“Adopting,” said Moon explosively, for he was getting restive—”adopting the reverend gentleman’s favourite figure of logic, may I say that while tortures would not tear from me a whisper about his intellect, he is a blasted old jackass.” “Really!” said Dr. Pym; “I protest.” “You must keep quiet, Michael,” said Inglewood; “they have a right to read their story.” “Chair! Chair! Chair!” cried Gould, rolling about exuberantly in his own; and Pym glanced for a moment towards the canopy which covered all the authority of the Court of Beacon. “Oh, don’t wake the old lady,” said Moon, lowering his voice in a moody good-humour. “I apologize. I won’t interrupt again.” Before the little eddy of interruption was ended the reading of the clergyman’s letter was already continuing. “The proceedings