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PLAINTIFF AND DEFENDANT.

Mr. Oscar Wilde yesterday wore a tight-fitting [...] coat, of a dark material, a collar with wide points and black cravat. His hair was banked on the top of his head, and carefully parted down the centre. His manner was confident, and he leaned over the narrow rail which shuts in the witness, toying with a pair of gloves, and in readiness to reply to the leading questions of his counsel. The Marquess, turning slightly round in the dock, faced him with an expression of supreme contempt, supplemented occasionally, as the evidence proceeded, by subdued and angry mutterings.

OSCAR'S "PHILOSOPHY."

Theatre-goers are familiar with those daring and absurd epigrams and paradoxes which abound in Mr. Oscar Wilde's plays. In his evidence yesterday he [...] one of his own characters-somewhat to the astonishment at times of the learned counsel. This is one [...]

Listen sir. 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 [...] never; not true in the sense of corresponding with the actual facts.

"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that.

Do you trunk that was a safe axiom to put forward for the use of the young?—It was a most stimulating [...] (Laughter.)

"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for. Nothing else ages like happiness"?—I think that the realization of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realize oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients.

"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it"? —Perfectly. That would be my most physical definition of truth; something so [...] the same truth could never be appreciated by [...]

The condition of perfection is idleness."?—[...] Yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life, and so recognized by the philosopher.

NOT LIKE OTHER MEN.

In his cross-examination, Mr. Carson asked:

Is that an extraordinary letter?—I think everything I write is extraordinary. I don't pose as being ordinary, great heavens! Ask me any question you like

Is it the kind of letter a man writes to another man?—It is the kind of letter I wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. What other men write to other men I know nothing about, nor do I care. It is not like the other—a prose poem.

Have you written others of this class of letter?—There is no class in that letter.

Have you written others like this?—I don't repeat myself in style. (Laughter.)

SHOWING HIS CONTEMPT.

Witness's method of treating a blackmailer was brought out in the following passage:—

Did you give this man, whom you knew as a blackmailer, 10s?—Yes.

Why did you give it him?—I gave it him to show my contempt. (Laughter.)

The way you show your contempt is by giving 10s?—Very often. (Laughter.) I did it really to show I didn't care twopence for him. (Laughter.)

BORROWED FROM SHAKESPEARE!

This passage is also from the evidence:—

You have never known the feelings you describe there?—No. I have never allowed any personality to dominate my art.

The passage I am quoting says, "I quite admit that I adored you madly." Have you had that feeling?—I have never given admiration to any person except myself. (Laughter.) The expression, I regret to say, was borrowed from Shakespeare. (Laughter.)

Then we read, "I want to have you all to myself."—I should consider that an intense bore. (Laughter.)

People who have not the views you have might form another opinion of these passages?—Undoubtedly; but don't cross-examine me about the [...] of other people. (Laughter.) I have a great passion to civilize the community.

APHORISMS IN COURT.

Some more extracts from the evidence:—

It is a handsome stick for a boy of that class?—I do not think it is a beautiful stick [...] (Laughter.)

You dressed him up in a blue [...] suit and a strange hat, in order that he might look more like your equal?—Oh no; he never looked that. (Laughter.) He had been to school, where naturally he had not learned much. (Laughter.)

He often dined with you. Was that an intellectual treat?—Yes, for him. (Laughter.)

Mr. Carson: Was his conversation literary?—Witness: On the contrary, it was quite simple and easy to understand. (Laughter.)

"THE ONLY CRITIC OF THE CENTURY."

In his evidence Mr. Wilde stated that Mr. Walter Pater was the only critic of the century whose opinion he sees high.

THE ORDINARY PERSON.

Oscar's contempt for "ordinary people" does not go the length of forbidding them to buy his books—

You don't prevent the ordinary individual from buying your books?—I have never discouraged it. (Laughter.)

The charge of criminal libel brought by Oscar Wilde against the Marquis of Queensberry, which resulted in the acquittal of the accused without a stain on his character, and the subsequent prosecution of Wilde, are fully detailed in the papers brought by the mail delivered to-day.

Sir E. Clarke, Q.C., M.P., with Mr C. Mathews and Mr Travers Humphrey, appeared for the prosecution; Mr Carson, Q.C., Mr C.F. Gill, Q.C., and Mr A. Gill defended; and Mr Besley, Q.C., with Mr Monckton, watched the case on behalf of Lord Douglas Hawick.

After some preliminary evidence had been given Mr Oscar Wilde was called and examined by Sir E. Clarke. He 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" of 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 ten 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 Cafe 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. From 3rd 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.

THE CROSS-EXAMINATION.

Cross-examined by Mr Carson: You stated that your age was 39, I think you are over 40. You were born on 16th October, 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.

You have stayed with him at many places? - Yes.

At Oxford, Brighton — on several occasions Worthing? — Yes.

You never took rooms for him? — No.

Were you at other places with him? — Cromer, Torquay.

And in various hotels in London? — Yes. One in Albemarle street, and in Dover street and at the Savoy.

Did you ever take rooms yourself in addition to your house in Tite street? — Yes, at 10 and 51, St. James's place. I kept the rooms from the month of October, 1893, to the end of March, 1894. Lord Douglas had stayed in those chambers, which were not far from Piccadilly. I had been abroad with him several times, and even lately to Monte Carlo. With reference to these books, it was not at Brighton in 20 King's road that I wrote my article in the "Chameleon." I observed that there were also contributions from Lord Alfred Douglas, but these were not written at Brighton. I had seen them. I thought them exceedingly beautiful poems. One was in "Praise of Shame," the other "Two Loves." One spoke of his love, and other boy's love as shame. Did you see in that any improper suggestion? — None whatever.

You 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.

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

Do you think the story blasphemous? — I think it violated every artistic cannon of beauty. I did not consider the story blasphemous.

A copy of "Lippincott's Magazine," in which the story of the "Dorian Gray" first appeared, was handed to its author.

Have you ever "madly adored" anybody many years younger than yourself? — I have reserved adoration for myself only.

Mr Carson then quoted an abstract from the Lippincott version of Dorian Gray, in which the artist tells Dorian of the scandals about him, and finally asks, "Why is your friendship so fatal to young men?"

Asked whether the passage in its ordinary meaning did not suggest a certain charge, witness stated that it described Dorian Gray as a man of very corrupt influence, though there was no statement as to the nature of his influence. "Nor do I think," he added, "that there is any bad influence in the world."

A man never corrupts a youth? — I think not.

Nothing he could do would corrupt him? — If you talk of separate ages.

Mr Carson: No, sir, I'm talking common sense.

Witness: I don't think that one person influences another.

You don't think that flattering a young man, making love to him, in fact, would be likely to corrupt him? — No.

Where was Lord Alfred Douglas staying when you wrote that letter to him? — At the Savoy, and I was at Torquay.

It was a letter in answer to something he had sent you? — Yes, a poem.

Was that an ordinary letter? - Certainly not.

"My own boy." Was that ordinary? — No. I have said it was not an ordinary letter.

Yes, but I wish to know in what it was extraordinary. Why should a man of your age address a boy nearly 20 years younger like that? — I was fond of him. I have always been fond of him.

Do you adore him? — No, but I have always liked him. I think it is a beautiful letter. It is a poem. You might as well cross-examine me as to whether "King Lear" or a sonnet of Shakapeare was proper.

Apart from art, Mr Wilde? — I cannot answer apart from art.

Suppose a man who was not an artist had written this letter, would you say it was a proper letter? — A man who was not an artist could not have written that letter. (Laughter).

Why? — Because nobody but an artist could write it. He certainly could not write the language unless he was a man of letters.

Have you often written letters in the same style as this? — I don't repeat myself in style.

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.C. — Dearest of all boys, — Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Boysey, 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 with passion. I cannot listen to your young lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner -

Here a word is indecipherable, 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, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? My bill here is L49 for a week. (Laughter.) Why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy I fear I must have no money, no credit. — 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.

Then Mr Wilde was asked several peculiar questions as to the manner in which Taylor's apartments were furnished. He would not say the appointments were luxurious, but much taste was displayed.

Were the rooms not always darkened? — No.

Did you see any other light to that afforded by candle or lamp? — I generally went there about tea-time, and I suppose it was dark then.

Were the windows covered by double curtains? — It is quite possible, but I can't tell you.

Were the rooms not always strongly perfumed? — Yes, a little perfume, I believe, was used.

Mr Wilde's memory was next taxed in regard to a youth named Mayor. This youth had not been seen of late, and the suggestion was that he had been spirited away, but this Mr Wilde denied.

Coming back again to the acquaintance with Taylor, Mr Carson asked whether that individual figured in female attire, but Mr Wilde was not aware of it.

Was Taylor a literary person, Mr Wilde? — He was a young man of great taste.

Did you discuss literary matters with him? — He used to listen, said Mr Wilde — and the court laughed.

There was another youth named "Fred," said Mr Carson. — There was, replied Mr Wilde. He used to visit at Taylor's place.

Had you ever any trouble over Fred? — None.

Do you know that the police at one time were watching you and Taylor? — No.

Do you know that Taylor and a man named Parker were arrested during a raid made last year at a house in Fitzroy-square? — Yes; I heard so.

Do you know Parker? — Yes.

And now do you that Taylor was notorious for introducing young men to older men? — No.

Has he introduced many to you? — Six or seven: no — about five.

All of whom you know by their Christian names? — Yes.

Have you given money to them? — Yes, all five, I suppose — money or presents.

Did Taylor introduce you to Charles Parker? — Yes.

Was he a gentleman's servant out of employment? — How do I know?

If he had not been a gentleman's servant out of employment you would not have become friendly with him? — I become friendly with anyone I take a liking to.

Was he an artist or a literary man? — Culture was not his strong point, replied Oscar, lightly.

What is he now? — I have not the remotest idea.

How much money have you given Parker? — Four or five pounds.

What for? — Because he was poor, and I liked him. What better reason?

Where did you first see Parker? — At a restaurant — Kettner's.

Was his brother with him? — Yes.

Did you become familiar with him? — They were my guests; they were at my table, so of course I did.

Did you not say that night of Charlie Parker, in the presence of others, "This is the boy for me; will you come with me?" — Most certainly not.

But he went with you afterwards to your rooms at the Savoy Hotel? — He did not.

You gave him money? — Yes. Four pounds or so. He said he was hard-up.

Then Mr Carson asked; Now, Mr Wilde, I ask you what was there in common between you and this young fellow? — I will tell you. I like the society of people who are younger than myself. I recognise no social distinctions of any kind. To me the mere fact of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined by you in court.

Mr Wilde then went on to admit that he had taken Parker to the Crystal Palace and other places, but denied absolutely the suggestions made.