Peter Mackenzie of the Gazette Office"-on that he trembled; but we soothed him by saying that he need have no fears, for we would not touch a hair of his head, nor do him the slightest particle of harm. On this he grinned a ghastly smile. "Where are all your 'friends' now?" we asked. He replied, "I have no friends, sir." "What! James, don't you remember the ship 'Friends,' and the skuttled 'Mary,' at Port-Dundas." He gave a deep groan, and wished to move away with the boy and the dog. We again assured him, as did Dr. Davie, that he need be under no fears from us, for although we might have gone, as others perhaps would, and informed upon him, to Mr. George Salmond, Procurator-Fiscal, and pocketed the one hundred guineas of reward so frequently offered for his apprehension, we thought it was better in every view, at this remarkable stage, to allow him to go in peace, and caulk his ships, or adjust his insurances for another world, "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”

On his death-bed, soon afterwards, he sent a message to us to come and see him. We almost regret we did not do so. Certainly we did not covet his means or estate; but it is the fact that, without any children of his own, he died, leaving nearly £3000 sterling, under a Deed prepared for him by the late Mr. John Monteith, writer. Thus ends our chapter of John M'Dougall and James Menzies.

Our ensuing chapter will enter on the field of Waterloo, and describe some scenes of surpassing interest, including the story of a gallant youth, born in humble life in this city of Glasgow, who rose, under the most extraordinary circumstances, to become one of the best and bravest

officers, in one of the most celebrated regiments in the British service, and led that regiment into action, and fell gloriously at its head; leaving his sisters in Glasgow in a manner which will excite the astonishment, and perhaps bring tears to the eyes of many ladies and gentlemen in this city. "Tis a sacred duty entrusted to us by the dead long ago, and we shall endeavour to perform it with all the accuracy and fidelity in our power, from the original documents committed to us. Our only fear is, that we shall have to speak about ourselves in a way we can scarcely avoid, if we are to reveal the astonishing story at all; but in that respect we shall throw ourselves very candidly on the generosity of our readers, having no fears, after it is once told, that any one of them will be angry at us for divulging it in all its thrilling and tragical details.

CHAPTER X.

AFFECTING CASE-THE STORY OF COL. HAMILTON OF THE SCOTS GREYS, KILLED AT WATERLOO, AND OF HIS SISTERS IN GLASGOW.

"TRUTH is stranger than fiction," and this, we think, will be strikingly illustrated by some parts, at least, of the remarkable story which we are now about to enter upon, and to publish in this shape, for the first time in the city of Glasgow. The foundation of it belongs to the city itself. Some of the chief and more remarkable features about it were only known personally to ourselves, with a few gentlemen, two of whom only are now alive. We happened to be entrusted with some of the original documents about it, which still remain in our possession, and with which we shall never part till we close our eyes in this world, and then they may be scattered to the four winds of heaven. These documents, we may remark, were closely examined at one time by our departed friend Dr. Davie, Town - Clerk of Glasgow, and he frequently beseeched us to publish the whole story, which created a deep impression on his mind. The only delicacy-if delicacy it can be called, which could preclude us from doing so, is, that we must necessarily engraft our own

name on some remarkable parts of it; but we may safely pledge ourselves that we will give it in all its entirety, from first to last, without bringing one single blush to the cheek of any lady or gentleman who may honour us with a perusal of these pages. We therefore proceed with our present task.

There came rapping to our doors in Portland Street, Laurieston, fully more than thirty years ago, when we were next door neighbours of the Rev. Dr. Wm. Anderson, as we were for six or eight years; these forming the happiest portion probably of our lives, though we were then incessantly engrossed with politics and other things, consequent on the passing of the Reform Bill, and the first exciting elections upon it;-there came rapping and knocking at our door in that place, on a Saturday afternoon, after our writings in the Old Loyal Reformers' Gazette had been joyously finished for the week, a fine, tall, commanding Irishwoman, well-dressed, bordering perhaps on forty or fifty years of age. She sought to be admitted on "urgent business," and she was admitted by one of our servants, and curtsied, and thus introduced herself

"Och, your honour; I've heard of you! My husband was a sergeant in the Scots Greys, at the battle of Waterloo. The Colonel of his regiment, whom he adored, was a Glasgow gentleman-(we looked surprised)-Yes, your honour, he was born and bred in Glasgow. He was killed on the field of battle. Colonel James Inglis Hamilton was his name. And O, gracious God," she exclaimed, clasping her hands, "his beloved sisters-two of them, are starving to death for want of bread in a most wretched, miserable hovel in this town." We stared with some interest at the bold, excited, but eloquent Irish

woman, at this startling introduction on her part. We said it was incredible-hardly to be believed. "Here sir," she said, "are my marriage lines; here are some of the letters to me from my dear husband, describing the battle, and his Colonel's death on the field of glory at Waterloo." We glanced at the obvious genuine appearance of them. Sit down, we said, good woman; and she proceeded with her story, which we could no longer resist; and she wept about her husband, and the slain Colonel and others at Waterloo. She opened up from her white handkerchief some other documents, which we carefully examined on the spot, for we confess we have often been imposed upon in our day, and sometimes in a manner that might form the groundwork of many racy chapters indeed, and almost make the hair stand on the very head of Captain Smart himself, and others in the Police Office.

After closely examining her papers, we signified our conviction of their accuracy, that she was the undoubted wife of one of the sergeants of the gallant Greys at Waterloo. If she was eloquent before, she became more eloquent now, for she burst into a flood of tears. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, " are the sisters of the Colonel of my darling husband to be left to perish, on to-morrow's Sabbath-day, for the want of the common necessaries of life, in the city of Glasgow?"

The desperate nature of that appeal-the unadorned eloquence which brought it from that woman's mouth, made, we confess, an impression upon us at the moment which has never been effaced. But in order still further to attest the truth of the most clamant of her other statements-we were satisfied with the written documents above referred to-we asked her if she would at once proceed and accompany us to the residence of those ladies,