THIS miscreant, emboldened by the impunity with which he has for months past robbed travellers and levied blackmail from the squatters in the Albury district, occasionally diversifying his exploits by burning down a woolshed or destroying a settler’s account books, has added two murders to his crimes. On the 19th ult., he encountered Sergeant Carroll, of Wagga Wagga, about twenty miles from Albury, and several shots were exchanged without effect. During the afternoon of the same day he visited the Roundhill station, belonging to Messrs. Henty, and, after dismounting, put his horse into the stable. There were a number of men about the huts, whom the ruffian, with a revolver in each hand, ordered to go into the carpenter’s shop, and after asking Mr. Watson, the superintendent, if the men got enough rations, ordered him to go and bring four bottles of grog, which were drank; after carousing for hours, Morgan was about taking his departure, when Mr. Watson incautiously made some remark about stolen stirrup irons.
When and where is it to end? is the remark made by everybody. Are we never to hear the end of Morgan? Apparently not, until in a drunken fit, or by the accidental discharge of his own revolver, the world is rid of the now doubly-dyed miscreant.