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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.)

When the direct mail left London on 5th April, the Wilde v. Queensberry case had come to the curious and abrupt termination of which our cable messages have informed us. From the copious reports of the libel action in the London papers we extract the following account of Wilde's cross-examination by Mr. Carson, counsel for the Marquis of Queensberry:—

You stated that your age is 39. I think you are over 40?—Is that so? I do not think so. Forty on my next birthday. You have my birth certificate, and that settles the matter.

You were born on 16th October, 1854?—Oh! I have no wish to pose as being young.

That makes you more than 40?—Ah!

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

Am I right in saying 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?—Is 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 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 is 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.

"Do you call "Dorian Gray" an objectionable book?—Only to brutes and the illiterates. To Philistines it might seem immoral; to the incalculably stupid it might appear to be anything. The view of the Philistine troubles me not. The ordinary iudividual does not appeal to me; I have no knowledge of him. What appeals to me is my work, my art.

You do not think the majority of people live up to the views you are giving us, Mr Wilde?—I am afraid they are not cultivated enough. (Laughter.)

Have you ever madly adored a man 20 years younger than yourself?—I have never given adoration to anybody except myself. (Laughter.) Adoration is a thing I reserve for myself. I have never adored anyone else. I do not adore a person; I either love him or not. The idea is borrowed from Shakespeare's sonnets.

You do not think flattering a young man and making love to him likely to corrupt him?—No; I do not think it possible.

Mr. Carson next referred to the following letter which had been sent by Wilde to 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. 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 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.

You begin, "My own boy." Do you not consider than an improper way to address a boy 20 years younger than yourself?—No; I was fond of the boy, and always have been.

You go on in your letter to say, "Your sonnet is quite lovely; it is marvellous. Those red rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for music or song than for madness of kissing." Do you consider that proper language?—I think it is a beautiful letter.

I see you conclude this letter, "Always with undying love, yours, Oscar" Is not that exceptional?—I should call it a unique letter. (Laughter.)

Is that a specimen of your ordinary correspondence with Lord Alfred Douglas?—I have written him most beautiful letters, though I don't think I have called others "my own boy." He is the greatest friend I have.

Do you write to other persons in the same style?—Oh, no.

You have written many letters of this sort?—I do not repeat myself in style. (Laughter).

Here is another letter to Lord Alfred Douglas. Is that a poem? Will you read it?

Mr. Wilde—No, you read it; I decline.

Mr. Carson then read the letter, as follows:—

"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 by passion. I cannot listen to your young curved 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. You break my heart. 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? My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter.) I have also a new sitting-room over the Thames. Why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear almost to live—no money, no credit, and a heart of lead. Ever your own, OSCAR."

Don't you call that an extraordinary 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.

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.

There are some portions of the evidence that we do not care to publish. The above gives a fair idea of the case and the attitude assumed by Wilde until the crash came

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