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Mr Carson proceeded to cross-examine the witness. He said—You said at the commencement of your examination that you are thirty-nine years of age. I think you are over forty? I do not think so.

You were born, I believe, on October 16, 1854? Yes.

That makes you somewhat over forty? Very well.

Do you know Lord A Douglas’s age? He is, I think, twenty-four.

When you know him he was about twenty or twenty-one? Yes.

Continuing, witness said he had not, previous to the interview, received a letter from the Marquis expressing the wish that the acquaintance with his son should not continue. Witness knew the defendant did not wish the acquaintance to continue.

Mr Carson—And for the reasons he gave you? Yes.

Answering further, witness said he had continued very intimate with Lord A Douglas down to the present moment, and he had been to Oxford, Brighton, Worthing, Cromer, and Torquay with him, but had never taken rooms for him. He had been to various hotels with him, including the Savoy, and had taken rooms for himself at 10 and 11 St James’s place apart from his house in Tite street. Lord Douglas had stopped there, and, as to his poems in the "Chameleon," he thought them exceeding beautiful—the one "In Praise of Shame," and the other "Two Loves." The story objected to in the "Chameleon" was, he thought, from a literary point of view, most objectionable, and he added it was impossible for a man of letters to criticise a work from any other point of view. He did not think there was such a thing as an immoral book. The story in question, "The Priest and the Acolyte.' was, he said, worse. It was badly written.

Do you think the story blasphemous? I think the account of the death violated every artistic canon of poetry.

That is not what I ask. That is the only answer I can give you.

Did you think it blasphemous? I thought it wrong.

I want to see in what position you pose? That is not the way to talk to me. I pose as nothing.

I want to see your position in reference to this line of publication, and I want to know do you consider that story was blasphemous? The emotion produced in my mind was that of disgust. I did not consider the story a blasphemous production. I think it horrible, but the word "blasphemous" is not my word.

Mr Carson read a number of extracts from the article, and said "I think you will admit that anyone who was connected or would allow himself publicly to approve of that article would be posing as a ——?"

The Witness—No, but I would say it was very bad literary taste.

You disapprove of it from a literary point of view. Did you ever inform the public that you disapproved of it? No I never did.

Notwithstanding that the article was in a paper to which you yourself contributed, you did not think it necessary to dissociate yourself from it in any public way? I considered it beneath my dignity to write a letter in regard to an article which was the work of an undergraduate.

Asking questions concerning the "Paraphrases for the Young," written by the witness in the "Chameleon," counsel read this one:—"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men in England who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession.'

Witness—The young, I think, have enough sense of humour to see that that is an amusing paradox.

Turning to "Dorian Gray," counsel read an extract, and asked, may I take it that no matter how immoral a book was if it was well written it would be a good book? If it were well written it would produce a sense of beauty, and if badly written a sense of disgust.

Well, if it put forward disgusting views it would be well written? No work of art ever puts forward views.

Is "Dorian Gray" open to the interpretation of being a disgusting book? Only to brutes and the illiterate. You cannot ask about the interpretation of my work. It does not concern me. What concerns me is my view and my feeling. I do not care "tupence" what the Phillistines think about it.

The majority of people would come under your term of illiterates? I have found wonderful exceptions.

Your book might have an improper meaning to the ordinary individual? I have no knowledge of the ordinary individual.

Mr Carson read the description of the artist’s feelings on first meeting "Dorian Gray," and in reply to a question,

Mr Wilde said—I think this is the most perfect description possible of what an artist would feel on meeting a beautiful personality.

You mean a beautiful person? Yes, a beautiful young man if you like.

Having read another passage, Mr Carson asked—Do you mean to say that that describes the National of one man towards another? It describes the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.

The book speaks of adoration for the youth Dorian. Have you experienced that? I have never given adoration to anybody but myself (laughter).

I dare say you think that is very smart? Not at all.

Asked a further question, Mr Wilde exclaimed, "I do not know what you are talking about," to which counsel retorted, "Well, I hope I shall make myself very plain before I am done."

Later witness said he borrowed the sensations described in the book from Shakespeare’s sonnets, and added—"There are people in the world who cannot understand the intense devotion, affection, and adoration that an artist can feel for either a wonderful and beautiful person or a wonderful and beautiful friend. Those are the conditions under which we live. I regret them.'

People who have not a high understanding you think, might put it down to something wrong? Undoubtedly. Hallam had done it about Shakespeare’s sonnets.

Turning to the personal letter written by witness to Lord A Douglas, counsel asked—"Was that an ordinary letter?"

Witness—Certainly not. An ordinary letter—no!

Do you mean to tell me this was a natural and proper way to address a young man? You are criticising a poem. If you ask me whether it is proper, you might as well as me whether "King Lear" is proper or a sonnet of Shakespeare proper.

But apart from art? I can’t answer any question apart from art. A man who was not an artist could never have written that letter. He could not have used the language I used unless he was a man of letters and an artist.

Was that the ordinary way in which you carried on your correspondence with Lord A Douglas? One could not write a letter like this every day. It would be like writing a poem every day—you couldn’t do it.

Mr Carson, having quoted from another letter asked—Is that an extraordinary letter? I think everything I write extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. Good heavens! (angrily) ask me any questions you like about it.

Mr Carson—When did the man named Wood first come to you about the letters which he had found in Lord A Douglas’s coat? An appointment was made through Mr A Taylor.

Answering further questions Mr Wilde said he met Wood at the Cafe Royal at Lord A Douglas’s request. He frequently went to 13 Little College street, and had tea there sometimes.

Mr Carson—I think there were all young men at those tea parties? No, not at all.

They were all men? Yes.

Do I understand that the very first day you saw Wood you took him round to the Florence Restaurant? Yes.

Was Taylor also present? No.

In reply to further questions witness emphatically denied having any unlawful relations with Wood. The £15 he gave him was to pay his passage to New York, and witness gave him £5 more the next day.

Did you have a champagne lunch with him before he left for America? Yes.

With the man you thought wanted to blackmail you? Yes.

Answering further questions, witness said Wood called him Oscar. Almost everybody called him by his Christian name. Allen, who brought him the "prose poem," was a notorious blackmailer. He gave him 10s out of contempt. That was one of the best ways to show contempt.

Counsel proceeded to put questions with regard to the "office boy" of witness’s publishers.

Mr Wilde denied that the lad was the office boy, and said he was an assistant. He was not good looking, but had an intellectual face. He had dined with witness at the Albemarle Hotel.

For the purpose of having an intellectual treat? Well, for him, yes (laughter).

Other questions were asked by counsel, and, ultimately, Mr Wilde, turning to the Judge, asked—Is it not sufficient for me to give an entire denial, without being exposed to the ignominy of detail after detail? Why should I be exposed before the whole court in entering into this sort of thing, which cannot possibly be borne?

Mr Carson did not persist.

Cross-examination continued—He became acquainted with a boy named Alfonso Conway, at Worthing, who was about 18 years of age, but had no occupation. He denied having any unlawful relations with him. He had given him a cigarette case with the inscription "Alfonzo: from his friend Oscar Wilde." He had also given this boy his photograph and a book.

Did you bring this boy with you to Brighton? Yes.

You bought him this straw hat and a blue suit to make him look more like your equal? Oh no, he could never look that.

How is it he was so good a companion for you? Because his was a pleasant, bright, simple, nice nature.

The suit of Oscar Wilde and the Marquess of Queensberry was down in to-day's list for trial at the Central Criminal Court, London, before Mr. Justice Collins and a common jury. The words of the indictment charge John Sholto Douglas with maliciously publishng a defamatory libel of and concerning Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wilde. The general public and the members of the Junior Bar were very early in attendance, and not only was all sitting room taken up but the passages of the court were so blocked by the crush that ingress and egress was a matter of great difficulty.

Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Mathewe, and Mr. Travers Humphreys had been retained for the prosecution. Mr. Carson, Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill were counsel for the defence; a watching brief for Lord Alfred Douglas (son of the defendant) being held by Mr. Besley, Q.C., and Mr. Monckton.

Plaintiff arrived at half-past ten, accompanied by his solicitor, and took a seat in the well of the court immediately in front of Sir Edward Clarke. Immediately afterwards the jury answered to their names, but it was not until twenty minutes to eleven that silence was called for the entrance of the learned judge.

Lord Queensberry at once surrended to his bail, and was conducted to the dock. His lordship seated himself, but obediently to the attendant's request advanced to the front and stood with his arms resting upon the ledger.

The Clerk of the Court having read the indictment charging the defendant with having published a defamatory libel of the plaintiff upon a card addressed to him, Lord Queensberry replied, "Not guilty," and added the further plea. "The libel is true and was published for the public benefit.'

For the prosecution Sir Edward Clarke then opened. The libel, he said, was upon a visiting card containing the name of Lord Queensberry, and it was a matter of very serious moment; because it imputed to Mr. Oscar Wilde the gravest offence with which a man could be charged; but a far graver issue was raised by the plea that the libel was justified, and that Mr. Oscar Wilde had for a considerable period solicited certain persons (whose names were mentioned in the pleadings) to commit certain practices. The learned counsel traced the plaintiff's career at Trinity College, Dublin, and subsequently at Magdalen College, Oxford, his marriage with a daughter of the late Mr. Lloyd, Q.C., and his later literary and artistic career. He detailed plaintiff's social connection with the sons of the defendant and with Lady Queensberry, who some years ago obtained relief from her marriage owing to misconduct on the part of the Marquess. Touching next on the introduction of Mr. Wilde to Lord Queensberry by Lord Alfred Douglas at the Café Royal, Sir Edward called the attention of the jury to a personage not hitherto mentioned. This was a man who had been given the same clothes worn by Lord Alfred Douglas, and who alleged that in the pockets he discovered four letters addressed to Lord Alfred by Mr. Oscar Wilde. Whether the man had found or stolen them was a matter of speculation. This person came to Mr. Oscar Wilde, represented himself as in distress and as wanting to go to America, and plaintiff gave him £15 or £20 in order to pay his passage. He then handed to plaintiff the letters. To those letters he (Sir E. Clarke) did not attach the slightest importance. As was generally the case the important letter was retained. While Mr. Oscar Wilde's play A Woman of No Importance was in preparation what appeared to be to some extent the copy of a letter was handed to Mr. Tree, the actor, with a request to give it to Mr. Wilde. After this another individual called on the plaintiff and offered him the original, but he said, "No." He had a copy which he looked upon as a work of art, and did not want the original. Plaintiff looked upon the letter as a sort of "prose sonnet," and told the man that it would probably appear as a "sonnet poem." It did so appear in a critical magazine edited by Lord A. Douglas, and called The Spirit Lamp. The learned counsel read the letter.

The following is a copy of the letter which was published in sonnet form in the Spirit Lamp—an aesthetical and satirical magazine edited by 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. No Hyacinthus followed love so madly as 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.

Continuing the learned counsel said the words of the the letter did appear extraordinary to those in the habit of reading commercial correspondence—(laughter)—but it was merely an expression of poetic feeling, and had no relation whatever to the suggestion now made. On the production of the plaintiff's play, The Importance of Being Earnest, Lord Queensberry was refused admission and his money returned because he brought to the theatre a bouquet of vegetables—(laughter)—and the jury might have their doubts whether his lordship was responsible for his actions. The learned advocate dealt at some length with the suggestion made against the plaintiff because of his connection with certain literary productions, and as showing his real feeling as to improper publications he instanced the fact that plaintiff the instant he saw a production called The Priest and the Acolyte, wrote to the editor of the magazine protesting against its continued appearance. As to Mr. Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray, it was simply idealising reality in the sense of harmony and beauty.

Sydney Wright, the porter of the Albemarle, having deposed to handing Lord Queensberry's card to Mr. Oscar Wilde,

The Plaintiff himself entered the witness-box, and assuming an easy pose with his arms resting on the rail, he answered the questions of his leader in a firm, deliberate voice. He met the man Wood, who had the letters referred to at the rooms of a tailor, and Wood said a man named Allen had stolen the letters from him, but they had been recovered by a detective. Plaintiff told him he did not consider the letters of any importance. Wood said he had been offered £60 for what witness described as "his beautiful letter to Lord Alfred Douglas." His reply was "I never received so large a sum for a prose work so short in length." That letter formed the basis of a French poem afterwards published and signed by a young French poet, a friend of his own. Passing from various interviews with Wood and another person named Tyler, plaintiff described a scene with Lord Queensberry in his library. He told defendant he supposed he had come there to apologise for the letter he had written about plaintiff and his son. Defendant replied that the letter was privileged, adding that plaintiff and Lord Alfred had been kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice, and that they had been blackmailed, and that plaintiff had taken rooms for defendant's son in Piccadilly. These statements were perfectly untrue. He asked defendant, "Do you seriously accuse your son and me?" Lord Queensberry answered, "I do not say that you are it, but you look it." (Slight applause in court.)

The Learned Judge: I will have the court cleared if there is the smallest repetition of disturbance.

Witness completed Lord Queensberry's answer, "I do not say that your are it, but you look it and you pose at it, which is just as bad. If I catch you in a public cafe again with my son I will thrash you." Plaintiff replied, "I don't know what the Queensberry Rules are, but the Oscar Wilde's rule is to shoot at sight." He then ordered defendant out of his house, saying to the servant, "This is the Marquess of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London. Never allow him to enter my house again. If he attempts it send for the police." He was not responsible for the publication of "The Priest and the Acolyte" in the Cameleon magazine. He disapproved of it, and expressed his disapproval to the editor. There was no truth in the statements of defendant contained in the pleadings.

(Continued on Page 4.)

Mr. Carson began his cross-examination by asking plaintiff whether he was not something over 39, the age which he had given in his examination in chief. He now said he was born on the 16th October, 1854. In addition to his house in Chelsea he had rooms in St. James's Place, and Lord A. Douglas had visited them. He regarded the "Priest and the Acolyte" as violating all the artistic canons, and as being disgusting twaddle; but he had never publicly dissociated himself from the Chameleon, in which it appeared.

Was the "Priest and the Acolyte" immoral?—lt was worse—it was badly written. (Laughter.)

The learned counsel took plaintiff through a series of questions on his "Phrases and Philosophies," contributed to the Chameleon.

"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the attractiveness of others." Do you hold that to be a safe axiom?—Witness: Most stimulating. (Laughter.)

You think anything that stimulates thought is good whether moral or immoral?—Thought is neither one nor the other, thought is intellectual.

Counsel called attention to a criticism of "Dorian Gray" in the Scots Observer, in which it was described as set in "an atmosphere of moral corruption," and asked plaintiff whether he regarded that as a suggestion that his work pointed to a certain grave offence?—Witness: Some might think so, whether reasonably or not.

Mr. Carson: Have you ever felt the feeling of "adoring madly" a man some years younger than yourself?

Plaintiff: I never gave adoration to anybody except myself. (Laughter.)

Mr. Carson: In your introduction to "Dorian Gray" you say there is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are either well or badly written?

Plaintiff: That expresses my view.

Has "Dorian Gray" a certain tendency?—Only to brutes, and only illiterates would so regard it.

Do the majority of people take up the "pose" you are giving us ?—I am afraid not. I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.

Mr. Carson: Not cultivated enough to draw a distinction between a good book and a bad book?

Witness (loftily): Oh. certainly not. (Laughter.)

Mr. Carson, quoting from a copy of "Lippincot" (a second copy having been handed to the learned judges), read the author's description of his first meeting with Dorian Gray, and asked, "Do you consider that description of the feelings of a man towards a youth just growing up as proper or improper?"

Plaintiff: I think it is the most proper description possible of what an artist would feel on meeting a beautiful personality.

May I take it that you have never felt the sensations which you there describe?—No; I borrowed from Shakespeare's Sonnets.

Mr. Carson: You have written an article pointing out that Shakespeare's Sonnets have a certain tendency?

Plaintiff: On the contrary, I wrote objecting to the shameful perversion by Hallam, the historian, aud a great many French critics.

Certain questions as to a French novel referred to in plaintiff's "Dorian Gray," were ruled out as irrelevant.

Mr. Carson returned to "Dorian Gray," and in a long passage hit upon the phrase, "Why is your friendship so fatal to young men ?"

Plaintiff: I do not think any grown person influences another grown person.

Further questioned, he said his letter to Lord A. Douglas was written from Torquay, where he was staying, and Lord Alfred was at the Savoy.

Mr. Carson: You say "your slim built soul walks between passion and poetry."

Plaintiff: It is a beautiful phrase. (Laughter.) The letter is unique. (Renewed laughter.)

Mr. Carson: Listen to this second letter of your own to Lord A. Douglas:—

"Dearest of all boys,—Your letter was delightful, and it was red and yellow wine to me, for I am sadly out of sorts. 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 curved lips saying hideous things to me. Don't do it. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, a thing of grace and genius, but I do not know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties. My bill here is £49 for the week. I have also a new sitting-room over the Thames for you. Why are you not here my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit, aud a heart of lead.—Ever your own, Oscar.

Is not that an extraordinary letter?—Everything I write is extraordinary. (Laughter).

Mr. Carson: You do not pose as being ordinary?

Plaintiff (with a gesture of contempt): No.

Is that a love letter?—lt is a letter expressive of love.

Cross-examined: Wood was a young man who had held a clerkship and was in a different social position. He had been asked by Lord A. Douglas to help Wood, and supped with Wood at the Café on the night of his introduction. On one occasion he gave Wood £2, but not for an object suggested by the learned counsel. He never misconducted himself with Wood at his house in Chelsea while his (the plaintiff's) wife and children were away. When Wood brought those letters to him he thought he came to levy blackmail.

My suggestion to you is that instead of giving him £16 you gave him £30. Did you not give him £5 the following day?—Yes. (Sensation.)

Did you have a champagne farewell lunch with the man who levied blackmail?—Yes. He convinced me he had no intention, and that the letters had been stolen by other persons.

Was it then you gave him the £5?—Yes.

Why?—Because he said £15 would land him penniless at New York.

Did you not think it strange that a man with whom you had lunched in a private room should seek to levy blackmail?—Perfectly infamous.

Cross-examination resumed: He knew Wood as "Alfred," and two other men named Allen and Taylor were also known to him. Allen was known to him by reputation as a blackmailer and nothing else. He gave Allen 10s. "to show his contempt." (Laughter). After Allen came Clyburne, who also consulted him about the letters. He was also kind to Clyburne, and gave him 10s. (Laughter.) He told Clyburne he was afraid he was leading a dreadfully wicked life. Clyburne said, "There was good and bad in all of us," to which he replied, "You are a philosopher." (Laughter.)

Is the discovered letter the only one that a sonnet was written about?-I should have to go through a great deal of modern poetry before I could answer that? (Laughter.)

The case was adjourned till to-morrow.