name; the private stalls wherein this
Saturday night's cathedral worship is
performed, are crowded with a copious yet dingy
congregation; the offerings of the faithful are
abundant, yet not to be scrutinised too nicely.
Hither, presently, repairs our low-browed Idle
apprentice, with his fatal watch in his hand,
to ensure to himself the truth of the warning
that the wages of sin is death!

It is wonderful what a memory there was of
the incidents of that night. Wonderful, too, how
in general incidents of this sort are recovered from
the common mind. The next ebb of the tide, it
would be expected, should sweep away all such
vestiges, as hours, minutes, and this or that man
wearing this or that dress. There were women
there, all busy with what seems to be the chronic
Saturday night's work, of bringing and taking
away household goods. Yet they had time, by
some liveliness of observation fatal to our Idle
apprentice, to take note of him and his fatal
watch. One remembered distinctly, a strange
man, in a Glengarry cap, bargaining about the
price, and recollected the sum handed over
eventually to the strange man in the Glengarry
cap. Another knew him personally, and took
note of watch, Glengarry cap, and price.
Even the flashy girl, who chanced to be in the
shop, either from suspicion or on private business
of her own, heard the whole transaction.
Finally, the proprietor, bearing the suggestive
name of Gamble, had his ledger, or pawn
chronicle, wherein was set out price and number
of watch, with fictitious name, which name the
women had heard the strange man in the
Glengarry cap giving in.

That night he was seen and spoken with in
many roads and places, wandering hither and
thither, like a guilty spectre. And the family up
at the little white cottages dotted on the hill at
Miltown wondered that their son did not come
home: never dreaming that he was but a
hundred yards or so from their own door, lying
in the damp bed of the Lagan, with his skull
frightfully battered in, and the round stone and
handkerchief lying beside him. And so that day
ended.

In the morning, a Sunday-school girl, tripping
home, looked in at the home of the Idle
apprentice, and found him at his fire, washing
his feet. Later in the day she came again, and
found him walking up and down, jingling money
merrily in his pocket, so that his wife, who was
by, actually called out with a sort of horror,
"Good God! how did you come by that
money?" He then sat down by the fire and
got the Sunday-school girl to take a thorn out
of his wrist with a needle. A fact in itself but
of indifferent importance, as a point of evidence,
but not without a connexion with the fact that,
at the bank over the spot where the body was
to be found, hereafter, and only there, was a
bush of brambles with thorns of the same sort.

Suspicion now became justly excited.
Inquiries began to be made, and with no satisfactory
result. Finally, marks of a struggle were
discovered on the bank; these led to the river
being dragged; and the body of the hapless
Industrious apprentice was at last found and
brought to the bank. The whole of the back of
the skull was terribly shattered; suitable result,
indeed, from a blow of the fearful instrument
found near him—the smooth round stone tied
up so neatly in the sling handkerchief. This
handkerchief was shown to have been given to
the wretched murderer, long before, by the
flashy girl—a sort of sweetheart's present, and
which she recognised by a rent in it which she
herself had mended with her needle and thread.

All things, therefore, pointed to the Idle
apprentice with irresistible force. He had been
seen going to the water in company with the
murdered man; he had been seen coming away
alone; the minutes had all been balanced and
accounted for. The time before and after the
bloody deed, had been calculated to a nicety;
the distance fitted exactly with the times. And
yet there was one thing wanting—the exact
moment when the deed itself was done. That, a
dumb witness was found to prove. Another
fatal watch, which the wicked Idle apprentice
little thought would ever testify against him,
was in the pocket of the deceased when he was
flung down from the high bank into the Lagan
waters: the watch which was given privately
in the kitchen. In a few seconds the water
had reached the works, and it stopped, with the
hands pointing to a quarter past seven! The two
watches played the part of avenging furies, and
brought the murderer to the condemned cell.

This little history is a literal abridgment of a
trial for murder recently concluded at Belfast,
Daniel Ward, the person who has been spoken
of as the Idle apprentice, was the wretched man
who murdered his friend for a silver watch. He
was well and ingeniously defended; but a
masterly reply from the leading counsel for the
crown sealed his destiny. He now lies waiting
until what is called the extreme sentence of the
law shall be carried out.

MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S READINGS.
HANOVER SQUARE ROOMS. On Tuesday Evening, April 21,
MR. CHARLES DICKENS will read his
DAVID COPPERFIELD,
AND
MR. BOB SAWYER'S PARTY FROM PICKWICK.
On Thursday Evening, April 23, his
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY AT MR. SQUEERS'S
SCHOOL,
AND
BOOTS AT THE HOLLY TREE INN.
And on Tuesday Evening, April 28, his
CHRISTMAS CAROL, AND THE TRIAL
FROM PICKWICK.
Stalls, 5s. Centre Seats, 2s. Back Seats, 1s.
Tickets to be had at the Office of All the Year Round, 26, Wellington-
street, Strand; of Mr. JOHN POTTLE, 14 and 15, Royal Exchange,
City; Messrs. CHAPMAN and HALL'S, Publishers, 193, Piccadilly; at
AUSTIN'S Ticket Office, St. James's Hall; and at PAYNE'S Ticket
Office, Hanover Square Rooms.