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LONDON, April 4.

The Central Criminal Court was again filled to its utmost capacity this morning, when the trial of the Marquis of Queensberry for libelling Mr. Oscar Wilde was resumed. All the windows in the court were wide open, but even this did not suffice to clear away the stuffy atmosphere which always seems to pervade the building. The public galleries were filled with persons having privilege passes, and these, it was understood, consisted almost entirely of friends of the parties in the case.

Mr. Wilde entered the court at a quarter-past 10, and taking his seat at the end of the solicitors' table, engaged in an animated conversation with Mr. Charles Mathews, one of his counsel. Some few minutes later Mr. Carson and Mr. Gill, who appeared for the defendant, made their way to the counsel's seat. They were soon afterwards followed by the Marquis of Queensberry, who walked into the dock and took his stand with the same air of self-composure as marked his conduct yesterday. He was again attired in a dark blue overcoat, and carried in his hand his small felt hat. Mr. Justice Henn Collins, the judge, took his seat at 10.30. He was accompanied by Mr. Sheriff Samuel and several Aldermen.

Sir E. Clarke, Q.C., Mr. C. Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared to prosecute; while Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill (instructed by Mr. Charles Russell) represented the Marquis of Queensbury; Mr. Besley, Q.C., with Mr. Monckton, watching the proceedings on behalf of Lord Douglas of Hawick, the eldest son of the Marquis.

Mr. Oscar Wilde again went, into the witness-box, and his cross-examination by Mr. Carson was continued. Replying to questions, witness said he had continued on intimate terms with Taylor down to the present time, and it was he who arranged the interview with Wood relating to the letters at Great College-street. He used to visit witness at his house, his chambers, and at the Savoy. Witness used to go to afternoon tea-parties at Taylor's lodgings. He did not know whether he did his own cooking, but there would be nothing wrong in that.

Mr. Carson: Have I suggested anything wrong? No, but cooking is an art. Another art? Yes. Were the rooms luxurious? The place was furnished with more than usual taste. Was it not luxurious? No, I said in good taste. I thought them most pretty rooms.

Witness denied that day and night the rooms were lighted with candles and gas, and that heavy double curtains were always drawn over the windows.

Were the rooms strongly perfumed? Yes; I have known him to burn perfumes in his rooms. I burn perfumes in my rooms.

Did you see Wood there at tea? No; except on the occasion referred to. I have seen Sydney Mavor there. He was a friend of mine, but I have not the remotest idea where he is now. Have you had any communication with him? Yes; last Sunday I got Taylor to go to his mother's house to say I wanted to see him. He was not there, and I don't know where he is. Were you told he has disappeared within the last week? No; I heard he was away. Have you found him since ? What do you mean by finding him? I object to the phrase. I have not seen him since. Answering further questions, witness said he had never seen Taylor wearing a lady's fancy costume. He had sent telegrams to Taylor. He had no business with him. Was he a literary man? He was a young man of great taste and intelligence, educated at a very good public school.

Did you discuss literary matters with him? He used to listen on the subject.

And get an intellectual treat also? Certainly. Witness said he never got him to arrange dinners for him. He had never seen Fred Atkins at Taylor's, and did not know that Taylor was being watched by the police at his rooms. He knew that Taylor and Parker, whom he also knew, were last year arrested at a house in Fitzroy-square. He had seen Parker in Taylor's rooms subsequently occupied in Chapel-street. Taylor had introduced to witness about five young men, with whom he had become friendly. He liked the society of young men.

Had any of them any occupation? That I can hardly say. Did you give money to each? Yes; I should think to all five-money or presents. Did they give you anything? Me? No. Among the five was Charles Parker? Oh, yes. Was he a gentleman's servant out of employment? I never heard that, nor should I have minded. How old was Parker? I don't keep a count. He was young, and that was one of his attractions. I have never asked him his age. I think it is rather vulgar to do so, (Laughter.) Was he an educated man? Culture was not his strong point. (Laughter.) Did you ask what his previous occupation was? I never inquire about people's pasts. (Laughter.) Nor their future? Oh, that is a public matter. (Laughter.) Did you become friendly with Parker's brothers? They were my guests at table. Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom? I did not know it, nor should I have cared. I do not care "tuppence" for social position. What inducement was there for you to entertain them? The pleasure of being with those who are young, bright, happy, careless, and original. I do not like the sensible, and I do not like the old.

In the course of further cross-examination, the witness said: "Charley", Parker did not accompany me to the Savoy Hotel, and I strongly deny that there has been any misconduct between us. From October, 1893, to April, 1894, I had rooms in St. James's-place. Taylor wrote to me while I was staying there, telling me that Parker was in town, and I asked him to come and have " afternoon tea " with me. He came to see me five or six times. I liked his society. I gave him a silver cigarette case and about £3 or £4 in money.

Mr. Carson: What was there in common between you and these young men? Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recognise no social distinctions at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined in court. (Laughter.)

Cross-examination continued: A common boy I met in the street might be a pleasing companion. I took Parker to lunch with me at various places.

Witness went on to say that Parker had written a letter to him asking whether he might have the pleasure of dining with him that evening; and he (Mr. Wilde) was to send an answer by the messenger. The writer hoped it would be convenient "that we should spend the evening together."

Questioned with regard to "Freddy" Atkins, Mr. Wilde said he first met him at the rooms of a gentleman in a house off Regent-street. He had the charm of idleness about him, with the ambition to go on the music-hall stage.

Did he discuss literature with you? Oh, I wouldn't allow him. (Laughter.) The art of the music-hall was as far as he had got. Answering further, witness said he took Atkins over to Paris a fortnight after they met. They stayed at 29, Boulevard des Capucines, and Atkins was over there practically as his guest.

Mr. Carson: I think you told me that you heard that Parker and Taylor were arrested together? I read it in a newspaper.

Did you read that at the time they were arrested they were in company with several men in women's clothes? My recollection is that two young men in women's clothes drove up to a house of music-hall singers, and that they were arrested outside the house. I was very distressed when I saw the account of the raid in Fitzroy-square, but it made no difference in the friendship between myself and Taylor. I was not aware that one of the men was well known for his indecent practices.

Mr. Carson: If anyone says you slept in the same bed as Parker it is a mistake? Yes, an infamous lie. There was never any impropriety between himself and Atkins. He knew a young man named Scrape, who also had no occupation; he was introduced by Taylor. Witness had asked him to dine with him, and had given him a silver cigarette case. It was his usual present. The witness was then similarly cross-examined about a young man named Sydney Mayborn, to whom he also gave a silver cigarette case of the value of £4 11s. 6d. He dined with him (Mayborn) at the Albemarle Hotel, and they stayed there the night, because he liked to have people staying with him. Mayborn lived at Notting Hill. He had never taken boys into his bedroom at the Savoy. He was under the massage treatment then.

This concluded the cross-examination, and in reply to Sir E. Clarke, witness said letters written by the Marquis of Queensberry were communicated to him by the persons to whom they were addressed. These were read by counsel. The first, addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas, ran:-

"Alfred,-It is extremely painful to me to have to write to you in the strain I must, but please understand I decline to receive any answers from you in writing in return. After your previous hysterical impertinent ones, I refuse to be annoyed with such, and must ask you, if you have anything to say, to come here and say it in person. First, am I to understand that having left Oxford, as you did, with discredit to yourself, the reasons of which were fully explained to me by your tutor, you now intend to loaf and loll about and do nothing ? All the time you were wasting at Oxford I was put off with the assurance that you were eventually to go into the Civil Service or to the Foreign Office, and then I was put off by an assurance of your going to the Bar. It appears to me you intend to do nothing. . . I utterly decline, however, just to supply you with sufficient funds to loaf about. You are preparing a wretched future for yourself. . . Secondly, I come to a more painful part of this letter, your infamous intimacy with the man Wilde. It must either cease or I will disown you, and stop all money supply. I am not going to try and analyse this intimacy, and make no accusations. . . . No wonder people are talking as they are if you are seen as I saw you. Also, I now hear on good authority-but this may be false-that his wife is petitioning to divorce him. . . . Is this true, or do you not know of it ? The horror has come to my mind that it was possible you may perhaps be brought into this. If I thought the actual thing was true, and it becomes public property, I should be quite justified in shooting him at sight. . .- Your disgusted, so-called father, QUEENSBERRY."

Replying to a question, Mr. Wilde said there was not the slightest foundation for the remark as to divorce proceedings.

To the letter a telegram was sent in reply, "What a funny little man you are.-ALFRED DOUGLAS." The next letter began: "You impertinent young Jackanapes," and went on: "If you come to me with any of your impertinence, I shall give you the thrashing you richly deserve. The only excuse for you is that you must be crazy. All I can say is that if I catch you with that man again, I will make a public scandal in a way you little dream of. It is already a suppressed one. I prefer an open one."

A letter from the Marquis to Mr. Alfred Montgomery, his father-in-law, was next read:

"Sir,- ... Your daughter is the person who is supporting my son to defy me.... Last night I received a very quibbling sort of message from her, saying the boy denied having been at the Savoy for the last year.... As a matter of fact, he did so, and there has been a scandal ever since.... I saw Drumlanrig here (Maidenhead) on the river last night, which rather upset me…."

Another letter was read, and then

Sir E. Clarke asked: Having regard to the contents of those letters did you or did you not think it right to disregard the wishes referred to in them? I thought it right to entirely disregard them.

The court then adjourned for lunch.

On resuming, the court was kept waiting some 10 minutes owing to the absence of Mr. Wilde, who apologised to the judge for his lateness.

In answer to a question by Sir E. Clarke, regarding "Dorian Gray," witness said he had not "purged" or "toned down" that book for the purpose of publishing it in book form, but he had altered a certain passage which was liable to be misconstrued.

Sir Edward Clarke then read in full Mr. Wilde's letter in reply to the criticism of "Dorian Gray" which appeared in the Scots Observer. And then read again the passage from "Dorian Gray" on which Mr. Carson cross-examined Mr. Wilde yesterday afternoon, and the following passage, which, he claimed, threw an entirely different light on the whole.

Continuing, Mr. Wilde said that he first knew Alfred Taylor in October, 1892. He was introduced to him by the gentleman whose name had been written down and referred to. That gentleman was one of high position and of good repute. He had not seen him since March, 1894. He had not been in England for two years, and had not been available as a witness in this case. When he was introduced to Taylor, Taylor was living at 13, College-street. He knew nothing about Taylor having any occupation or about his means. He knew that he had been educated at Marlborough, and was a well educated and accomplished man. Neither at the time of this first meeting, nor at any time since, had he had any reason to believe that Alfred Taylor was an immoral and disreputable person. As to the arrest of Taylor and Parker the explanation which Taylor gave him was that it was a benefit concert he was attending. He was asked to play the piano, and two music-hall singers were expected to come in costume. They were not in the house; and suddenly the police entered and arrested everybody. He thought it was monstrous to blame Taylor in the matter.

Witness had been introduced to Edward Shelley by Mr. John Lane, the publisher. He found Shelley to be a young man with a great desire for culture. He had carried on conversation on literary subjects with Shelley. In February, 1892, his play "Lady Windermere's Fan" was produced. He gave Shelley a ticket for the dress-circle on the first night. On the following night he supped with some gentlemen, and he thought Mr. Edward Shelley was one of the party. Mr. Shelley was a great admirer of his (Mr. Wilde's) own works, and he gratified that appreciation by giving Shelley copies of them. He had never written an inscription in any book that he gave to Shelley which he had the smallest objection to the whole world reading. Soon after the first appearance of "Lady Windermere's Fan" he went to Paris, and after his return Shelley dined with him at Tite-street.

Mr. Wilde then left the box, and Sir E. Clarke said the evidence for the prosecution was "closed for the present"-a qualification which Mr. Carson objected to. His lordship said that, broadly put, the case for the prosecution must close now, but at his discretion he might admit some other evidence.

Mr. Carson then opened the case for the defence. The Marquis, he said, was undoubtedly, they would find, justified in the public interest, and in the interest certainly of his son, in taking the steps he had to withdraw his son from the company of Wilde. Evidence would be brought to show that these young men with whom Oscar Wilde had been associated were all men of notorious immorality. Mr. Wilde was a man with a notorious reputation, a reputation which, it would be proved, led to trouble at the Savoy Hotel. Taylor was the pivot of the case. Taylor was notoriously a disreputable man. Taylor introduced these young men, these men of art, and grooms and valets, to Wilde. Yet Taylor was not to be produced. Witnesses would be brought to describe the extraordinary den-the perfumed, ever-curtained rooms-he kept in Little College-street. This was the place where Mr. Wilde made visits to meet these young men. Witnesses would be brought to prove the fearful practices of this man, Oscar Wilde. Why was a gentleman spoken of in the case as nameless? Because the man was out of the country. (Sensation.) But Taylor was not out of the country. Taylor, who, if any man could, could speak for Mr. Wilde. And Taylor was still a friend of Wilde's. But he was not called.

As to the literature written by Oscar Wilde, Mr. Carson took up first the Chameleon. He would not say Mr. Wilde was responsible for all that appeared in that publication. But if he was willing to contribute to a journal which had for its purpose the praise of a gross practice, and wrote for such a journal aphorisms and philosophies for the use of the young, what could they believe but that he approved of its teachings? He disapproved of the article in the journal called "The Priest and the Acolyte," not because it was immoral, but merely because it was not artistic. The language used by the priest in the article with reference to the acolyte was the same in effect as that addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas by Mr. Wilde. The same strain, the same immorality ran through "Dorian Gray." If they found Mr. Wilde himself in his conduct with Lord Alfred Douglas adopting the same idea as ran through those articles and books, could they have any doubt that the same kind of mind was dominating the conduct of Lord Alfred Douglas? The poem, "Two Loves," by Lord Alfred Douglas, published in the Chameleon, and spoken of by Mr. Wilde as beautiful, was not beautiful, but filthy.

Mr. Carson then took up "Dorian Gray," and described the teaching in it, reading long extracts from the work. The book alone supplied enough to justify the complaint made by Lord Queensberry.

The case was adjourned.

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.