "Help ! JTelp ! For God's salce, help !" With that tank the evidence against him had vanished. A groan came-up from the people below and then a cheer " The fire-escape is coming. Have courage !" Shidinghis eyes with his hands he looked in the direction of the lodge, and saw ap. proaching by the carriage-way the fire escape " Help ! Quick !" " Courage, Wat! We will save yon 1" Another crash. Something warm straclr his back. He turned round. AH the roof was gone now. He looked Into a pool of flame. j\ fiercer blow than tho former. Sight gone. Head giddy. Ah! They saw the flame touch him; they saw him thrust his arms before hia face They saw him sway, and fall into the crater. They knew he had lost hia life in the tower that night, but they cover knew that tower was the tomb of husband and wife. " Well Maud, as we are not leaving home for our honeymoon, and there is only one place in the Castle where you have nover been—the top of the Tower of bilence, sup. pjse we takrt lanterns and go there for an hour. I :.m curious to tee this historic tower, this Weird Sifter dowered with a legend of blood. You are not afraid to go-" "I should like to go There is nothing I would like better. It will be an adven ture." When they were there he said : ■' I am glad we came. We are promised a glorious view presently. /There is the moon rising." "The moon does not rise there. It rises here," poiutiug. " 'hen there must he a fire." " That is the direction of tbo Manor House " (Concluded.)

ATTACK O N VICTORIA BARRACKS, SYDNEY.

A Madman Among the Soldiers? Some six or seven months ago, a letter, of ■which the following is a copy, was found by a son of Quarter-Sergeant Little, under the gate of the barracks at Paddington:— " DECLARATION OF -WAR. " The Government having passed a bill for the purpose of abolishing religion from all the schools, I, for one, am determined to resist unto blood, striving against this deadly sin. "They also gag the Press against the Word of God, for a person writing in favour of God's Word cannot get his statements printed for any money. 1 speak trom ex perience. "As I cannot in conscience attack un armed people, I must therefore attack the military, and because I cannot bear the idea of any man while unarmed, and I feel com pelled to write this notice. " 1 am determined to defend the Word of God to my last drop of blood and my last breath. " Get ready for battle I Look out I "A SCOTCHMAN." The letter was laughed at, and then £or gotten, until the occurrence of yesterday, revived it, and it is supposed the madman of yesterday, for such he is supposed to be, are one and the same. The soldiers in the barracks yesterday afternoon pursuing their usual avocations, were in fancied security, when an elderly man approached the gate, and, dropping on one knee, deliberately aimed a revolver at a sentinel, liobert Grant, and fired two shots, one of them taking effect just above the ankle. The wounded man, not having a cartridge about him, waved, hia rifle and shouted, and this, together with the ;sbots, alarmed the rest of the guards who were in the guardhouse. The attacking; panty stormed the guardroom, from which its previous occupants beat a hasty and masterly retreat, to watch proceedings from ,t_he "vantage ground" of keyholes. He (the attacking party) took up his position commanding the door and window facing the entrance, and the two windows over looking tne parade ground and roads lead ing to the men's quarters, to keep nis hand in, be fired a few playful shots through the window at the sentry, and also tried to find a lodgment for some leaden pellets in De tective Perie's person. The detective, dis covering that the revolver was then empty, commenced parleying with the man In pos session, and induced him, just by way of showing there was no coolness between them, to shake hands, which they did through a broken window pane. But that grip was as treacherous as the kiss ola Jndas, and while the detective gave a most effective eagle-grip, two artilleiymen, Loyd and an other, scrambled through a window and took the enemy from the rear. The prisoner, then in occupation of the citadel, was a man by no means tobedespised.for he held a six-chambered revolver of about 35 bore, and had abont him upwards of a hundred cartridges. The prisoner proves to be an Aberdeen man, aged 54 years, a labourer, but it has not yet been ascertained where he resided. After his capture he referred to having sent a letter, to which he had not received any reply. Grant has been removed to the hospital for treat ment. At the Quarter Sessions, Hunter was brought up for trial. His Honor Judge Wilkinson, seeing what was veryapparent to every one, that prisoner was insane, ad vised him to withdraw bis plea of guilty, in order that the case might be tried by a jury. i his he strenuously refused to do, alleging "that the •Weekly Advocate' had slandered our Saviour, and that it was published under Government sanction, and as the soldiers upheld the Government' he held it to be his duty to shed the blood of the soldiers." His Honor pointed out that there were others besides soldiers who up held the authority of the Government, and the Crown Prosecutor suggeited "Judges, for instauce," whereupon prisoner said, "I can't deal with inferior persons. (Laugh ter.) lam an old s Irlier myself, and intend to deal with the soldiers." Being again pressed to plead not guilty, he replied, " I have pledged myself to defend our Saviour's name and reputation from slanderers, and I dare not flinch from my duty, be the con. sequences what they may. That newspaper munt be put down, and if one plan doesn't snoceed I must try another." Sentence of 12 months' imprisonment was then passed, His Honor intimating that prisoner's mental condition should be represented to the proper authorities.

" See there !" exclaimed a returned Irish soldier to a gaping crowd as he oxkibited with some pride his tall hat with a, ballet hole ia it: " Look at that hole, boys. If it had been a low-crowned hat, bcdad it's my 1 head tfctt would have the hole tn it."

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, AUGUST 25, 1883,

8