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London, April 4.-For the first time in the history of the Old Bailey the dock of that Court was yesterday, occupied by a peer of the realm. This was John Shelton Douglas, Marquis of Queensberry, who stood there to answer a charge of criminal libel against Mr. Oscar Wilde, yet though it was the marquis who was technically in the dock it was quite evident that before the day's proceedings finished it was his accuser, the heavily jowled, broad-shouldered person lounging ungracefully over the front of the witness-box, who really stood on his defence before the world. The case was interesting throughout. The trial, as the day waned and the centre of gravity, as it were, shifted from the defendant to the prosecutor, became absolutely dramatic, and I have never seen so crowded a court preserve such absolute silence as during the half-hour of Mr.Wilde's cross-examination.

Crowded is hardly the term to apply to the courtroom; it was absolutely suffocatingly packed. According to Under-Sheriff Beard, who has much experience in these matters, no notable case of the last decade has attracted quite so many spectators and as the body of the Court was very much monopolized by briefless barristers and very juvenile juniors, the public gallery served as an overflow from the Bench and solicitors' table, and was jammed tight with notabilities of every description.

THE MARQUIS IN THE DOCK.

When Justice Henn Collins took his seat at half-past ten, the Marquis of Queensberry, whose blue hunting stock and closely trimmed muttonchop whiskers gave him a somewhat horsey appearance, moved from his position at the end of the solicitor's table, where he sat eying Mr. Wilde, who sat at the same place with an expression of grave anxiety in his heavy features, and stepped quietly into the dock where, refusing with quiet dignity the offer of a chair made to him, he stood throughout the long day.

As he stood there he, in company with the crowd in the Court, listened first to the indictment charging him with libelling Mr.O. Wilde on a card, and then after pleading justification, heard Sir Edward Clarke deliver the long statement with which the trial opened. From this it was seen "as through a glass darkly" what form the plea of justification was going to assume. After referring in eulogistic terms to the career of the prosecutor, and mentioning the circumstances under which he had formed Lord Alfred Douglas's acquaintance, Sir E. Clarke referred in careful terms to the blackmailing scandal in which Mr. Wilde had been concerned some two years ago, and which concerned itself with a letter written by him to Lord A. Douglas, which had found its way into the possession of a man named Wood with whom, as it subsequently appeared, Mr. Wilde had some acquaintance.

THE FOURTH LETTER.

Other letters addressed to the same person were given up by Wood to Mr. Wilde, who thereupon paid his passage to America and gave him some money in addition, but a fourth letter was kept back, a copy of it being subsequently sent anonymously to Mr. Beerbohm Tree, who Forwarded it on to Mr. Wilde. A man named Allen next brought the original of the fourth letter and wanted to sell it to Mr. Wilde, but Mr. Wilde refused saying: "I now have the copy, the original is of no use. I look upon it as a work of art. Now you have sent me a copy, I don't want the original."

He gave Allen half a sovereign and sent him away with the original, and to a man named Clyburn, who next came and returned Mr. Wilde the original, he gave another half sovereign. This letter, according to his counsel, Mr. Wilde regarded as a prose sonnet, and indeed, since then, in May, 1893, it had appeared in sonnet form in the Spirit Lamp, an aesthetic magazine edited by Lord A. Douglas. The letter was as follows, written from Torquay:-

My own dear 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 music of song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know that 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 and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place; it only lacks you, but to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, yours Oscar.

THE MARQUIS AT THE ST. JAMES'S.

In mentioning later on the fact that the Marquis went to St. James's Theatre on the first night of "The Importance of Being Earnest," carrying a bouquet of vegetables he was refused admittance, Sir E. Clarke suggested that there was doubt as to whether the Marquis was always responsible for his actions. He then took up the last two statements added to the plea of justification, which were to the effect that Mr. Wilde in July, 1890, wrote and published a certain immoral obscene work in the form of a narrative entitled The Picture of Dorian Grey, and that in December, 1894, was published a certain other immoral and obscene work in the form of a magazine, entitled The Chameleon, which contained divers obscene matters, and that he contributed thereto certain immoral maxims as the introduction to the same under the title of "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young."

The gist of this last accusation, as Sir Edward pointed out, was that one contribution to the magazine in question was entitled "The Priest and the Acolyte," which was of such nature that even Mr. Wilde's counsel characterized it as a disgrace to literature, expressing his amazement that anyone should write it, and his still greater announcement that any decent publishers should publish it. Sir Edward wound up his address by giving with effective skill, which did not, however (as he was careful later on to make clear) quite satisfy Mr. Wilde's artistic judgment, a synopsis of the plot of Dorian Grey, which he said was the story of a young man of good birth, great wealth and much personal beauty.

Certainly, the vices in which this youth eventually indulges were hinted at, said Sir Edward, but he should be surprised if his learned friend could point to any passage which did more than describe, as novelists and dramatists must, passions and vice of life which they might desire to reproduce in a work of art.

EVIDENCE OF THE LIBEL.

This ended Sir Edward's address, and after calling the porter of the Albemarle Club to give formal evidence as to the publication of the libel, Mr. O. Wilde was asked to step into the witness box. He strode deliberately thereinto and occupied a few seconds after he sworn in arranging, in convenient proximity to his elbow, a glass of water. He then lounged over the rail of the stand, as I have already said, in a clumsy posture, clasping his hands nervously in font of him over a pair of dogskin gloves he held, and occasionally wiping his forehead with his hand or with his handkerchief.

He was asked to take a seat but preferred the ungraceful posture which I have described. Close behind him sat the fragile-looking Lord A. Douglas and the sturdier and more manly looking Lord Douglas of Hawick. With an occasional suggestion of flippancy he bore out the opening statement of his counsel as regards Lord Alfred and his dealings with the alleged blackmailers. He then detailed the incidents if the call made upon him by Lord Queensberry at his Tite-Street residence in 1894, in course of which he said to him: "Lord Queensberry, do you seriously accuse your son and me?" to which the Marquis replied: "I do not say you are what people allege, but you look it and you pose as it, which is just as bad."

THREATENED TO TRASH HIM.

At this Lord Queensberry, from his place in the dock, smiled gently and the crowd in the Court burst into a murmur of applause, which was instantly suppressed at the stern instance of the judge. According to the prosecutor the interview ended by Lord Queensberry threatening to trash him if he caught him at any public restaurant with his son, and Mr. Wilde replied: "I don't know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Wilde rules are to shoot at sight."

With regard to the Chameleon Mr. Wilde said he had no connection with it, except as a contributor, and disapproved of "The Priest and the Acolyte."

Mr. Carson, in quietly measured but perceptibly Irish accent, then took the witness in hand. Mr. Wilde had given his age as thirty-nine: It appeared from a birth certificate that he was over forty, and that when he first made the acquaintance of Lord Alfred Douglas the latter was twenty or twenty-one. It appeared that the two had stayed together not only at Oxford, Brighton, Worthing, Cromer and other country places, but also at various London hotels and had also stopped in chambers in St. James's-place, occupied by Mr. Wilde in addition to his house in Tite-street, while he had also been abroad several times. When asked whether he approved of Lord Alfred's two poems published in The Chameleon, one of which was entitled "In Praise of Shame," Mr. Wilde replied that he thought them exceedingly beautiful poems, but in the face of extracts read therefrom that there was nothing immoral in them. He did not even think "The Priest and the Acolyte" immoral, but that it was worse; it was badly written. He would not call it blasphemous, however, but only disgusting twaddle. He had never publicly disclaimed connection with The Chameleon.

CROSS-EXAMINED ON "DORIAN GREY."

For nearly an hour Mr. Carson cross-examined Mr. Wilde upon his own book of Dorian Grey, the cross-examination eliciting from Mr. Wilde such would-be epigrammatic statements as that: views belong to people who are not artists," "I have no knowledge of the ordinary individual," "everything I write is extraordinary," "I have never given adoration to anyone but myself," "I have never been jealous," "I do not think anything I have ever written is true," and so forth and so on.

His remark that everything he wrote was extraordinary was called forth by the reading of a letter from him to Lord Alfred, which began--

Savoy Hotel Dearest of all boys, Your letter was delightful red and yellow wine to me, for I am sad and out of sorts. And ended-- My bill here is £49 for a week, but why are you not here, my dear own boy? Fear I must leave. No money, no credit, and a heart of lead. From your own Oscar.

In regard to one of the alleged blackmailers, named Wood, Mr. Wilde admitted he had met him at the Cafe Royal, and on the first night he saw him he took him to supper in a private room at the Hotel Florence, in Rupert-street, and gave him £2, though he was neither an artist nor a literary man, nor a man of his own social position. He also admitted that afterwards he gave Wood £2, with which to go to America. He also gave him a farewell luncheon. He called Wood Alfred and Wood called him Oscar, as did also the other blackmailer Taylor. He also admitted that none of his many letters to Alfred save the one which was discovered had been subsequently turned into sonnets or characterised by him as prose poems. All the letters, however, were beautiful.

FURTHER CROSS-EXAMINATION.

Leaving discussion of Mr. Wilde's literature aside for the moment Mr. Carson proceeded to question him as to his intimacy with a young man in the employment of Messrs. Elkin Matthew and John Lane, publishers of the Yellow Book. Mr. Wilde objected to the youth being termed an office boy, but admitted he was very fond of him and had taken him to the theatre, to the Lyric Club, to the Cafe Royal and to a private room at Kettmans' and also the Albemarle Hotel, and had on various occasions given him money.

He also admitted he knew a lad at Worthing, named Alfonso Conway, who, according to Mr. Carson, sold newspapers at that place and "enjoyed himself in being idle." He was a lad of no literary ambition and of but little education. He had given him a suit of clothes, a walking stick, which was produced in court, a straw hat, which was likewise on exhibit, and a cigarette case and a photograph of himself, not to make him look like his equal, "for he could never look like that, but because he was a pleasant nice creature."

THE CASE ADJOURNED

At this point the case was adjourned, the defendant, somewhat significantly, being allowed to depart on his own recognisances in the sum of £500, a reduction from the former bail of £2,000.

The enormous crowd then filtered out of the stuffy court-room to spread the gossip and striking features of the day's hearing in every direction. Among the minor incidents worth notice I may mention a curious slip made by Sir Edward Clarke in his opening, when he referred to the defendant as Lord Rosebery and lost his temper to such an extent that he testily admonished the spectators for tittering at his mistake.

I may also refer to the calmness with which Mr. Wilde answered question after question, which must to all appearance seriously damage his case. Finally the extreme cleverness of Mr. Carson's cross-examination was the general theme of admiration. The dramatic manner in which he at first played around the more trivial affairs of Mr. Wilde's books and articles, as if these were of chief importance, and finally brought out his really serious points with sledgehammer directness and solemnity, was regarded by his fellow barristers as masterly.

Naturally rumors of all sorts were flying round last night, some of them connecting, so far as could be found, names of various prominent people with the case. The most important and most apparently vague was to the effect that Mr. Wilde left London by the night mail to Dover on his way to Ostend. It is at least certain that Mr. Wilde was to be found last night neither at Tite-street nor at any of his usual resorts.

At one o'clock this morning Lord Queensberry had heard nothing definite either in confirmation or denial of the rumor.

THE trial of the Marquis of Queensberry for libelling Oscar Wilde, and which ended in the acquittal of the Marquis and the arrest of Wilde on a serious criminal charge, was commenced in the Old Bailey Criminal Court, London, on April 3. From an English paper to hand yesterday we make the following extracts:—

In opening the case for the prosecution, Sir Edward Clarke referred to the fact that a man named Wood had been given some clothes by Lord Alfred Douglas, and he alleged that he found in the pocket of a coat

FOUR LETTERS FROM MR. WILDE TO

LORD ALFRED DOUGLAS.

Whether he did find them there or whether he stole them is matter for speculation, but the letters were handed about, and Wood asked Mr. Wilde to buy them back. He represented himself as being in need and wanting to go to America. Mr. Wilde handed him £15 or £20, and received from him three of somewhat ordinary importance. It afterwards appeared that only the letters of no importance had been given up (Sir Edward Clarke made the remark quite innocently) and the letter of some importance had been retained. At that time "A Woman of No Importance" was in rehearsal at the Haymarket Theatre, and there came to Mr. Wilde through Mr. Beerbohm Tree a document which purported to be a copy of the retained letter. It had two headings—one Babbicombe Cliff, Torquay, and the other 16 Tite-street. Shortly afterwards a man named Allan called on Mr. Wilde, and demanded ransom for the original of the letter. Mr. Wilde peremptorily refused. He said, "I look upon the letter as a work of art. Now I have got a copy I do not desire the original. Go." Almost immediately afterwards a man named Claburn brought the original and surrendered it, saying it was sent by Mr. Wood. Mr. Wilde gave him a sovereign for his trouble. The letter was as follows:—

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 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 you go there and cool your hands in the gray 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.

Under examination by his counsel Wilde replied that the Marquis of Queensberry called upon him and said: "I hear you were thoroughly well blackmailed last year for a disgusting letter that you wrote to my son." Oscar replied: "The letter was a beautiful letter, and I never write except for publication."

Mr. Wilde continued: "About the end of June Lord Queensberry called upon me in the afternoon. I said to him, "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. Lord Queensberry said, 'If I catch you and my son together again I will thrash you.' I said, 'I do not know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot at sight.' I then told him to leave my house. He said he would not do so. I told him I would have him put out by the police. Mr. Wilde then went into the hall and said to his servant, 'This is the Marquis of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London. Never allow him to enter my house again. Should he attempt to come in you may send for the police.'"

In cross-examination Wilde was questioned respecting the vicious tendencies of a story which had appeared in a magazine to which he was a contributor, when the following questions and answers were given:—

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 story was not immoral? — It was worse, it was badly written. (Laughter.)

In reply to another question Wilde said: I do not believe that any book or work of art ever had any effect on morality whatever.

And the following dialogue ensued:

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 favorite 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 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 art in whatever age.

Whether moral or immoral? — There is no such thing as morality or immorality in art. There is immoral emotion.

"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for." — I think that the realisation of one's self is the prime aim of life, and to realise one's self 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; somewhat 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 professions." — I should think that the young have enough sense of humor.

You think that is humorous? — I think it is an amusing paradox.

In answer to other questions, he said: 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 Grey 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.

At a later stage the following letter, written by Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas, was read:—

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 so, so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your young lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner—

Here a word is indecipherable, but I will ask the witness—

than have you bitter, unjust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury. My bill here is £40 for a week. Why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must have no money, no credit.—Your own OSCAR.

Is that an ordinary letter? — Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter.)

Have you got his letter in reply? — I do not recollect what letter it was.

It was not a beautiful letter? — I do not remember the letter.

You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you?" — Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.

What would you pay for that beautiful letter? — I could not get a copy.

How much would you give if you could get a copy? — Oh, I do not know.

Was this one of yours a beautiful letter? — Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other—a prose poem.

Towards the close of the case for the prosecution counsel for the defence read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry:—

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, &, 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.

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