of life, but who will now be raised to a condition of affluence.  The father has been interviewed, and stated to a reporter that he has been much gratified by the expressions of sympathy which have been showered upon his son from all sides.  This morning a local florist sent LARRIKIN a beautiful wreath, in which the prisoner’s initials and those of his victims were tastefully intertwined in violets.  LARRIKIN was much touched, and his eyes filled with tears, which, however, he succeeded in repressing by a strong effort.  His self-control and courage are the admiration of the officials, by whom he will be greatly missed.  All day he has been busy packing up the furniture with which, by special permission, his little cell has been provided by his many admirers, and the interior has already lost much of its late dainty and cosy appearance.  LARRIKIN has been whistling a good deal,—­though, as the day wore on, the tunes he executed became of a less lively character.  Towards evening, however, he recovered his ordinary high spirits, and even danced a “cellar-flap” for the entertainment of his Warders.  A telegram has just been handed to him from an anonymous sender, who is understood to be a person of some eminence in bird-stuffing circles, which contained these words—­“You are to be hung on my Aunt’s silver-wedding day.  Keep your pecker up.”  On reading this message.  LARRIKIN came more near to breaking down than he has done hitherto.  He has selected the clothes he is to wear on his last semi-public appearance; they consist of a plain black Angora three-button lounge coat, a purple velvet waistcoat, soft doeskin trousers, a lay-down striped collar and dickey, and a light-blue necktie with a glass pin.  He has presented his only other jewellery—­an oroide ring, set with Bristol diamonds—­to the Warder who has been most attentive and devoted to him during his stay in gaol.  He is said to have stated that he freely forgave the infant whose insulting conduct provoked his outburst, as he did the nursemaid for not restraining her charge’s vivacity.  This intimation, at his express desire, will be conveyed to the parents of the deceased, and will doubtless afford them the highest consolation.

Thursday Night, Later.—­LARRIKIN is sleeping peacefully.  His features—­refined by the mental anxiety, and the almost monastic seclusion to which he has been lately subjected—­are extremely pleasing, and even handsome, set-off as they are by the clean collar which he has put on in anticipation of his approaching doom.  Before sinking into childlike slumber, he listened with evident pleasure to a banjo which was being played outside a public-house in the vicinity of the gaol.  The banjoist is now being interviewed, and believes that the air he must have been performing at the time was “The Lost Chord.”  The scaffold on which the unfortunate LARRIKIN is to expiate his imprudent act is now being erected, but the workmen’s hammers have been considerately covered with felt to avoid disturbing the slumberer.