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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 hearing of the charge of criminal libel brought by Mr. Oscar Wilde against the Marquess of Queensberry was begun at the Central Criminal Court yesterday, before Mr. Justice Henn Collins and a Jury. —Sir E. Clarke, Q.C., with Mr. C. Mathews and Mr. Travers Humphreys, 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 ot Hawick.— The Court was densely crowded. Mr. Oscar Wilde occupied a seat at the solicitors' table, while the Marquess of Queensberry took his place in the dock immediately the Judge entered the Court.

The Defendant pleaded not guilty, and also that the libel was true, and that its publication was for the public benefit.

Sir E. Clarke, in opening the case, said the charge against the Defendant was that he published a malicious libel with regard to Mr. Oscar Wilde. That libel was published in the form of a card which was left by Lord Queensberry at a club to which Mr. Oscar Wilde belongs. It was a visiting card with the Marquess of Queensberry's name printed upon it, and had also written upon it the words, "Oscar Wilde posing as ---." It was in respect of the libel so published on the card that this charge was brought. Counsel then referred to Mr. Wilde's career, and sketched in brief the evidence which he should call in support of the indictment. In 1893, he said, Mr. Wilde's play, A Woman of No Importance, was being prepared for production at the Haymarket Theatre, and there came into the hands of Mr. Beerbohm Tree, the actor and manager, a piece of paper which purported to be, and to some extent was, a copy of the letter which had been retained by Wood and two men named Allan and Cliborn. On May 4, 1893, a publication was issued, called the Spirit Lamp, an aesthetic, literary, and critical magazine edited by Lord Alfred Douglas, and 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. Here was the letter : — "My own boy. Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red rose-leaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music of song than for madness of kisses. 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, and when do you go to Salisbury ? Do go there to 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 appeared extravagant to those who are in the habit of writing commercial correspondence (laughter), or those ordinary things which the necessities of life force upon one every day, but Mr. Wilde said that it was a prose sonnet,and one that he was in no way ashamed of, and was prepared to produce anywhere as the expression of a poetical feeling, and with no relation whatever to the hateful suggestions put to it in the plea in this case. In February, 1895, another play of Mr. Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest, was about to be produced at the St. James's Theatre. In the course of the day information reached the management of the theatre and other persons with regard to certain intentions on the part of Lord Queensberry. It was a matter of public dramatic history that at a play written by the late Poet Laureate, The Promise of May, Lord Queensberry made some observations in public in the theatre.

Mr. Carson could not see how this was evidence.

The Judge remarked that it might be pertinent as explaining the subsequent actions of Mr. Wilde towards Lord Queensberry.

Sir E. Clarke.— On that occasion Lord Queensberry got up in the theatre, and, in his character as Agnostic, objected to the representation then being put upon the stage of an Agnostic in the character personated by Mr. Hermann Vezin. Of course, a disturbance on the night of the production of the new play would be a very serious matter, and would be especially serious if the observations, as they probably would, had gravely affected the character of Mr. Wilde. Lord Queensberry had paid for a seat in St. James's Theatre, but his money was returned and the police were warned. Lord Queensberry made his appearance in the course of the evening, and brought with him a large bouquet made of vegetables (laughter). Whether Lord Queensberry was at all times responsible for his actions was a matter on which the Jury might have their doubts before this case ended. Instead of writing to the Committee of one of the clubs of which Mr. Wilde was a member and asking for an inquiry, he got a bunch of vegetables and came down to the theatre on the first night of Mr. Wilde's new play. Being refused admission at the box-office, he made his way to the gallery stairs, but here, too, tbe police had received notice, and being unable to get admission. Lord Queensberry went away. On the 28th of February Mr. Wilde went to the Albemarle Club, and there received from the porter the card left by Lord Queensberry on the 18th of that month. Hitherto the accusations had been made in letters to members of Lord Queensberry's family, and thus Mr. Wilde could, if he had chosen, have taken action. He did not wish, and would not now, further than could be avoided, bring into prominence the relations of Lord Queensberry with the members of his family. On March 1st a warrant was applied for, and on the following day Lord Queensberry was arrested.

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," 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 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 Drumlaurig. Lord Alfred has 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 the 3d 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. When he entered the room he said, "I suppose you will think very badly of me." I replied, "I heard that you have letters of mine to Lord Alfred Douglas, which you certainly ought to have handed back to him." He handed me three or four letters, and said that they were stolen from him the day betore yesterday by a man named Allan, 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 paid 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 Allan. 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 my 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 a nom de plume or a friend of yours ? — A young French poet of great distinction who has lived in England.

Did Allan then go away ? — Yes, and in about five or six minutes Cliborn came to the house. I went out, and said, "I cannot bother any more about this matter." He produced the letter out of his pocket and said, "Allan has asked me to give it back to you." I did not take it immediately, but asked, "Why does he give me back this letter?" He said, "Well, he says that yon were kind to him, and that there is no use trying to rend you as you only laugh at us." I looked at the letter and saw that it was extremely soiled. I said to him, "I think it quite unpardonable that better care was not taken of the original manuscript of mine" (laughter). He said he was very sorry, but it had been in so many hands. I took tbe letter and said, "I will accept it back, and you can thank Allan from me for all the anxiety that he has shown about it." I gave him haif 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 Cafe Royal when Lord Queensberry came in ? — Yes. He shook hands, and joined us, and we were ou perfectly friendly terms.

Shortly after that meeting did you become aware that he was making suggestions with regard to your character and behaviour ?— Yes. About the end of June there was an interview between Lord Queensberry and myself in my house. He called upon me, 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 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 for your disgusting conduct." I said, "That is a lie." He said, "You have taken furnished rooms for him in Piccadilly." I said, "Somebody has been telling you absolute lies about your son and me. I have not done anything of the kind." He said. "I hear you were jolly well blackmailed for a disgusting letter you wrote to my son." I said, "The letter was a beautiful one, and I never write except for publication. Lord Queensberry, do you seriously accuse your son and me of ---?" He said, "If I catch you and my son together again in any public restaurant I will thrash you." I said, "I do not know what Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule, is to shoot on 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. I then went into the hall and pointed him out to my servant. I said, "This is the Marquess 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 Lord Queensberry 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.

Was that the first statement you had heard affecting your character ? — I had seen communications from Lord Queensberry, not to his sons, but to a third party. A warrant was issued on the 18th 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.

Until you saw this magazine, did you know anything about the story "The Priest and the Acolyte"? — Nothing at all.

The other question relates to the book "Dorian Gray." Was that first published in magazines ? — It was first published in Lippincott's, and afterwards in book form with three additional chapters.

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 Oct. 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 Queensbsrry 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.

Did you ever take rooms yourself in addition to your house in Tite-street ?— Yes, at 10 and 11, St. James's-place. I kept the rooms from the month of October, 1893, to tbe end of March, 1894. Lord A. 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, Kings-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, boy and girl love as true love, and other boys' 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. 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 rotten 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).

Mr. Carson asked if the story was not that of a priest who fell in love with a boy who served him on the altar, and who was discovered by the rector in the priest's room, and a scandal arose.

The Witness. — I have only read it once, in last November, and nothing will induce me to read it again.

Do you think the story blasphemous ? — I think it violated evcery artistic canon of beauty.

That is not an answer. — It is the only one I can give.

I wish to know whether you thought the story blasphemous ? — The story filled me with disgust.

Answer the question, sir. Did you or did you not consider the story blasphemous ? — I did not consider the story blasphemous.

I am satisfied with that. You know when the priest in the story administers poison to the boy that he uses the words of the Sacrament of the Church of England ? — That I entirely forgot.

Do you consider that blasphemous ? — I think it is horrible ; blasphemous is not the word.

Mr. Carson read the words describing the administration of the poison in the Sacrament, and the death scene on the altar, and asked Mr. Wilde did he disapprove of them.

The Witness. — I think them disgusting and perfect twaddle. I took no steps to express disapproval of the Chameleon, because I think it would have been beneath my dignity as a man of letters to associate myself with an Oxford undergraduate's productions. I am aware that the magazine might have been circulated among the undergraduates of Oxford. I do not believe that any book or work of art ever had any effect on morality whatever.

Am I right in saying that you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality ?— Certainly, I do not.

So far as your work is concerned, you pose as not being concerned about morality or immorality ? — I do not know whether you use the word "pose "in any particular sense.

It is a favourite word of your own ? — ls it ? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature — that is, with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.

Listen, sir. Here is one of the "Phrases and Philoso- phies 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 tbe truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."— That is a pleasing paradox, hut I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.

Is it good for tbe 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 ot the ancients — the Greeks.

"A truth ceases to be true when more than one per-son 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 tha 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 strougly 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 Gray," was it modified 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 Gray :— "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.

A --- novel might be a good book ? — I don't know what you mean by a --- novel.

Then I will suggest "Dorian Gray" as open to the interpretation of being a --- novel? — That could be only to brutes and illiterates.

An illiterate person reading "Dorian Gray" might consider it such a novel? — The views of illiterates on art are unaccountable. I am concerned only with my view of art. I don't care twopence what other people think of it.

The majority of people would come under your definition of Philistines and illiterates ? - I have found wonderful exceptions.

Do you think that the majority of people live up to the position you are giving us ? — I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.

Not cultivated enough to draw the distinction you have drawn between a good and a bad book ? Certainly not.

The affection and love of the artists of "Dorian Gray" might lead an ordinary individual to believe, that it might have a certain tendency ? – I have no knowledge of the views of ordinary individuals.

You did not prevent the ordinary individual from buying your book ? — I have never discouraged him.

Mr. Carson read an extract extending to several pages from Mr. Wilde's book, using the copy which appeared in Lippincotts Magazine, of the meeting of Dorian Gray and tbe painter Basil Hallward. Now, I ask you, Mr. Wilde, do you consider that that description of the feeling of one man towards a youth just grown up was a proper or improper feeling ? – I think it is the most perfect description possible ot what an artist would feel on meeting a beautitul personality which was in some way necessary to his art and life.

You think that is a feeling a young man should have towards another ? — Yes; as an artist.

Mr. Carson read a lengthy passage from "Dorian Gray" as originally published. Do you mean to say that that passage describes the natural feeling ot one man towards another ? — It would be the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.

A beautiful person ? — I said a beautiful personality. You can describe it as you like. Dorian Gray was a most remarkable personality.

May I take it that you as an artist have never known the feeling described here ? — l have never allowed any personality to dominate my heart.

Then you have never known the feeling you describe ? — 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. — l have never given adoration to anybody except myself (loud 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 your 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 chose. I am not concerned with the ignorance of others.

In another passage Dorian Gray receives a book. Was the book to which you referred a moral book ? — Not well written.

Further pressed upon this point, and as to whether the book he had in his mind was not of a certain tendency, Mr. Wilde declined, with some warmth, to be cross-examined upon the work of another artist. It was, he said, "An impertinence and a vulgarity."

Mr. Carson quoted another extract 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 if described Dorian Gray as a man of very corrupt influence, though there was no statement as to tne 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 am 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 be bad sent you ? — Yes, a poem.

Why should a man of your age address a boy nearly 20 years younger as - My own boy ?" — 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 Shakespeare 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.

I can suggest, for the sake of your reputation, that there is nothing very wonderful in this "rose red lips of yours." — A great deal depends on the way it is read.

"Your slim, gilt soul walks between passion and poetry;" is that a beautiful phrase ? — Not as you read it, Mr. Carson.

I do not profess to be an artist, and when I hear you give evidence I am glad I am not.

Sir Edward Clarke. — l don't think my friend should talk like that. (To Mr. Wilde) Pray do not criticise my friend's reading again.

Mr. Carson referred to various passages in the letter, and asked : Is that not an exceptional letter ? — lt is unique, I should say (laughter).

Was that the ordinary way in which you carried on your correspondence ? — No ; but I have often written to Lord Alfred Douglas. I never wrote to another young man in the same way.

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. Boysie 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 curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner" — here a word is indecipherable, but I will ask the Witness — "than have you bitter, uujust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and beauty, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury. My bill here is 49 for a week (laughter). I have also got a new sitting-roam. Why are you not here my dear, my wonderful boy ? I fear I must leave. 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).

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.

Were you living at the Savoy ? — Yes ; I was there for about a month, and had also my house in Tite-street. Lord Alfred had been staying at the Savoy with me immediately before that.

How long had you known Wood ? — I think I met him at the end of January, 1893. I met him at the Cafe Royal, where he was sent to find me by Lord Alfred Douglas, who telegraphed from Salisbury. Lord Alfred asked me to do what I could for Wood, who was seeking a post as clerk. I do not know where he was living at that time. Taylor was living at 13, Little College-street, and I have been there to tea parties on many occasions. They were all men at the parties, but not all young men. I took Wood to Slipper at the Florence Restaurant, Rupert-street, because Lord Alfred had asked me to be kind with him.

Who was Wood ? — So far as I could make out, he had no occupation, but was looking for a situation. He told me that he had had a clerkship. At that time he was about 23 years of age.

Then do I understand that the first time you met him you took him to supper? — Yes, because I had been asked to he kind to him : otherwise it was rather a bore.

Was Taylor or anybody else there ? — No.

In reply to further questions, Mr. Wilde absolutely denied that he had been guilty of improper conduct towards Wood.

How much did you give Wood then ?— Two pounds.

Why ? — Because Lord Alfred Douglas asked me to be kind to him. I don't care about different social positions.

When he came to you about these letters did you consider that he had come to levy blackmail ? — I did, and I determined to face it.

And the way you faced it was by giving him 16 to go to America? — That is an inaccurate description. I saw that the letters were of no value, and I gave him the money after he had told me the pitiful tale ahout himself.

I suggest that you gave him 30 Did you give him 5 more next day ? — Yes ; he told me that, after paying his passage to America, he would be left almost penniless. I gave him 5

Had you a farewell lunch at the Florence ? — Yes.

A farewell lunch with the man who had tried to blackmail you ? — He had convinced me that such was not his intention.

The lunch was in a private room ? — Yes.

And it was after lunch that you gave him 5 — Yes.

After Wood went to America, did he ask you for money ? — No.

Did Wood call Taylor by his name ? — Yes.

Did Wood call you Oscar ? — Yes.

And what did you call Wood ? — Alfred.

Did you not think it a curious thing that a man with whom you were on such intimate terms should try to blackmail yon? — I thought it infamous, but Wood convinced me that such had not been his intention, though it was the intention of other people. Wood assured me that he had recovered all the letters.

And then Allan came with a letter, possession of which you knew he had secured improperly ? — Yes.

What was Allan ? — I am told he was a blackmailer.

Then you began to explain to the blackmailer what a loss your beautiful MS. was ? — I described it as a beautiful work of art.

May I ask you why you gave this man, who you knew was a blackmailer, 10s. ? — I gave it out of contempt (laughter).

Then the way yon show your contempt is by paying 10s.? — Yes, very often (laughter).

I suppose he was pleased with yonr contempt ? — Yes, he was apparently pleased at my kindness.

A few minutes afterwards, did Cliborn come to the door ? — Yes ; Allan had mentioned my kindness to him.

Did you know him before ? — I saw him at the stage door of the Haymarket on the 21st April, when he said he wanted to speak to me about a letter Mr Allan had. I told him I was rehearsing, and could not be bothered, and that really I did not care twopence about it. He made no attempt to blackmail me.

But you were immediately kind to him ?— Yes ; I gave him half a sovereign.

And you began discussing with him what a beautiful MS. and work of art the letter was ? — Yes.

Did you tell this blackmailer that the letter was tn be published as a sonnet ? — Yes ; I told Allan but not Cliborn. I told him that it was to be published in an Oxford magazine — The Spirit Lamp. That was to show my indifference.

But you had then got back the letter ? — Yes.

Did you say to him. "I am afraid you are leading a wonderfully wicked life" ? — Yes; I meant generally in being mixed up with this attempt to blackmail me.

Did you ever have any of your beautiful letters, except the one found out, turned into a sonnet? — I require to read a great deal of modern poetry before I can say.

Come, sir, answer the question. Can you tell me if one except this was ever turned into a sonnet ? — Well, at the present moment I cannot recollect another.

Did you ever ask Lord Alfred Douglas to preserve that letter ?— No.

And, therefore, you never thought of turning it into a sonnet till it was discovered ? — I never did turn it into a sonnet. When the copy was sent to Mr. Beerbohm Tree, and when I saw it, I at once thought it would turn into a sonnet.

Were you staying at the Albemarle Hotel about the 25th February ? — Yes.

At the time were Messrs. Elkin, Matthews, and Co., of Vigo-street, your publishers ? — Yes.

Did you become fond of their office-boy ? — I really do not think that that is a proper form for the question to be addressed to me in. I deny that that was the position held by Mr. Edward Shelley, to whom you are refrring.

What age was Mr. Shelley? — l should think about 20. I first met him in October, when arranging for the publication of my books. I asked him to dine with me at the Albemarle Hotel.

Was that for the purpose of having an intellectual treat ? — Well, for him, yes (laughter). We dined in my own sitting-room, and there was one other gentleman there (Mr. Wilde wrote the name, which was handed to Counsel).

On that occasion did you have a room leading into a bed-room ? — Yes.

Did you give him whiskies and sodas ? — l suppose that he had whatever he wanted. I do not remember. He did not stay all night. Witness aosolutely denied that any improper conduct occurred. Continuing. he said: I invited him to my home, and took him to the Exhibition at Earl's Court, the Lyric Club, the Cate Royal, and Keltner's.

Did you ever give him money ? — Yes, on three occasions — first 4, the second time his railway fare to Cromer, where my wife and I were staying, and on the third occasion 5.

He did not go to Cromer, but kept the 3.? — He did not go, and I wrote to him saying he was not to send me back the money.

Did you think this young man of 18 was a proper or natural companion for you ? — Certainly.

Did you give him a signed copy of the first edition of " Dorian Gray "? — Yes.

Is this your writing ? (handing up a copy of " The Sinner's Comedy," which was inscribed "From the Author to dear Edward Shelley"). — That was purely a piece of nonsense. I was not author of the book.

Did you become intimate with a young lad named Alphonso Conway ? — Yes.

He sold newspapers on the Kiosque at Worthing ? — No.

What was he ? — He led a happy, idle life.

Mr. Carson. — He was a loafer, in fact. How old was he ? — About 18.

How did you make his acquaintance ? — When Lord A. Douglas and I were at Worthing, we were accustomed to go out in a boat, and Conway assisted one day in beaching the boat.

Mr. Carson then examined the Witness as to his relations with the boy Conway. The presents he gave him, including a cigarette case, a book, "The Wreck of the Grosvenor," a portrait of the Witness, and a silver-mounted crook-handled grape-vine stick, were produced. The Witness said he provided him with a suit of clothes so that he would not be ashamed of his shabby ones. He took him to Brighton by way of reward for the companionship he had shown to Witness and his children. Witness and the boy stayed at the Albion, Brighton. They returned next day. He had never taken any other boy to the Albion — he was quite certain of that.

At this point the Court adjourned till to-day.