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The suit of Oscar Wilde and the Marquess of Queensberry was down in to-day's list for trial at the Central Criminal Court, London, before Mr. Justice Collins and a common jury. The words of the indictment charge John Sholto Douglas with maliciously publishng a defamatory libel of and concerning Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wilde. The general public and the members of the Junior Bar were very early in attendance, and not only was all sitting room taken up but the passages of the court were so blocked by the crush that ingress and egress was a matter of great difficulty.

Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Mathewe, and Mr. Travers Humphreys had been retained for the prosecution. Mr. Carson, Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill were counsel for the defence; a watching brief for Lord Alfred Douglas (son of the defendant) being held by Mr. Besley, Q.C., and Mr. Monckton.

Plaintiff arrived at half-past ten, accompanied by his solicitor, and took a seat in the well of the court immediately in front of Sir Edward Clarke. Immediately afterwards the jury answered to their names, but it was not until twenty minutes to eleven that silence was called for the entrance of the learned judge.

Lord Queensberry at once surrended to his bail, and was conducted to the dock. His lordship seated himself, but obediently to the attendant's request advanced to the front and stood with his arms resting upon the ledger.

The Clerk of the Court having read the indictment charging the defendant with having published a defamatory libel of the plaintiff upon a card addressed to him, Lord Queensberry replied, "Not guilty," and added the further plea. "The libel is true and was published for the public benefit.'

For the prosecution Sir Edward Clarke then opened. The libel, he said, was upon a visiting card containing the name of Lord Queensberry, and it was a matter of very serious moment; because it imputed to Mr. Oscar Wilde the gravest offence with which a man could be charged; but a far graver issue was raised by the plea that the libel was justified, and that Mr. Oscar Wilde had for a considerable period solicited certain persons (whose names were mentioned in the pleadings) to commit certain practices. The learned counsel traced the plaintiff's career at Trinity College, Dublin, and subsequently at Magdalen College, Oxford, his marriage with a daughter of the late Mr. Lloyd, Q.C., and his later literary and artistic career. He detailed plaintiff's social connection with the sons of the defendant and with Lady Queensberry, who some years ago obtained relief from her marriage owing to misconduct on the part of the Marquess. Touching next on the introduction of Mr. Wilde to Lord Queensberry by Lord Alfred Douglas at the Café Royal, Sir Edward called the attention of the jury to a personage not hitherto mentioned. This was a man who had been given the same clothes worn by Lord Alfred Douglas, and who alleged that in the pockets he discovered four letters addressed to Lord Alfred by Mr. Oscar Wilde. Whether the man had found or stolen them was a matter of speculation. This person came to Mr. Oscar Wilde, represented himself as in distress and as wanting to go to America, and plaintiff gave him £15 or £20 in order to pay his passage. He then handed to plaintiff the letters. To those letters he (Sir E. Clarke) did not attach the slightest importance. As was generally the case the important letter was retained. While Mr. Oscar Wilde's play A Woman of No Importance was in preparation what appeared to be to some extent the copy of a letter was handed to Mr. Tree, the actor, with a request to give it to Mr. Wilde. After this another individual called on the plaintiff and offered him the original, but he said, "No." He had a copy which he looked upon as a work of art, and did not want the original. Plaintiff looked upon the letter as a sort of "prose sonnet," and told the man that it would probably appear as a "sonnet poem." It did so appear in a critical magazine edited by Lord A. Douglas, and called The Spirit Lamp. The learned counsel read the letter.

The following is a copy of the letter which was published in sonnet form in the Spirit Lamp—an aesthetical and satirical magazine edited by Lord Alfred Douglas:—

My own boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love yours, Oscar.

Continuing the learned counsel said the words of the the letter did appear extraordinary to those in the habit of reading commercial correspondence—(laughter)—but it was merely an expression of poetic feeling, and had no relation whatever to the suggestion now made. On the production of the plaintiff's play, The Importance of Being Earnest, Lord Queensberry was refused admission and his money returned because he brought to the theatre a bouquet of vegetables—(laughter)—and the jury might have their doubts whether his lordship was responsible for his actions. The learned advocate dealt at some length with the suggestion made against the plaintiff because of his connection with certain literary productions, and as showing his real feeling as to improper publications he instanced the fact that plaintiff the instant he saw a production called The Priest and the Acolyte, wrote to the editor of the magazine protesting against its continued appearance. As to Mr. Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray, it was simply idealising reality in the sense of harmony and beauty.

Sydney Wright, the porter of the Albemarle, having deposed to handing Lord Queensberry's card to Mr. Oscar Wilde,

The Plaintiff himself entered the witness-box, and assuming an easy pose with his arms resting on the rail, he answered the questions of his leader in a firm, deliberate voice. He met the man Wood, who had the letters referred to at the rooms of a tailor, and Wood said a man named Allen had stolen the letters from him, but they had been recovered by a detective. Plaintiff told him he did not consider the letters of any importance. Wood said he had been offered £60 for what witness described as "his beautiful letter to Lord Alfred Douglas." His reply was "I never received so large a sum for a prose work so short in length." That letter formed the basis of a French poem afterwards published and signed by a young French poet, a friend of his own. Passing from various interviews with Wood and another person named Tyler, plaintiff described a scene with Lord Queensberry in his library. He told defendant he supposed he had come there to apologise for the letter he had written about plaintiff and his son. Defendant replied that the letter was privileged, adding that plaintiff and Lord Alfred had been kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice, and that they had been blackmailed, and that plaintiff had taken rooms for defendant's son in Piccadilly. These statements were perfectly untrue. He asked defendant, "Do you seriously accuse your son and me?" Lord Queensberry answered, "I do not say that you are it, but you look it." (Slight applause in court.)

The Learned Judge: I will have the court cleared if there is the smallest repetition of disturbance.

Witness completed Lord Queensberry's answer, "I do not say that your are it, but you look it and you pose at it, which is just as bad. If I catch you in a public cafe again with my son I will thrash you." Plaintiff replied, "I don't know what the Queensberry Rules are, but the Oscar Wilde's rule is to shoot at sight." He then ordered defendant out of his house, saying to the servant, "This is the Marquess of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London. Never allow him to enter my house again. If he attempts it send for the police." He was not responsible for the publication of "The Priest and the Acolyte" in the Cameleon magazine. He disapproved of it, and expressed his disapproval to the editor. There was no truth in the statements of defendant contained in the pleadings.

(Continued on Page 4.)

Mr. Carson began his cross-examination by asking plaintiff whether he was not something over 39, the age which he had given in his examination in chief. He now said he was born on the 16th October, 1854. In addition to his house in Chelsea he had rooms in St. James's Place, and Lord A. Douglas had visited them. He regarded the "Priest and the Acolyte" as violating all the artistic canons, and as being disgusting twaddle; but he had never publicly dissociated himself from the Chameleon, in which it appeared.

Was the "Priest and the Acolyte" immoral?—lt was worse—it was badly written. (Laughter.)

The learned counsel took plaintiff through a series of questions on his "Phrases and Philosophies," contributed to the Chameleon.

"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the attractiveness of others." Do you hold that to be a safe axiom?—Witness: Most stimulating. (Laughter.)

You think anything that stimulates thought is good whether moral or immoral?—Thought is neither one nor the other, thought is intellectual.

Counsel called attention to a criticism of "Dorian Gray" in the Scots Observer, in which it was described as set in "an atmosphere of moral corruption," and asked plaintiff whether he regarded that as a suggestion that his work pointed to a certain grave offence?—Witness: Some might think so, whether reasonably or not.

Mr. Carson: Have you ever felt the feeling of "adoring madly" a man some years younger than yourself?

Plaintiff: I never gave adoration to anybody except myself. (Laughter.)

Mr. Carson: In your introduction to "Dorian Gray" you say there is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are either well or badly written?

Plaintiff: That expresses my view.

Has "Dorian Gray" a certain tendency?—Only to brutes, and only illiterates would so regard it.

Do the majority of people take up the "pose" you are giving us ?—I am afraid not. I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.

Mr. Carson: Not cultivated enough to draw a distinction between a good book and a bad book?

Witness (loftily): Oh. certainly not. (Laughter.)

Mr. Carson, quoting from a copy of "Lippincot" (a second copy having been handed to the learned judges), read the author's description of his first meeting with Dorian Gray, and asked, "Do you consider that description of the feelings of a man towards a youth just growing up as proper or improper?"

Plaintiff: I think it is the most proper description possible of what an artist would feel on meeting a beautiful personality.

May I take it that you have never felt the sensations which you there describe?—No; I borrowed from Shakespeare's Sonnets.

Mr. Carson: You have written an article pointing out that Shakespeare's Sonnets have a certain tendency?

Plaintiff: On the contrary, I wrote objecting to the shameful perversion by Hallam, the historian, aud a great many French critics.

Certain questions as to a French novel referred to in plaintiff's "Dorian Gray," were ruled out as irrelevant.

Mr. Carson returned to "Dorian Gray," and in a long passage hit upon the phrase, "Why is your friendship so fatal to young men ?"

Plaintiff: I do not think any grown person influences another grown person.

Further questioned, he said his letter to Lord A. Douglas was written from Torquay, where he was staying, and Lord Alfred was at the Savoy.

Mr. Carson: You say "your slim built soul walks between passion and poetry."

Plaintiff: It is a beautiful phrase. (Laughter.) The letter is unique. (Renewed laughter.)

Mr. Carson: Listen to this second letter of your own to Lord A. Douglas:—

"Dearest of all boys,—Your letter was delightful, and it was red and yellow wine to me, for I am sadly out of sorts. You must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious. Distorted by passion, I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. Don't do it. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, a thing of grace and genius, but I do not know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties. My bill here is £49 for the week. I have also a new sitting-room over the Thames for you. Why are you not here my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit, aud a heart of lead.—Ever your own, Oscar.

Is not that an extraordinary letter?—Everything I write is extraordinary. (Laughter).

Mr. Carson: You do not pose as being ordinary?

Plaintiff (with a gesture of contempt): No.

Is that a love letter?—lt is a letter expressive of love.

Cross-examined: Wood was a young man who had held a clerkship and was in a different social position. He had been asked by Lord A. Douglas to help Wood, and supped with Wood at the Café on the night of his introduction. On one occasion he gave Wood £2, but not for an object suggested by the learned counsel. He never misconducted himself with Wood at his house in Chelsea while his (the plaintiff's) wife and children were away. When Wood brought those letters to him he thought he came to levy blackmail.

My suggestion to you is that instead of giving him £16 you gave him £30. Did you not give him £5 the following day?—Yes. (Sensation.)

Did you have a champagne farewell lunch with the man who levied blackmail?—Yes. He convinced me he had no intention, and that the letters had been stolen by other persons.

Was it then you gave him the £5?—Yes.

Why?—Because he said £15 would land him penniless at New York.

Did you not think it strange that a man with whom you had lunched in a private room should seek to levy blackmail?—Perfectly infamous.

Cross-examination resumed: He knew Wood as "Alfred," and two other men named Allen and Taylor were also known to him. Allen was known to him by reputation as a blackmailer and nothing else. He gave Allen 10s. "to show his contempt." (Laughter). After Allen came Clyburne, who also consulted him about the letters. He was also kind to Clyburne, and gave him 10s. (Laughter.) He told Clyburne he was afraid he was leading a dreadfully wicked life. Clyburne said, "There was good and bad in all of us," to which he replied, "You are a philosopher." (Laughter.)

Is the discovered letter the only one that a sonnet was written about?-I should have to go through a great deal of modern poetry before I could answer that? (Laughter.)

The case was adjourned till to-morrow.

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.