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The hearing of the charge against the Marquis of Queensberry of maliciously publishing a false and defamatory libel concerning Mr. Oscar Wilde was resumed yesterday morning before Mr. Justice Collins at the Central Criminal Court.

Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. C. Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution; Mr Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill for the defence; and Mr. Besley, Q.C., and Mr. Monckton for Lord Douglas of Hawick.

The cross examination of Mr. Wilde by Mr. Carson, which was in progress at the time of the adjournment on Wednesday, was continued. The witness said that he was on intimate terms with Taylor, and so continued until the present time. It was Taylor who arranged to meet him and Wood in reference to the letters at Taylor's house in Little College-street. He had known Taylor since the early part of October of the previous year. Taylor visited him at his house, at his chambers, and at the Savoy Hotel. He occupied the upper part of the house, and might have four rooms. He did not know whether Taylor kept a servant, or whether he used to do his own cooking. Sometimes Taylor and sometimes a friend opened the street door. The rooms were not peculiar, except that they exhibited more taste than was usual in rooms of the kind. They were very pretty.

Is it true that the double curtains were always drawn across the windows, and that candles were lighted both day and night?—Quite untrue, I should say. I can remember seeing daylight in the room. It was about the 12th of March. I went in the middle of the day.

Were the rooms strongly perfumed?—I have known him to burn perfumes in his rooms. I cannot say that it was always so, but it was the same as I used to do in my rooms. I met a man named Mayor there once, and sent Taylor last Sunday to try and find him.

Had you any particular business with Taylor?—No; no business at all. He was a young man of great taste and intelligence. He wrote good English and had been brought up at a good public school. He used to listen well. (Laughter.) We used to discuss artistic subjects.

Was he an artist? —He was not an artist to create anything, but he had great taste, and was intellectual and clever. I did not get him to arrange dinners for me to meet young men, but I have dined with him about 12 times, perhaps, at restaurants in Rupert-street—the Florence, Kettner's, the Solferino—generally in private rooms, as I prefer dining in private rooms.

Did you send him this telegram—"Can you call at six o'clock? Oscar, Savoy?"—Yes; I was staying at the Savoy at the time. I wanted to see him because I had had an anonymous letter saying that Wood was going to blackmail me about letters which had been stolen from Lord Alfred Douglas. The matter was discussed then. "Fred" was a young man to whom I was introduced by a gentleman—a friend of mine. His other name was Atkins.

You were very familiar with him?— What do you mean by familiar? I liked him.

You told me yesterday that you always called people whom you liked by their Christian names.—Yes, I always do when I like a man. I used to meet Fred at Taylor's, but 1 do not know whether I have met him at tea parties there. He used to call me by my Christian name, and Taylor and I used to call him Fred. I never heard that Taylor was being watched by the police; but I did hear that Taylor and Parker were arrested in a raid made by the police on a house in Fitzroy-square. I knew Parker, but I did not see him at Taylor's rooms.

How many young men did Taylor introduce to you?—I should think six, or seven, or eight.

With whom you afterwards became intimate or friendly—I should think about five.

Whom you would call by their Christian names ?—Yes.

Were those young men always about 20 years of age?—Twenty or 22. I like the society of young men.

Were any of them of any occupation?—Really I cannot say. If you ask me in regard to people's occupation I really cannot tell you.

Have you given money to all of the five?—Yes, to all of the five, I should think—I should say money and presents. They gave me nothing. Taylor introduced me to Charles Barker, with whom I became friendly.

Was he a gentleman's servant out of employment?—I have no knowledge; I never heard it.

If you had known that he was a gentleman's servant out of employment, would you have become friendly with him?—I would become friendly with any person whom I liked.

What was his age?—I do not know. I think he was about 20, but whether he was only 17 or not I do not know. I have never asked him his age. I think it vulgar to ask people their ages.

Was he an artist ?—No. Was he educated?—Culture was not his strong point. (Laughter.) I do not know about his past life. I never inquire about people's past. I have not the remotest idea what he is now. I have lost sight of him. I have given him altogether, perhaps, £4 or £5.

What for?—Because he was poor; and what better reason could I have for giving money. I first met him with Alfred Taylor. His brother was with him.

Did you become friendly with his brother?—They were my guests at the restaurant.

On the first occasion that you saw them?—Yes. It was Taylor's birthday, and I asked him to dinner, and told him to bring his friends.

Did you know that one of them was a gentleman's valet, and the other a gentleman's groom?—I did not know it, and if I had known it I should not have cared. I do not care twopence about social position.

What was your reason for being with these young men? —The pleasure of being with those who are young, bright, happy, careless, and original.I am surprised at your description of them. They appeared to me to be very pleasant and nice. One of them—Charley Parker—was anxious to go on the stage.

Did you call him "Charley?"—Yes.

Was it a good dinner?—I forget the menu. It was Kettner's best. I entertained Mr. Taylor and his friends in a private room. I should think that was in March, 1893.

The first evening?—Yes.

Did you give them an intellectual treat?—They seemed deeply impressed. (Laughter.)

During the dinner did you become more intimate with "Charley" than with the others ?—Oh, yes.

Did he call you "Oscar?"—Oh, yes. I told him to. I like to be called either "Oscar" or "Mr. Wilde." I put him at his ease at once.

Did you give them plenty of champagne?—I gave them whatever they wanted to drink. There was no particular kind of drink.

Did you give this valet plenty to drink?—Not an inordinate quantity of drink. They were served the same as I was. I did not stint them. What gentleman would?

No, what gentleman would stint a valet—I strongly object to that sort of question.

After dinner did you say to Charley, "This is the boy for me?"—No. I went back to the Savoy. I did not take him with me. I did not drive him to the Savoy Hotel. I was staying there, my wife being in Italy.

Did you give Charley iced champagne? Is that a favourite drink of yours?—Yes; strongly against my doctor's orders. I did not give him any money at Kettner's. At no time did he ever come to the Savoy. I saw him afterwards, and it was not until the month of December, 1893, that I gave him any money.

Did you ask Taylor what these young men were?—No. It was sufficient for me to know that they were friends of his. Parker told me that his desire was to go on to the stage, but what the ambition of the others was I do not know. Taylor did not tell me that he met them in the St. James's Restaurant. I had rooms in St. James's-place from October, 1893, to March, 1894, and Parker came there to tea perhaps five or six times. I liked his society. I gave him a Christmas present—not a chain or ring, I gave him a cigarette-case.

Did you give him money ?—Yes, I gave him about £3 or £4. He was hard up and asked me to assist him. Nothing particular occurred on that occasion. He merely had his tea, smoked, and enjoyed himself.

What was there in common between you and a young man in the position of this young man ?—Well, I will tell you. I delight in the society of men younger than myself. I like those who may be glad, young, and careless. I recognise no social distinctions of any kind between them and myself, and to me the mere fact of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than be cross-examined in Court even. (Laughter.)

Then do I understand that even a young boy whom you picked up off the street would be a pleasing companion to you?—Oh, I would talk to a street arab with pleasure.

And take him into your rooms ?—Be it so; yes, if he interested me. Parker has lunched with me at the Café Royal, but I have never called upon Charley Parker.

Have you ever written him a beautiful letter?—I do not think that I have ever written Parker a beautiful letter.

Have you any letters from him?—I think there is one.

Will you give it to me?

Sir E. Clarke—After the way in which my learned friend has spoken of this young man, I should like you, my Lord, and the Jury, to see that letter.

Mr. Carson—Yes, the Jury can see it, and, as Parker will be in the box; they can see him too.

Cross-examination continued—I did not visit Parker at 60, Park-walk, Chelsea, in March or April of last year at midnight.

Is his house 10 minutes' walk from Tite-street?—I do not know. I never walk. (Laughter.)

You never walk?—Never.

Then, I suppose, in paying your visits, you would go in a cab?—Yes.

And in paying those visits you would leave the cab outside the door?—Yes, certainly, if it was a good cab. I do not think that I have seen Parker since February of last year. I have heard that he has gone into the Army as a driver. I read in a newspaper that he and Taylor were arrested. I was very much distressed about it, but the Magistrate took a different view and dismissed the case. It made no difference in our acquaintanceship. I wrote to him and he wrote back to me, but I have not got his letter. Taylor came to my house on Tuesday last. I knew Fred Atkins first in 1892. He told me that he was connected with bookmakers. I was introduced to him in the rooms of the gentleman whose name you handed to me yesterday. I have never asked him to dinner or lunch. I have met him at a dinner given by the gentleman referred to—I think at Kettner's. Taylor was there. I became friendly with him at that time. I called him "Fred" and he called me "Oscar." He told me that he had neglected his business.

Did he seem to you to be an idle kind of fellow?—Oh yes, he seemed to have the charm of idleness, with an ambition to go on the music-hall stage.

Did you think him charming?—I thought he was very pleasant.

Did you discuss literature with him?—No, I would not allow him to do so.

That was not his line?—No, the art of music-halls was as far as he had got. (Laughter.)

In reply to further questions, the witness said that Atkins never lunched with him at the Café Royal, though he met him afterwards at lunch with the gentleman who had been referred to. At the suggestion of that gentleman he took Atkins to Paris, where he was going on business, as the gentleman was unable to go until two days later, and Atkins was disappointed at the possible brevity of the holiday. They remained in Paris about a fortnight, going by the Club train, and Atkins's fare was repaid to bim by the gentleman in question. Atkins did not act as his secretary, and went to Paris merely for his own pleasure. They stayed in the Boulevard des Capucines. He took Atkins to the Café Jullien, and paid for his lunch.

After lunch did you suggest to him that he should have his hair curled?—No, I told him that I thought it would be very unbecoming. He suggested it himself.

And you were of opinion that it would be unbecoming?—That was my opinion, which I have never changed.

You thought he looked better without his hair curled?—Yes, it was silly of him. It did not suit him. (Laughter.) I should have been very angry with him if he had done it. I should have been very much annoyed.

Did he get it curled?—I do not think so—not to my recollection. I saw him at dinner.

You gave him an excellent dinner?—Yes.

Plenty of wine?—Why will you ask me that question. Nobody who dines at my table is stinted in wine.

Did you give him a sovereign to go to the Moulin Rouge?—Yes. I went to a French theatre, and when I came back Atkins was in bed. The other gentleman joined us on Wednesday, we having come to Paris on Monday. Shortly after our return to London I wrote to the gentleman and asked him to bring Atkins. I was ill in bed. They both came to see me, and I thought it was very kind of them to come. I afterwards sent him tickets for my theatre and went to see him at his house in Osnaburgh-street. I gave him £3 15s. to buy his first song on the music-hall stage. He told me that poets who wrote for the music-hall stage never took less. (Laughter.)

Did you consider him a moral, respectable young man?—I don't know about respectability. He was a very pleasant, good-natured fellow. I encouraged him, and as he was going on the music-hall stage I bought him a song and went to tea in his rooms in order that I might hear him sing.

The witness, continuing, said that he was introduced to Ernest Scarfe in 1893 by Taylor. He was about 20 years of age. At the time he was doing nothing, but had previously been in Australia. He was not aware that Scarfe also had been a valet, or that his father was a valet. He was a nice, pleasant young man. He did not meet Scarfe in society, but Scarfe was in his (Mr. Wilde's) and Taylor's society. Taylor informed him that Scarfe met Lord Douglas of Hawick while on a voyage to Australia. Scarfe had dined with him. He asked him to do so because he (Mr. Wilde) was very good- natured, and it was one of the best ways of pleasing a person not in one's own social position to ask him to dine. He never gave Scarfe any money, but he gave him a cigarette-case. It was his custom to do that. He had given a great many cigarette-cases as presents. He first knew Sidney Mavor in September, 1892. He was about 25 years old. He was introduced by the gentleman to whom reference had already been made. He had not heard from him for 18 months. Perhaps he did give him a cigarette-case. He gave people cigarette cases because he liked them. He thought a month's knowledge was quite sufficient to enable him to express admiration or liking for a person. Mavor had stayed with him at the hotel in Albemarle-street as a companion for pleasure and amusement. He paid for the man's entertainment, and had dined with him several times. Walter Grainger was a servant at some rooms in High-street, Oxford. He was about 16 years old. He waited at table. He was a particularly plain boy—ugly, in fact. He mentioned that fact because of the insolent question that counsel put to him. Counsel insulted and stung and almost unnerved him by his repeated insolent questions, and there was some excuse if he appeared to answer flippantly. When he went to Goring, Grainger was brought down as under-butler. The boy had asked him to find him a place, and he acted in the matter only out of kindness. He stayed at the Savoy Hotel when his wife was out of town, but never had any boys waiting on him there or in Paris.

Re-examined by Sir E. Clarke—The letters produced were written by Lord Queensberry, and were communicated to him (Mr. Wilde) by the persons who received them with one exception. It was from them that he learned of Lord Queensberry's objection to his intimacy with his son.

Sir E. Clarke read and put in the letters. The first, which was dated April 1, from Parker's Hotel, in Albemarle-street, was addressed by Lord Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas. In it Lord Queensberry expressed his pain at having to write in such a strain, and declared that any answer must be delivered in person, as, after "your present hysterically impertinent ones" he declined to read any more letters. "Having had to leave Oxford in disgrace to yourself, the reasons of which were fully explained to me by your tutor, you are now loafing and loling about, doing nothing." The letter afterwards went on to say that Lord Queensberry utterly "declined to supply you with sufficient funds just to enable you to loaf," and added, "You are preparing a wretched future for yourself, and it would be most cruel and wrong for me to encourage you in this." Then came a reference to "your infamous intimacy with this man Wilde." "I am not going," he wrote, "to try to analyse this intimacy, and I make no charge, but my mind to pose as a thing is as bad as to be it." "No wonder people are talking as they are. I hear, on good authority, that his wife is petitioning to divorce him." It further stated :— "If I thought the actual thing was true, and it becomes public property, I should be quite justified in shooting him at sight. These Christian English cowards, and men, as they call themselves, want waking up." This letter was signed, "Your disgusted and so-called father, QUEENSBERRY."

Sir E. Clarke—Is there any truth in the statement about the petition for divorce?— There is not the slightest foundation for the statement.

Sir E. Clarke then began to read the second letter to Lord Alfred Douglas. It was dated April 3, and began :—"You impertinent young jackanapes, I request that you will not send such messages to me by telegraph."

Mr. Carson—Read the telegram from Lord Alfred Douglas to his father.

Sir E. Clarke—Certainly.

The telegram was handed in, and was as follows:— "To Queensberry, Parker's Hotel, Albemarle-street—What a funny little man you are.—ALFRED DOUGLAS."

Sir E. Clarke—In the second letter addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas the defendant said that his son's reputation has accounted for a good deal that had happened, and that if he caught him again with "that man" he would make a public scandal of what was at present only a suppressed one. He also threatened to cut off Lord Alfred's allowance. If the defendant was quite certain of the thing he would shoot the fellow on sight, but he (defendant) could only accuse him of posing. He did not believe Wilde would dare defy him. He plainly showed the white feather the other day when the defendant tackled him. In another letter to his son, which began, "You miserable creature," Lord Queensberry said that he had given instructions to tear up all future letters from Lord Alfred, and referred to the "horrible brute" to whom Lord Alfred had fallen a prey. He expressed sorrow for him as a human creature, who must, however, be allowed to "gang his ain gait." It depended upon himself whether his father would recognise him again after his behaviour. He made allowances for him as he thought he was demented, and was therefore sorry for him.

Having regard to the contents of those letters, did you or did you not think it right to disregard the wish referred to?—I thought it right to entirely disregard it.

And your friendship with Lady Queensberry and her sons has continued to the present time?—Yes. It was not true that "Dorian Gray" was purged or toned down for the English market. In consequence of what Mr. Pater said to him he modified one passage in the book. He first knew Alfred Taylor in October, 1892. He was introduced to him by the gentleman whose name had been written. That gentleman was of high position, good birth, and repute. He last saw him about February or March, 1894, but he was not available for the purposes of the trial. He knew that Taylor had lost a great deal of money in business. He was educated at Marlborough School, and played the piano very charmingly. He had no reason to believe that Taylor was an immoral or disreputable person. With regard to the arrest, Taylor wrote him that he had been given a ticket for a private benefit, at which he was to play the piano, and two music-hall singers in costume were to appear. They were, however, not in the house at the time the police came in and arrested everyone present. There was no impression left in his mind as to Taylor's impropriety. The suggestion was monstrous. John Lane, the publisher of his works, introduced him to Shelley. He afterwards talked to the young man, who had good literary taste. He saw him when he went from time to time to the house while his books were being printed, as he was often the only person in charge. In February, 1892, "Lady Windermere's Fan" was produced, and he gave Shelley a ticket for the performance. He gave him also some of his books, because Shelley admired his works. After his return from Paris Shelley dined with him and Mrs.Wilde at their house in Tite-street. He was in every way a gentleman.

Sir E. Clarke read several letters from Shelley, complaining of poverty and ill-health, and asking for pecuniary assistance.

Witness identified the letter, and said that in response he gave the man £5.

Was there ever any relation between you and Edward Shelley other than that you have described as the relation between a man of letters and a person who admired his poetry and works, and who had been brought into contact with you?—Never, on any occasion. With regard to the boy Conway he became a great friend of my sons, and went out almost every day with us and our friends. My wife met him on many occasions. Woods I first saw in January, 1893, at the Café Royal. I only saw him once at Taylor's house—on the occasion of the letters. There waa no actual introduction, but whilst at Salisbury I was asked by Lord Alfred Douglas if I could find the man something to do. He was out of employment, and was anxious to obtain a clerkship. As to Charles Parker and his brother, I had no idea whatever what their occupation had been. It was represented to me that their father was a man of means.

When they were introduced to you had you any reason for suspecting that they were disreputable persons?—None whatever. Nothing came to my knowledge tending in any way to destroy their characters. I knew that Charles Parker was arrested on a certain charge, and that the case was dismissed by the magistrates. I never saw Charles Parker at the Savoy Hotel, and I have never in my life been at 7, Camera-square, or at 50, Park-walk.

How was it that after the interview with Lord Queensberry on the 30th of June, and these further letters coming to your knowledge, you took no steps against him?—It was on account of the strong pressure put on me by the Queensberry family.

Did you, early in July, have an interview with a member of Parliament?—Yes; on the Wednesday following the Saturday on which Lord Queensberry's visit to my house occurred. This member of Parliament was a member of Lord Queensberry's family.

Mr. Carson, with the permission of the Judge (over-ruling an objection by Sir E. Clarke), read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry:—"As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis's Booms, the Café Royal, &c, and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose, and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master; you have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no right over me, either legal or moral. If O. W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family; but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you.—A.D."

Sir E. Clarke—At this stage of the case that is the evidence for the prosecution, my Lord.

Mr. Carson—At this stage of the case? We take it that the prosecutor's case is closed. He must make his whole case now.

Sir E. Clarke—Subject to this—that evidence may be given which it may be necessary for my client to rebut.

Mr. Justice Collins—It may be that evidence will be sprung upon you. Of course I shall reserve my discretion as to the evidence I shall allow you to submit at any future stage.

Mr. Wilde then left the box, and almost immediately left the Court.

Mr. Carson then opened the case for the defence. He declared at the outset that, so far as Lord Queensberry was concerned, in every letter he had written and in the charge he had made against Mr. Oscar Wilde, and which had put him into his present position, he withdrew nothing. He had determined at all risks and all hazards to try and save his son. Whether he was right or whether he was wrong the Jury probably now to some extent had information upon which to found a judgment. He (the learned counsel) must claim for Lord Queensberry that, notwithstanding the many elements of prejudice which the prosecution had introduced against him, his conduct in this respect had been absolutely consistent all through, and if the statements which he had made in his letter as to Mr. Wilde's reputation and acts were correct, not only was he justified in doing what he could to put an end to the disastrous acquaintance which existed between Mr. Wilde and his son, but he was bound to take every step which suggested itself to him to bring about at once such an inquiry as would lead to the acts and deeds of Mr. Wilde being made public. According to the case as presented on behalf of Mr. Wilde, there was no personal quarrel or dispute of any kind between Lord Queensberry and the prosecutor, and the only motive the former had in the course he had taken had been to save his son from this intimacy. Mr. Wilde's character was made known to Lord Queensberry in the first place by his writings, and, secondly, in connection with the Savoy Hotel. He could not fail to notice the character which a man in Mr. Wilde's position must have earned for himself when he was leading the kind of life to a portion of which—and only a small portion of which—he had confessed in the witness-box. Mr. Wilde had been going about with young men who were not his co-equals in station or his co-equals in age. He had been associated with men who, it would be proved, he thought, before the case concluded, were some of the worst characters in London. He referred, above all, to Taylor, a notorious character, as the police would tell them. He (the learned counsel) had put a question to Mr. Wilde as to whether Taylor's house was not a den of infamy of the worst description, but notwithstanding this suggestion, and although no longer ago than Tuesday last Taylor was found in company with Mr. Wilde in Tite-street, the prosecution did not venture to put the man into the box. Taylor had been found in company with Parker, who, with a number of other notorious characters, had been arrested on suspicion. His learned friend had said that Parker was acquitted. Yes; but the police did not act in this way without very grave reason, and when Taylor was found associating with him, and it was given in evidence that Taylor was practically the right-hand man of Mr. Wilde in all his orgies with "artists" and valets, at least it might be expected that an opportunity would be given for cross-examining him. Taylor was the pivot of this case. When they had heard the various witnesses, and when, one after another, these were compelled to speak as to the conduct of Oscar Wilde, surely the man- who introduced those persons to Wilde was the man who, above all others, could have thrown light upon the object of such introductions. Taylor was the man best fitted to bear out Mr. Wilde's innocence of the charges made in the plea of justification, but yet he was not, and would not, be produced. A certain name had been written down. When it was convenient to mention anybody that name was mentioned by Mr. Wilde because the man was out of the country; but Taylor was in the country. Taylor was still Mr. Wilde's friend, nothing having happened, as the prosecutor said, to interrupt the friendship. Then why was not Taylor produced? Evidence would be given as to the life this man led; as to the extraordinary den he kept in College-street, with the curtains always drawn, with luxurious hangings to the windows, gorgeous and luxurious furniture, and a perpetual change of varied perfumes—where daylight was never admitted, the only illumination being the shaded light of candles, lamps, or gas. When they heard the extraordinary way Taylor kept his rooms, together with a description of the extraordinary company that there assembled at the innocent afternoon tea parties, the Jury, he thought, would come to the conclusion that he was right when he said that Taylor was the pivot in the case upon which the true relations of Mr. Wilde with various persons must be estimated. As to the high ground taken up by Mr. Wilde—who did not write for "Philistines" or "the illiterate," but only as an artist for artists—there was the greatest contrast between his books and the way he chose his friends. He took up with gentlemen's servants and a newspaper boy, his case no longer being that he was dwelling in the regions of Art (which no one understood but himself and the artist), but that he had such a magnanimous, noble, and democratic soul that he drew no social distinctions, and it gave him exactly the same pleasure to have the sweeping-boy from the streets to lunch or dine with him as the best educated artist or the greatest littérateur in the Kingdom. Mr. Wilde's positions were absolutely irreconcilable. If the defence had rested the case on Mr. Wilde's literature alone they would have been absolutely justified in the course they had taken. The learned counsel then referred at some length to the character of the literary matter in the Chameleon, arguing that the same idea, often similar phrases, ran through that and the two letters written to Lord Alfred Douglas, which had been read in Court—letters which Mr. Wilde described as beautiful, but which he (the learned counsel) considered simply disgusting. The same idea was to be found in "Dorian Gray." The poem written by Lord Alfred Douglas and published in the Chameleon showed the result of the "artistic" education the young man had received, and the domination of Mr. Oscar Wilde over him. No father would be likely to regard such a production on the part of his son without a feeling of horror. Having referred to the manner in which the two letters written by Mr. Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas had been brought to the front, Mr. Carson said that the man Wood, who was one of the College-street lot, had received £21 from Mr. Wilde, and had been shipped off to America. Probably Mr. Wilde hoped the man would never be heard of again in this country. But he was here; the Jury would have him examined before them. The learned counsel here incidentally remarked that Mr. Beerbohm Tree had cabled from America with reference to the introduction of his name into the case.

Mr. Justice Collins said there was not the slightest ground for suggesting anything against Mr. Tree.

Mr. Carson said that gentleman had acted throughout exactly as he ought to have done.

Mr. Justice Collins—With perfect propriety.

Mr. Carson went on to comment further upon the letters written to Lord Alfred Douglas by Mr. Wilde, declaring that if the Jury accepted the statement that either of the epistles was written as a sonnet to be published he envied them their credulity. The sonnet or prose-poem theory had been invented as a way out of a difficulty, and it was an extraordinary thing that the only letter Mr. Wilde had ever written which he was able to describe as a sonnet was one which had become known to the public. It was also an extraordinary thing that Mr. Wilde should have taken up his residence at the Savoy Hotel whilst his wife was away in Italy, having regard to the facts which he had himself stated that it entailed an outlay of £45 per week, and that he was short of money and without credit.

The learned counsel had not concluded his address when the Court rose.

Lord Queensberry was again admitted to bail on his own recognisances.

At the Central Criminal Court yesterday, before Mr. Justice Collins, "John Sholto Douglas, Marquis of Queensberry," surrendered to his bail to answer an indictment charging him with "maliciously writing and publishing a false and defamatory libel of and concerning Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde."

Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. C. Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill for the defence; and Mr. Besley, Q.C., and Mr. Monckton watched the case on behalf of Lord Drumlanrig, the eldest son of the defendant.

In answer to the formal indictment, which was read by the Clerk of Arraigns, Lord Queensberry pleaded not guilty, adding that his statement was true, and that its publication was for the public benefit.

Sir E. Clarke, in opening the case for the prosecution, said that the libel complained of was published on an ordinary visiting-card, and was left with the porter of the Albemarle Club, of which Mr. Wilde and his wife were members. It was a matter of serious moment to a gentleman of high reputation that a libel of this kind should be published respecting him, as it was calculated to gravely affect his character and position, and such action as that of Lord Queensberry could only be justified on the ground that it was absolutely true. The matter did not stop at the question whether the defendant committed the wrongful act under strong but mistaken feelings, for by the plea which he had put before the Court a much graver issue was raised. He said that his statement was true, and that it was made for the public benefit, and he furnished particulars of matters which he alleged bore out that statement. With regard to the earlier plea, which dealt with names and dates and places, it was for those who had undertaken the grave responsibility of formulating the allegations to satisfy the Jury, if they could, by means of credible witnesses that the allegations were true. Mr. Wilde, after a distinguished career at Dublin University and Magdalen College, Oxford, devoted himself to literature on its artistic side; and had written poems, many essays, and some years ago became a very public person indeed—laughed at by some and appreciated by many people—as representing a special and particular aspect of artistic literature. In the year 1884 he had the happy fortune to marry the daughter of the late Horace Lloyd, Q.C., and from that time to the present he had lived with his wife in Tite-street, Chelsea, where two sons had been born to them, and where he and his wife had been in the habit of receiving their many friends. Among those friends were Lord Alfred Douglas, who was introduced to him in the year 1801, and his brothers and Lady Queensberry, their mother. He had visited Lady Queensberry at her own home, and he and Lord Alfred Douglas had met at various places in London, as well as at Cromer, Worthing, and other places in the country. Until 1892 Mr. Wilde did not know the defendant at all, with the exception of having once met him casually in 1881, but in November, 1892, while Mr. Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas were lunching at the Café Royal, Lord Queensberry entered the room. Mr. Wilde was aware that there had been differences between the father and the son, and suggested to Lord Alfred that the opportunity was a good one for bringing about a reconciliation. Lord Alfred acted on the suggestion, shook hands with his father, and introduced him to Mr. Wilde, Lord Queensberry recalling the fact that some years previously they had met at a friend's house. Lord Queensberry partook of luncheon with him, remained in conversation for some time after Lord Alfred had left, and expressed hope that they should meet again at Torquay. In the early part of 1894 Mr. Wilde became aware that certain statements affecting his character were being circulated, and subsequently a man named Wood brought him some letters which Mr. Wilde had written to Lord Alfred Douglas, and for which he asked to be paid. Mr. Wilde gave him £15 or £20 to enable him to go to America, and received from him some letters of no importance. The play "A Woman of No Importance" was being prepared at the time for Mr. Tree's theatre, and there came into that gentleman's hands a document purporting to be a copy of a letter by Mr. Wilde, which had apparently been retained by the persons concerned in the matter. That was sent by Mr. Tree to Mr. Wilde, and shortly afterwards a man named Allen called upon Mr. Wilde, and said that he had the original of that letter, which he wanted Mr. Wilde to buy. That, however, Mr. Wilde absolutely refused to do, saying, "I have got a copy of the letter, and the original is of no use to me. I look upon it as a work of art, but as you have been good enough to send me a copy I do not want the original." He thereupon gave Allen a sovereign, or something of that kind, and sent him away. Shortly afterwards a man named Clyburn brought Mr. Wilde the original of the letter, which, he said, Allen had sent to him, as he appreciated his kindness, and Mr. Wilde gave Clyburn a sovereign also. Mr. Wilde was anxious about this particular letter because it was supposed to be of an incriminating character, and copies of it had been circulated with a view to damaging his character. Mr. Wilde, however, looked upon it as a sort of prose sonnet, and he told Allen that in all probability it would appear in sonnet form. It did so appear as a matter of fact, being published on the 4th of May, 1894, in the Spirit Lamp—an aesthetic, literary, and critical magazine—edited by Lord Alfred Douglas. On the first page was a sonnet in French, described as "A letter written in prose poetry by Oscar Wilde to a friend, and translated into rhymed poetry by a poet of no importance." It was not an exact reproduction, but a paraphrase of the letter, which was as follows:—

"My own dear Boy,— Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-rose lips of yours should be made no less for music of song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London? When do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place. It only lacks you; but go to Salisbury first—Always, with undying love, yours, OSCAR."

The words of that letter might appear extravagant to those who were in the habit of writing ordinary or commercial correspondence, but Mr. Wilde called it a prose sonnet, and one that he was in no way ashamed of. In the early part of 1894 Lord Queensberry again met Mr. Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas at lunch in the Café Royal, and shortly afterwards Mr. Wilde became aware that the defendant was writing letters that affected his character, and at an interview that took place in Tite-street Mr. Wilde gave instructions in Lord Queensberry's hearing that he was not to be admitted into his house. In February, 1895, another play of Mr. Oscar Wilde's—"The Importance of Being Earnest "—was about to be produced at St. James's Theatre, and information reached the management of certain intentions on the part of Lord Queensberry, who, it was remembered, made some observations in the theatre after the performance of "The Promise of May" by the late Lord Tennyson. With a view to the avoidance of any disturbance on the night of production Lord Queensberry's money was returned to him, and instructions were given that he was not to be ad-mitted. He, however, made several attempts to get into the theatre, bringing with him a bouquet made of vegetables. (Laughter.) On the 28th of February Mr. Wilde went to the Albemarle Club, and there received from the porter the card complained of, which had been left by Lord Queensberry on the 18th of the month. Proceedings were immediately taken, as the libel was direct and did not touch the relationship between Lord Queensberry and his family, and on the 2nd of March the defendant was arrested on a warrant. There were two gross allegations at the end of the plea in relation to a book entitled "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and a magazine called the Chameleon, to which Mr. Wilde contributed "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young." It was difficult to see why those allegations were made, and he should be surprised if his learned friend could get from them anything hostile to the character of Mr. Wilde. Mr. Wilde was merely a contributor to the magazine, and directly he saw a story in it entitled "The Priest and the Acolyte," which was a disgrace to literature, he wrote to the editor, and upon his insistence the magazine was withdrawn. With regard to "Dorian Gray'' it was a book that had been in circulation for five years. It was a story of a young man of good birth, great wealth, and personal beauty, whose friend painted his picture. Dorian Gray desired to remain as in the picture, which, however, aged with years. His wish was granted, and upon the picture the scars of trouble and bad conduct fell. In the end he stabbed the picture and fell dead. The picture was restored to its pristine beauty, and the friends of Dorian Gray found on the floor the body of a hideous old man. He should be surprised if his learned friend could pitch upon any passage in that book which did more than describe, as novelists and dramatists must describe, the passions and fashions of life. The learned counsel then proceeded to call witnesses.

Sidney Wright, examined by Mr. Mathews, deposed that he was hall porter at the Albemarle Club, of which both Mr. and Mrs. Wilde were members. The defendant on the 18th of February called at the Club and handed him the card produced, upon which he had previously written some words. He asked that it should be given to Oscar Wilde. He (witness) wrote the date on the card and enclosed it in an envelope, which, on the 28th of February, he handed to Mr. Wilde, giving him Lord Queensberry's message at the same time.

Mr. Carson asked no questions.

Mr. Oscar Wilde, examined by Sir E. Clarke, said—I am the prosecutor in this case, and am 39 years of age. My father was Sir William Wilde, surgeon, of Dublin, and Chairman of the Census Commission. He died when I was at Oxford. I was a student at Trinity College, Dublin, where I took a classical scholarship and the Gold Medal for Greek. I then went to Magdalen College, Oxford, where I took a classical scholarship, a first in "Mods," and a first in "Greats," and the Newdigate Prize for English verse. I took my degree in 1878, and came down at once. From that time I have devoted myself to art and literature. In 1882 I published a volume of poems, and afterwards lectured in England and America. I have written many essays of different kinds, and during the last few years have devoted myself to dramatic literature. In 1884 I married Miss Lloyd, and from that date till now have lived with her in Tite-street, Chelsea. I have two sons, the eldest of whom will be 10 in June and the second nine in November.

In 1891 did you make the acquaintance of Lord Alfred Douglas?—Yes, he was brought to my house by a mutual friend. Before then I had not been acquainted with Lady Queensberry, but since then I have, and have been a guest in her house many times. I also knew Lord Douglas of Hawick and the late Lord Drumlanrig. Lord Alfred had dined with me from time to time at my house and at the Albemarle Club, of which my wife is a member, and has stayed with us at Cromer, Goring, Worthing, and Torquay. In November, 1892, I was lunching with him at the Café Royal, where we met Lord Queensberry, and on my suggestion Lord Alfred went to him and shook hands. I was aware that there had been some estrangement between the two. Lord Queensberry joined us, and remained chatting with me until Lord Alfred had left. From the 3rd of November, 1892, till March, 1894, I did not see the defendant, but in 1893 I heard that some letters that I had addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas had come into the hands of certain persons.

Did anyone say that he had found letters of yours?—Yes, a man named Wood saw me and told me that he had found some letters in a suit of clothes that Lord A. Douglas had been good enough to give him.

Did he ask for anything?—l don't think he made a direct demand.

What happened?—When he entered the room he said, "I suppose you will think very badly of me." I replied, "I hear that you have letters of mine to Lord Alfred Douglas, which you ought to have handed back to him." He handed me three or four letters, and said that they were stolen from him the day before yesterday by a man named Allen, and that he had to employ a detective to get them back. I read the letters, and said that I did not think them of any importance. He said, "I am very much afraid of staying in London on account of this man, and I want money to go to America." I asked what better opening as a clerk he could have in America than in England, and he replied that he was anxious to get out of London, in order to escape the man who had taken the letters from him. He also said that he could find nothing to do in London. I gave him £15. The letters remained in my hand all the time.

Did some man eventually come with another letter?—A man called, and told me that the letter was not in his possession. His name was Allen.

What happened at that interview?—I felt that this was the man who wanted money from me, and said, "I suppose you have come about my beautiful letter to Lord A. Douglas. If you had not been so foolish as to send a copy of it to Mr. Beerbohm Tree, I would gladly have paid you a very large sum of money for the letter, as I consider it to be a work of art." He said, "A very curious construction could be put on that letter." I said in reply, "Art is rarely intelligible to the criminal classes." He said, "A man has offered me £60 for it." I said to him, "If you take my advice you will go to that man and sell my letter to him for £60. I myself have never received so large a sum for any prose work of that length; but I am glad to find that there is someone in England who considers a letter of mine worth £60." He was somewhat taken aback by the manner, perhaps, and said, "The man is out of town." I replied, "He is sure to come back," and advised him to get the £60. He then changed his manner, saying that he had not a single penny, and that he had been on many occasions trying to find me. I said that I could not guarantee his cab expenses, but that I would gladly give him half a sovereign. He took the money and went away.

Was anything said about a sonnet?—Yes. I said, "The letter, which is a prose poem, will shortly be published in sonnet form in a delightful magazine, and I will send you a copy of it."

As a matter of fact, the letter was the basis of the French poem that was published in the Spirit Lamp?—Yes.

It is signed "Pierre Louys;" is that the nom de plume of a friend of yours?—A young French poet of great distinction who has lived in England. About six minutes afterwards another man came whose name was Clyburn. He produced the letter from his pocket and said that Allen wanted him to take it. I said, "Why?" He said, "Well, he says you were kind to him, and there is no use in trying to 'rent' you, as you only laugh at us." I looked at the letter, and it was extremely soiled. I said, "I feel it quite unpardonable that better care was not taken of a manuscript of mine." (Laughter.) He said that he was very sorry, but it had been through so many hands. I took the letter; then I said, "Well, I accept the letter back, and you can thank Mr. Allen from me for all the anxiety he has shown about this letter." I gave him half a sovereign for his trouble, and then said, "I am afraid you are leading a wonderfully wicked life." He said, "There is good and bad in every one of us." I told him he was a born philosopher—(laughter)—and he then left.

Has the letter remained in your possession ever since?—Yes. I produce it here to-day.

I pass to the end of 1893. Did Lord Alfred Douglas go to Cairo then?—Yes, in December, 1893.

On his return were you lunching together in the Café Royal when Lord Queensberry came in?—Yes. He shook hands, and joined us, and we were on perfectly friendly terms.

Shortly after that meeting did you become aware that he was making suggestions with regard to your character and behaviour?—Yes. Those suggestions were not contained in letters to me. About the end of June there was an interview between Lord Queensberry and myself in my house. He called upon me, not by appointment, about four o'clock in the afternoon, accompanied by a gentleman with whom I was not acquainted. The interview took place in my library. Lord Queensberry was standing by the window. I walked over to the fire-place, and he said to me, "Sit down." I said to him, "I do not allow anyone to talk like that to me in my house or anywhere else. I suppose you have come to apologise for the statement you made about my wife and myself in a letter you wrote to your son." I said, "I should have the right any day I choose to prosecute you for criminal libel for writing such a letter." He said, "The letter was privileged, as it was written to my son." I said, "How dare you say such things to me about your son and me?" He said, "You were both kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice." I said, "That is a lie. Somebody has been telling you an absurd set of lies about your son and me." He said. "I hear you were well blackmailed for a letter you wrote to my son." I said, "The letter was a beautiful one and I never write except for publication." He said, "If I catch you and my son together again in a public restaurant I will thrash you." I said, "I do not know what Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot at sight." I then told Lord Queensberry to leave my house. He said he would not do so. I told him that I would have him put out by the police. He said, "It is a disgusting scandal." I said, "If it be so you are the author of that scandal, and no one else." I then went into the hall and pointed him out to my servant. I said, "This is the Marquis of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London; you are never to allow him to enter my house again." It is not true that I was expelled from the Savoy Hotel at the time. I was at the theatre on the opening night of the play "The Importance of Being Earnest," and was called before the curtain. The play was successful. Lord Queensberry did not obtain admission to the theatre. I was acquainted with the fact that he had brought a bunch of vegetables. I went to the Albemarle Club on the 28th of February, and received from the porter the card which has been produced. I had seen communications from Lord Queensberry, not to his sons, but to a third party. A warrant was issued on the 2nd of March.

It is suggested that you are responsible for the publication of the magazine Chameleon, on the front page of which some aphorisms of yours appear. Beyond sending that contribution had you anything to do with the preparation or the publication of that magazine?—No; nothing whatever.

Did you approve of the story of the "Priest and the Acolyte?"—I think it bad and indecent, and I strongly disapproved of it.

Was that disapproval expressed to the editor?—Yes. The other question relates to the book "Dorian Grey." Was that first published in magazines?—lt was first published in Lippincott's, and afterwards in book form with three additional chapters. It was much reviewed, and is still in circulation.

Your attention has been called to the plea and to the names of persons with whom your conduct is impugned. Is there any truth in these allegations?—There is no truth whatever in any one of them.

Cross-examined by Mr. Carson—You stated that your age was 39. I think you are over 40. You were born on October 16, 1854?—I had no wish to pose as being young.

That makes you more than 40?—Ah!

In reply to further questions, the prosecutor said:—Lord Alfred Douglas is about 24, and was between 20 and 21 years of age when I first knew him. Down to the interview in Tite-street Lord Queensberry had been friendly. I did not receive a letter on April 3 in which Lord Queensberry desired that my acquaintance with his son should cease. After the interview I had no doubt that such was Lord Queensberry's desire. Notwithstanding Lord Queensberry's protest my intimacy with Lord A. Douglas continues to the present moment. I have stayed with him at Oxford, Brighton, Worthing, Cromer, and Torquay, and at hotels in Albemarle-street and Dover-street; also at the Savoy. I never took rooms for him. I had rooms in St. Jaines's-place from October, 1893, to the end of March, 1894, and Lord Alfred has stayed in those rooms. I have been abroad with him several times; even lately to Monte Carlo. There were contributions by Lord Alfred Douglas in the Chameleon, and I thought that they were exceedingly beautiful poems. I saw no improper suggestion in them.

You have read "The Priest and the Acolyte?"—Yes.

You have no doubt whatever that was an improper story?—From the literary point of view it was highly improper. It is impossible for a man of literature to judge it otherwise, by literature meaning treatment, selection of subject, and the like. I thought the treatment and the subject rotten.

You are of opinion there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.

May I take it that you think "The Priest and the Acolyte " was not immoral?—lt was worse, it was badly written. (Laughter.)

In further cross-examination, the witness at first said that he did not think the story blasphemous, but on being reminded that when the priest administered poison to the boy he used the words of the Sacrament, he said he thought it was horrible—blasphemous was not the word. He strongly objected to the whole story, but took no steps to express disapproval of the Chameleon because it would have been beneath his dignity as a man of letters to associate himself with an Oxford undergraduate's productions. He did not believe that any book or work of art ever had any effect on morality. He had no "pose" in the matter. In writing a play or a book he was concerned entirely with literature—that was with Art. He did not aim at doing good or evil but at trying to make a thing that would have some quality of beauty.

Here is one of the "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young": "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that true?—I rarely think that anything I write is true.

Did you say rarely?—I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.

"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.

Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating. (Laughter.)

"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."—That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.

Is it good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought in whatever age.

Whether moral or immoral?—There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.

"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for."—I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks.

"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?"—Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.

"The condition of perfection is idleness?"—Oh, yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.

"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles and end by adopting some useful profession."—I should think that the young have enough sense of humour.

You think that is humorous?—I think it is an amusing paradox.

What would anybody say would be the effect of "Phrases and Philosophies" taken in connection with such an article as "The Priest and the Acolyte?"—Undoubtedly it was the idea that might be formed that made me object so strongly to the story. I saw at once that maxims that were perfectly nonsensical, paradoxical, or anything you like, might be read in conjunction with it.

After the criticisms that were passed on "Dorian Grey" was it mollified a good deal? —No. Additions were made. In one case it was pointed out to me—not in a newspaper or anything of that sort, but by the only critic of the century whose opinion I set high, Mr. Walter Pater—that a certain passage was liable to misconstruction, and I made one addition.

This is your introduction to " Dorian Grey ":—"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written."—That expresses my view on art.

I take it that, no matter how immoral a book may be, if it is well written it is, in your opinion, a good book?—If it were well written, so as to produce a sense of beauty, which is the highest sense of which a human being can be capable. If it was badly written it would produce a sense of disgust.

Then a well-written book putting forward certain views may be a good book?—No work of art ever puts forward views. Views belong to people who are not artists. Con- tinuing, witness said that the views of illiterates on art were unaccountable. He was only concerned with his view of art, and did not care twopence what other people thought of it. He was afraid that the majority of people were not cultivated enough to live up to the position he was giving—not cultivated enough to draw a distinction between a good and a bad book. The extract read by counsel from "Dorian Grey" he considered to be the most perfect description possible of what an artist would feel on meeting a beautiful personality which was in some way necessary to his art and life. With regard to another extract, he thought it described the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality. He had never allowed any personality to dominate his heart.

Then you have never known the feeling you described?—No, it is a work of fiction.

So far as you are concerned, you have no experience as to its being a natural feeling?—I think it is perfectly natural for any artist to intensely admire and love a young man. It is an incident in the life of almost every artist.

But let us go over it phrase by phrase. "I quite admit that I adored you madly." Have you ever adored a young man madly?—No, not madly. I prefer a love that is higher.

Never mind about that. Let us keep down to the level we are at now.—I have never given adoration to anybody except myself.(Laughter.)

I am sure you think that a very smart thing?—Not at all. Then you have never had that feeling?—No, it was borrowed from Shakespeare, I regret to say; yes, from Shakespeare's sonnets.

"I have adored you extravagantly." Do you mean financially?—Oh, yes, financially.

Do you think we are talking about finance?—I don't know what you are talking about.

Don't you. Well, I hope I shall make myself very plain before I have done. "I was jealous of everyone to whom you spoke." Have you ever been jealous?—Never in my life.

"I want you all to myself." Did you ever have that feeling?—I should consider it an intense nuisance—an intense bore.

"I grew afraid that the world would know of my idolatry." Why should he grow afraid that the world should know of it?—Because there are people in the world who cannot understand the intense devotion, affection, and admiration that an artist can feel for a wonderful and beautiful personality. These are the conditions under which we live. I regret them.

These unfortunate people that have not the high understanding that you have might put it down to be something wrong?—Undoubtedly. To any point they choose. I am not concerned with the ignorance of others. In reference to another passage in "Dorian Gray," in which he receives a book, Mr. Wilde declined to be cross-examined upon the work of another artist. It was, he said, an impertinence and a vulgarity. He did not think there was any bad influence in the world, or that one person influenced another.

As to the letter beginning "My own Boy," addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas, the witness said that it was a poem. It was not an ordinary letter. It was a beautiful letter. He had always been fond of the young man, though he could not say that he adored him. A man who was not an artist could not have written that letter. A great deal depended on the way in which the quotations were read. He never wrote to any other young man in the same way.

Here is another letter which I believe you also wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. Will you read it?—No, I decline; I don't see why I should.

Then I will:—"Savoy Hotel, Thames-embankment, W.O.—Dearest of all boys,— Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. You must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of like. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your young lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner"—here a word is undecipherable, but I will ask the witness—" than have you bitter, unjust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties. My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter.) I have also got a new sitting-room. But why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must leave; no money, no credit, only a heart of lead.—Ever your own Oscar." Is that an ordinary letter?—Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter.)

Have you got his letter in reply?—I do not recollect what letter it was.

It was not a beautiful letter?—I do not remember the letter. You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you?"—Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.

What would you pay for that beautiful letter?—I could not get a copy.

How much would you give if you could get a copy?—Oh, I do not know.

Was this one of yours a beautiful letter?—Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other—a prose poem—but it was a beautiful letter.

In further cross-examination the witness said that he met Wood at the end of January, 1893. Lord Alfred Douglas asked him to do what he could for Wood, who was seeking a post as clerk. He knew also a man named Taylor, and had been to tea parties at his house. He had given Wood supper because he was asked to be kind to him, but had never taken him to his house. He thought that Wood came to levy blackmail when he brought the letters to him, and he gave him £20 to go to America because of his pitiful tale. Wood used to call him "Oscar," and he called Wood "Alfred." Allen, he was told, was also a blackmailer. He gave him 10s. out of contempt. He was acquainted with a young man named Shelley, who was a great admirer of his works. He had given him money and presents to help him, as he was poor. There was a lad named Alphonse Conway whose acquaintance he had also made, and in whom he took some interest when at Worthing. The lad had assisted him with his boat there, and he gave him some presents and took him for a trip to Brighton on one occasion. He was a bright, simple, agreeable lad. He did not remember any other youth whom he took about in the same way.

At this point the further hearing was adjourned to this morning, Lord Queensberry being liberated on the same bail as before.