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On the following Wednesday--Thursday being the market day in Sydney--old David Weir loaded his cart and made his way to the Australian metropolis. True to his word with his wife, he did not mention to a soul one syllable, touching the ghost. Having disposed of his butter, eggs, poultry and maize, the old man left Sydney at 4 p.m., and at half-past ten arrived at Dean's public house.

He had travelled in that space of time thirty miles, and was now about eight or nine from home. As was his wont, he here baited his horse, but declined taking any refreshment himself, though pressed to do so by several travellers who wanted to "treat" him. During the whole day he had been remarkably abstemious.

At a quarter to twelve the old man re-harnessed his jaded horse and was about to resume his journey when two men, who were going to Penrith, asked him for "a lift."

"Jump up, my lads," said old David; and off they were driven at a brisk walk. One of the men in the cart was a ticket-of-leave man in the employ of Mr. Cox, and had been to Sydney to attend "muster." The other was a newly-appointed constable of the district. Both of these men had lived for several years in the vicinity of Penrith and knew by sight all of the inhabitants, male and female, free and bond.

When they neared the spot where the old man had seen the apparition, he walked the horse as slowly as possible and again beheld the figure of Mr. Fisher seated on the upper rail of the fence, and in precisely the same attitude and the same dress.

"Look there!" said old David to the two men, "what is that?"

"It is a man!" they both replied. "But how odd! It seems as if a light were shining through him!"

"Yes," said old David; "but look at him; what man is it?"

"It is Mr. Fisher," they said, simultaneously.

"Hold the reins, one of you," said old David. "I'll go and speak to him. They say he is at home in England, but I don't believe it."

Descending from the cart, the old man, who was as brave as a lion, approached the spectre and stood within a few feet of it. "Speak!" he cried. "Don't you know me, sir? I am David Weir. How came you by that gash in your forehead? Are you alive or dead, Mr. Fisher?" To these questions no answer was returned. The old man then stretched forth his hand and placed it on what appeared to be Mr. Fisher's shoulder; but it was only empty air vacant space--that the intended touch rested upon!

"There has been foul play!" said the old man, addressing the spectre, but speaking sufficiently loud to be heard by both men in the cart. "And, by heaven, it shall be brought to light! Let me mark the spot." And with these words he broke off several boughs from a tree near the rail and placed them opposite to where the spectre remained sitting. Nay, further, he took out his clasp-knife and notched the very part on which the right hand of the spectre rested.

Even after the old man returned to the cart the apparition of Mr. Fisher, exactly as he was in the flesh, was "palpable to the sight" of all three men. They sat gazing at it for full ten minutes, and then drove on in awe and wonderment.