The Times - Thursday, April 4, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT, April 3.
(Before Mr. Justice Collins.)
John Sholto Douglas, Marquis of Queensberry, surrendered and was indicted for unlawfully and maliciously writing and publishing a false, malicious, and defamatory libel of and concerning Mr. Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde in the form of a card directed to him.
The trial of JOHN SHOLTO DOUGLAS, Marquis of Queensberry, who surrendered, upon an indictment charging him with unlawfully and maliciously writing and publishing a false, malicious, and defamatory libel of and concerning Mr. Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde in the form of a card directed to him, was resumed.
The trial or JOHN SHOLTO DOUGLAS, MARQUIS of QUEENSBERRY, who surrendered upon an indictment charging him with unlawfully and maliciously writing and publishing a false, malicious, and defamatory libel of and concerning Mr. Oscar Wilde in the form of a card directed to him, was resumed.
The Clerk read out the indictment, to the effect that the marquis did unlawfully and maliciously write and publish a false, malicious, and defamatory libel concerning Mr Oscar Wilde in the form of a card directed to him.
The Clerk read out the indictment to the effect that the Marquis "did unlawfully and maliciously write and publish a false, malicious, and defamatory libel" concerning Mr. O. Wilde, in the form of a card directed to him.
The case excited great public interest, and the court was crowded.
The defendant pleaded "Not Guilty," and put in a plea alleging that the libel was true and that it was published for the public benefit.
The Defendant pleaded not guilty, and also that the libel was true, and that its publication was for the public benefit.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Charles Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C.F. Gill, and Mr. A Gill defended. Mr. Besley, Q.C., and Mr. Monckton watched the case for a person interested.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Charles Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill defended. Mr. Besley, Q.C., Mr. Monckton, and Mr. Leonard Kershaw watched the case for a person interested.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Charles Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys, appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill defended. Mr. Besley, Q.C., Mr. Monckton, and Mr. Leonard Kershaw watched the case for a person interested.
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 Douglas of Hawick.
Sir E. Clarke, Q.C., M.P., with Mr C. Mathews and Mr Travers Humphrey, appeared for the prosecution; Mr Carson, Q.C., Mr C.F. Gill, Q.C., and Mr A. Gill defended; and Mr Besley, Q.C., with Mr Monckton, watched the case on behalf of Lord Douglas Hawick.
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 for Lord Douglas of Hawick.
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.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C. M P; Mr Charles Mathews, and Mr Travers Humphreys are counsel for Mr Oscar Wilde. Mr B. Carson, Q C MP ; Mr G F Gill, and Mr A Gill appeared for the Marquis; and Mr Besley, Q C, and Mr Monckton hold a watching brief for Lord Douglas of Hawick.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q C, M P ; Mr Charles Mathews, and Mr Travers Humphreys are counsel for Mr Oscar Wilde. Mr B Carsons, Q C, M P ; Mr C F Gill, and Mr A Gill appear for the Marquis ; and Mr Besley, Q C, and Mr Menckton hold a watching brief for Lord Douglas of Hawick.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., in opening the case, said that the jury had heard the charge against the defendant, which was that he published a false and malicious libel in regard to Mr. Oscar Wilde. That libel was published in the form of a card, which was left by Lord Queensberry at a club to which Mr. Oscar Wilde belonged. It was a visiting card of Lord Queensberry's, with his name printed upon it, and it had written upon it certain words which formed the libel complained of. In respect of that libel so published this charge was brought against the defendant. Of course it was a matter of serious moment that such a libel as that which Lord Queensberry had written upon that card should be in any way connected with the name of a gentleman who had borne a high reputation in this country. The words of the libel were not directly an accusation of the gravest of all offences--the suggestion was that there was no guilt of the actual offence, but that in some way or other the person of whom the words were written did appear--nay, desired to appear and pose to be of a person inclined to the commission of that gravest of offences. The leaving of such a card openly with the porter of a club was most serious and likely gravely to affect the position of the person as to whom that injurious suggestion was made. If they had to deal only with the publication--simply the question of whether that libel was published, and with the further question which would arise, not for the jury, but for the learned Judge, as to what amount of blame as for a criminal action should be thrown upon the defendant in respect to the matter--there would be considerations, some or probably many of which might be brought to their notice before this case ended, which would not have justified such action, because it could not be justified unless the statement were true but which, at all events in regard to a person in the position of the defendant, with such characteristics as the evidence would probably show that he had, might to some extent have gone to extenuate the gravity of the offence. But the matter did not stop at the question whether that card was delivered, or whether the defendant could in any way be excused by strong feeling--mistaken feeling--for having made that statement. By the plea, which the defendant had brought before the Court that day a graver issue was raised--the defendant said that the statement was true and that it was for the public benefit that the statement was made, and he gave particulars in the plea of matters which he alleged showed that the statement was true in regard to Mr. Oscar Wilde. The plea had not been read to the jury, but there was no allegation in the plea that Mr. Oscar Wilde had been guilty of the offence of which he himself had spoken, but there were a series of accusations in it mentioning the names of persons, and it was said with regard to those persons that Mr. Wilde had solicited them to commit with him the grave offence, and that he had been guilty with each and all of them of indecent practices. In the plea Mr. Oscar Wilde was stated to have solicited the offence, and that, although that offence was not alleged to have been committed, he was guilty of indecent practices. It was for those who had taken the responsibility of putting into the plea these serious allegations to satisfy the jury if they could be credible witnesses, or evidence which they thought worthy of consideration and entitled to belief, that the allegations were true. Mr. Oscar Wilde was the son of Sir William Wilde, a very distinguished Irish surgeon and oculist, who did public service as chairman of the Census Commission in Ireland. His father died some years ago, but Lady Wilde was now living. He went in the first instance to Trinity College, Dublin, where he greatly distinguished himself for classical knowledge, earning some conspicuous rewards which were given to its students by that distinguished University. His father wished him to go to Oxford, and he went to Magdalen College, Oxford, where he had a brilliant career, obtaining the Newdigate prize for English poetry. After leaving the University he devoted himself to literature in its artistic side. In 1882 he published a volume of poems and wrote essays on artistic and aesthetic subjects. Many years ago he became a very prominent personality, laughed at by some but appreciated by many, representing a form of artistic literature which recommended itself to many of the foremost minds and the most cultivated people. In 1884 he married a daughter of Mr. Horace Lloyd, Q.C., and had since lived with his wife and two sons in Tite-street, Chelsea. He was a member of the Albemarle Club. Among the friends who went to his house in Tite-street was Lord Alfred Douglas, a younger son of Lord Queensberry. In 1891 Lord Alfred Douglas went to Tite-street, being introduced by a friend of Mr. Wilde's. From that time Mr. Wilde had been a friend of Lord Alfred Douglas and also of his mother, Lady Queensberry, from whom, on her petition, the Marquis had been divorced. He had again and again been a guest at Lady Queensberry's houses at Wokingham and Salisbury, being invited to family parties there. Lord Alfred Douglas had been a welcome guest at Mr. Wilde's house and at Cromer, Goring, Torquay, and Worthing when Mr. and Mrs. Wilde were staying there. Lord Alfred Douglas was a frequent and invited visitor. Until 1893 Mr. Wilde did not know the defendant, with the exception that he met him once about 1881. In November, 1892, Mr. Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas were lunching together at the Cafe Royal in Regent-street. Lord Queensberry came into the room. Mr. Wilde was aware that, owing to circumstances which he had nothing to do--owing to unhappy family troubles which he himself only mentioned because it was absolutely necessary--there had been some strained feelings between Lord Alfred Douglas and his father. Mr. Wilde suggested to Lord Alfred Douglas that it was a good opportunity for him to speak to his father and for a friendly interview. Lord Alfred Douglas acted on the suggestion and went across to Lord Queensberry and spoke to him and had a friendly conversation. Lord Alfred Douglas brought Lord Queensberry to the table where he and Mr. Wilde sat at lunch, and Lord Queensberry was introduced to Mr. Wilde and shook hands with him. Lord Queensberry sat down and had lunch with them. Lord Alfred Douglas was obliged to leave at half-past 2 o'clock, and Lord Queensberry remained chatting with Mr. Wilde. Mr. Wilde said that he and his family were going to Torquay. Lord Queensberry said he was going to Torquay too, to give a lecture, and asked Mr. Wilde to come and hear it. Lord Queensberry did not go to Torquay, and he sent a note to Mr. Wilde telling him that he was not going there. Mr. Wilde never met Lord Queensberry from that time until the early part of 1894. Mr. Wilde had then become aware that certain statements were being made affecting his character. A man named Wood, to whom some clothes had been given by Lord Alfred Douglas, alleged that he had found in the pocket of a coat four letters addressed by Mr. Wilde to Lord Alfred, and called upon Mr. Wilde in 1893, representing that he was in great distress and in need of monetary assistance to go to America. He produced some of the letters, and Mr. Wilde, more out of sympathy than anything else, gave him £15 or £20 for the,. They were mere ordinary letters, of no consequence or importance whatever. But, as generally happened, a further demand for an alleged suppressed letter was made later on, when it became known that Mr. Oscar Wilde's play A Woman of No Importance was about to be produced at the Haymarket Theatre. Mr. Wilde was shown a copy of a letter which had been sent to Mr. Beerbohm Tree which Mr. Wilde was alleged to have written to Lord Alfred Douglas, and was asked to buy the original. He absolutely and peremptorily refused, saying that he himself had a copy of the same letter, as he considered it a work of art, and even the original was of no use to him. He sent the messenger, a man named Allen, away, giving him a sovereign for his trouble, and Allen was so gratified that he immediately send Mr. Wilde the original letter, which he had retained and now produced. Ut was in the nature of a prose sonnet and Mr. Wilde had ideas of publishing it--in fact, it was paraphrased in an aesthetic magazine called the Spirit Lamp, edited by Lord Alfred Douglas. The letter was as follows:--
"My own Boy--Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips 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 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."
"My own Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-rose leaf 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 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."
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.
"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 and 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."
"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."
MY OWN BOY—Your sonnet is quite lovely and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, OSCAR.
My Own Boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
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 who 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 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.
My Own Boy—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yourself should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
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.
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 loved by Apollo was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
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.
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 music of song than for 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 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.
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 music of song than for 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 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.
"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."
My own boy, — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music of song than for madness of kisses. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place — it only lacks you; but go to Salisbury first. — Always with undying love, yours, OSCAR."
My own boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music of song than for madness of kisses. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place—it only lacks you; but go to Salisbury first.—Always with undying love, yours, Oscar."
My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks betweens poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to. Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of the Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first. With undying love, OSCAR.
"MY OWN BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My dear boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like but go to Salisbury first."
My Dear Boy - Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My Dear Boy,- Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who loved Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
My Dear Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My dear boy - Your sonnet is quite lively. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My dear boy - Your sonnet is quite lively. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY Your sonnet is quite lovely. your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim. gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come where whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim-gill soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthu, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My Dear Boy--Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when you do you go to Swisburne? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
Mr Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was like you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My dear boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks betweens poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to. Salisbury? Do you sleep fih the gray twilight of the Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
The words of that communication, Sir Edward Clarke continued, might seem extravagant to their more prosaic and commercial experiences, but Mr. Wilde was a poet, and the letter was considered by him a prose sonnet, and as an expression of true poetic feeling, and had no relation whatsoever to the hateful and repulsive suggestions incorporated in the plea in this case. Early in 1894 Lord Queensberry met Mr. Wilde and his son, Lord Alfred, again at lunch at the Cafe Royal. Shortly after that Mr. Wilde became aware that the marquis was writing letters which affected his character and contained suggestions injurious to him. Though he might then reasonably--and probably would if his own interests alone were concerned--have brought the matter at once to public notice, Mr. Wilde abstained for reasons which would possibly be elicited before the case was over. During 1894 Mr. Wilde--in Lord Queensberry's hearing--ordered that he should never be admitted to his house. Last February Mr. Wilde produced at St. James's Theatre another play called The Importance of Being Earnest. He heard of certain intentions of Lord Queensberry, who had previously created a scene in a theatre when a new play of Lord Tennyson's--The Promise of May--was produced for the first time, and when, as an Agnostic, he publicly denounced a certain character of the performance from his seat in the stalls. Of course a disturbance on the night of a new play would be a very serious matter to author and actors, and would have been especially serious if--as it probably would--it had developed into a personal attack on the private character of Mr. Wilde. Lord Queensberry booked a seat at St. James's Theatre, but his money was returned to him and the police were warned about him. On the night of the play the marquis made his appearance carrying a large bouquet of vegetables. Whether that was consistent with Lord Queensberry's sanity would be for the jury to decide. Being refused admission at the box-office Lord Queensberry, with his vegetable offering, tried to enter by the gallery, but the police refused him admittance. On February 28 Mr. Wilde went to the Albemarle Club and there received from the hall-porter the libellous card left by Lord Queensberry on the 18th of that month. Hitherto the accusations had been made in letters to Lord Queensberry's family on which, if he had chosen, Mr. Wilde could have taken action, but in consideration of the family he refrained. Here, however, was a public charge made openly against him at his club, and Mr. Wilde could no longer refrain or sit still. Hence, these criminal proceedings. The plea of justification contained two curious assertions--one, that in July, 1890, Mr. Wilde wrote and published an immoral work called "The Picture of Dorian Gray," and secondly, contributed to a magazine called the Chameleon, of which he was the mainstay, certain prurient articles on ``Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young." He himself defied his learned friends to suggest from these contributions anything hostile to the character of Mr. Wilde, but it was due to him to say that directly he say the disgraceful and abominable story in the Chameleon "The Priest and the Acolyte" in which same number of his own article appeared he indignantly insisted on the copies being suppressed and the magazine withdrawn. Sir E. Clarke concluded by reading extracts from ``The Picture of Dorian Gray'' and contending that nothing in that work or the other would justify the pleas alleged against Mr. Wilde.
Sidney Wright, hall porter of the Albemarle Club, of which Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Wilde were members, deposed that on February 13 the Marquis of Queensberry handed the card produced to him. Before handing the card to him Lord Queensberry had written some words. Lord Queensberry said he wished witness to give that to Mr. Oscar Wilde. Witness looked at the card, but did not understand it, and made an entry on the back of it of the date and the time at which it was handed to him. Witness put it in an envelope which he addressed "Mr. Oscar Wilde" and when Mr. Oscar Wilde came to the club on February 28 the witness handed it to him, saying that Lord Queensberry had wished him to give it to Mr. Wilde.
Mr. Oscar Wilde was then called and examined by Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C. He deposed that he was 39 years of age. His father was Sir William Wilde, surgeon, of Dublin, who was chairman of the Census Commission. He died when witness was at Oxford. He himself was a student at Trinity College, Dublin, where he took a classical scholarship, a first in "mods" and a first in "greats," winning the Newdigate Prize for English verse. He took his degree in 1878, and from that time had devoted himself to art and literature. In 1882 he published a volume of poems, and afterwards lectured in England and America. He had written many essays, and during the last few years had devoted himself to dramatic literature. In 1884 he married miss Lloyd, and from the date of his marriage he had resided with his wife in Tite-street, Chelsea. He made the acquaintance of Lord Alfred Douglas in 1891, and also made the acquaintance of Lady Queensberry, at whose house in Wokingham and Salisbury he had been a guest. He also knew other members of Lord Queensberry's family. Lord Alfred Douglas had dined with him at the Albemarle Club, of which Mrs. Wilde was also a member, and had stayed with them at Goring, Cromer, Worthing, and Torquay. In November, 1892, he was lunching with Lord Alfred Douglas at the Cafe Royal. He knew there had been some estrangement between Lord Queensberry and Lord Alfred Douglas. On that occasion Lord Queensberry was at the Cafe Royal, and at the suggestion of witness Lord Alfred Douglas went across and shook hands with Lord Queensberry and a friendly conversation ensued. Lord Alfred Douglas had to go early, and Lord Queensberry remained talking to witness. Lord Queensberry said he was going to Torquay, but he did not go. From November, 1892, until March, 1894, witness did not see Lord Queensberry. In 1893 witness heard that some letters which he had addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas had come into the hands of certain persons. A man named Wood told witness that he had found some letters in a suit of clothes which Lord Alfred Douglas had given him. When Wood entered the room he said to witness "I suppose you will think very badly of me." Witness replied, "I heard that you had some letters of mine to Lord Alfred Douglas which you certainly ought to have handed back to him." Wood handed him three or four letters and said that they had been stolen from him by a man named Allen, and that he had to go to employ a detective to get them back. Witness read the letters and said he did not think them of any importance. Wood said he was very much afraid of staying in London on account of the men who had taken the letters from him, and he wanted money to go to America. Witness asked him what better opening he would have as a clerk in America than he had in England. Wood repeated that he wanted to go to America, as he was afraid of the men who had taken the letters from him. Witness handed him £15 and retained the letters. In April, 1893, Mr. Beerbohm Tree handed witness what purported to be a copy of a letter. A man named Allen subsequently called upon the witness, who felt that Allen was a man who wanted money from him, and he said ``I suppose you have come about my beautiful letter to Lord Alfred Douglas? If you had not been so foolish as to send a copy to Mr. Beerbohm Tree I should have been very glad to pay you a large sum for the letter as I consider that it is a work of art." Allen said a very curious construction could be put on the letter. The witness said, in reply, "Art is rarely intelligible to the criminal classes" Allen said, "A man had offered me £60 for it" Witness said, "If you take my advice you will go to him 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 will pay such a large sum for a letter of mine." Allen said the man was out of town. The witness said the man would come back, and added, "I assure you on my word of honour that I shall pay nothing for the letter." Allen, changing his manner, said he had not a single penny and was very poor, and that he had been on many occasions trying to find witness to talk about the letter. Witness said he could not guarantee his cab expenses, but handed him half a sovereign. Witness said to Allen, "The letter will shortly be published as a sonnet in a delightful magazine, and I will send you a copy." That letter was the basis of the sonnet which was published in French in the Spirit Lamp in 1893. Allen went away. About five or six minutes after a man called Clyburn came in. Witness said to him, "I cannot be bothered any more about the letter. O don't care twopence about it." Clyburn said "Allen has asked me to give it back to you." Witness said, "Why does he give it back to me?" Clyburn said ``Well, he says that you were kind to him, and that there is no use trying to rent you, as you only laugh at us." Witness looked at the letter, and seeing that it was extremely soiled, said "I think it quite unpardonable that better care was not taken with an original letter of mine." He said he was very sorry--it had been in so many hands. Witness took the letter then, and said ``Well, I will accept the letter back, and you can thank Mr. Allen from me for all the anxiety he has shown about the letter." He gave Clyburn half-a-sovereign for his trouble. Witness said, "I am afraid you are leading a wonderfully wicked life." He replied, "There is good and bad in every one of us." Witness told him he was a born philosopher. He then left. The letter had remained in the witness's possession ever since, and he produced it in Court to-day. Lord Alfred Douglas went to Cairo at the end of 1893, and on his return witness was lunching with him at the Cafe Royal when Lord Queensberry came in and shook hands. They chatted about Egypt and various subjects. Witness afterwards became aware that Lord Queensberry was making suggestions with regard to his character and behaviour. Those suggestions were not made in letters addressed to witness. On June 16, 1894, Lord Queensberry and a gentleman called upon witness. The interview took place in his library. Lord Queensberry said to him, "Sit down." Witness said, "I don't allow any one to talk to me like that. I suppose you have come to apologize for that letter you have written. I could have you up any day I chose for a criminal libel for writing such a letter." He said, "The letter is privileged, as it was written to my son." Witness said, "How dare you say such things about your son and me?" He said, "You were both kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice for your disgusting conduct." Witness said, "That is a lie." He said, "You have taken furnished rooms for him in Piccadilly." Witness said "Some one has been telling you an absurd lot of lies about me and your son. I have not done anything of the kind." He said "I hear that you were thoroughly well blackmailed for a letter you sent to my son." Witness said, "The letter was a beautiful letter, and I never write except for publication." Witness then said to him, "Do you seriously accuse your son and me?" He said, "I don't say you are it; but you look it, and you pose as it. If I catch you and my son together again at any public restaurant I will thrash you." Witness said, "I do not know what the Queensberry rules are. The Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot at sight." and then he told Lord Queensberry to leave his house. He said he would not do so. Witness told him he would have him put out by the police. He said that it was a disgusting scandal. Witness said:--"If it is so, you are the author of that scandal and no one else. The letters you have written about me are infamous, and I see that you are merely trying to ruin your son through me. I will not have in my house a brute like you." Witness went into the hall, followed by Lord Queensberry and the gentleman. He said to his servant, pointing to Lord Queensberry, "This is the Marquis of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London. You are never to allow him to enter my house again, and should he attempt to come in you must send for the police." Lord Queensberry left. It was not the fact that witness had taken rooms in Piccadilly for his son. It was perfectly untrue that witness had been required to leave the Savoy Hotel. One the day of the production of his piece, The Importance of Being Earnest, at the St. James's Theatre, certain information reached him. Witness knew what had occurred at the production of The Promise of May. The piece was very successful, and witness appeared before the curtain to bow his acknowledgements. The police were on duty and Lord Queensberry was not admitted, but he handed in a bundle of vegetables. Witness consulted a solicitor with regard to that, but did not take any other step. On February 28 witness went to the Albemarle Club and the porter handed him the card which had been left by Lord Queensberry. Witness at once instructed his solicitor to take these proceedings. Witness had nothing whatever to do with the Chameleon except to send him contribution, and he knew nothing whatever about the story of "The Priest and the Acolyte," and expressed that disapproval to the editor. "The Picture of Dorian Gray" was originally published in a magazine, and it was afterwards, in 1891, republished in book form, and it had been on sale from that time to this. Witness's attention had been called to the allegations in the plea impugning his conduct with different persons. There was not the slightest truth in any one of those allegations.
The words of that communication, Sir Edward Clarke continued, might seem extravagant to their more prosaic and commercial experiences, but Mr. Wilde was a poet, and the letter was considered by him as a prose sonnet, and as an expression of true poetic feeling, and had no relation whatever to the hateful and repulsive suggestions incorporated in the plea in this case. Early in 1894 Mr. Wilde became aware that the marquis was writing letters which affected his character, and during the year Mr. Wilde ordered that Lord Queensberry should never be admitted to his house. On February 28th Mr. Wilde went to the Albemarle Club, and there received from the hall-porter the libellous card left by Lord Queensberry on the 18th of that month. Sidney Wright, hall-porter of the Albemarle Club, of which Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Wilde are members, having given evidence, Mr. Oscar Wilde was examined by Sir Edward Clarke. In November, 1892, he was lunching with Lord Alfred Douglas at the Café Royal. He knew there had been some estrangement between Lord Queensberry and Lord Alfred Douglas. On that occasion Lord Queensberry was at the Café Royal, and at the suggestion of witness Lord Alfred Douglas went across and shook hands with Lord Queensberry, and a friendly conversation ensued. In 1893 witness heard that some letters which he had addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas had come into the hands of certain persons. A man named Wood told witness that he had found some letters in a suit of clothes which Lord Alfred Douglas had given him. When Wood entered the room he said to witness "I suppose you will think very badly of me." Witness replied, "I heard that you had some letters of mine to Lord Alfred Douglas, which you certainly ought to have handed back to him." Wood then handed him three or four letters, and said that they had been stolen from him by a man named Allen, and that he had had to employ a detective to get them back. Witness read the letters and said he did not think them of any importance. Wood said he was very much afraid of staying in London on account of the men who had taken the letters from him, and he wanted money to go to America. Witness asked him what better opening he would have as a clerk in America than he had in England. Wood repeated that he wanted to go to America, as he was afraid of the men who had taken the letters from him. Witness handed him £15 and retained the letters. In April, 1893, Mr. Beerbohm Tree handed witness what purported to be a copy of a letter. A man named Allen subsequently called upon the witness, who felt that Allen was a man who wanted money from him, and he said, "I suppose you have come about my beautiful letters to Lord Alfred Douglas? If you had not been so foolish as to send a copy to Mr. Beerbohm Tree I should have been very glad to pay you a large sum for the letter as I consider that it is a work of art." Allen said a very curious construction could be put on the letter. The witness said in reply, "Art is rarely intelligible to the criminal classes." Allen said, "A man had offered me £60 for it." Witness said, "If you take my advice you will go to him 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 will pay such a large sum for a letter of mine." Allen said the man was out of town. The witness said the man would come back and added, "I assure you on my word of honour that I shall pay nothing for the letter." Allen changing his manner, said he had not a single penny and was very poor, and that he had been on many occasions trying to find witness to talk about the letter. Witness said he could not guarantee his cab expenses, but handed him half a sovereign. Witness said to Allen, "The letter will shortly be published as a sonnet in a delightful magazine, and I will send you a copy." That letter was the basis of a sonnet which was published in French in the Spirit Lamp in 1893. Allen went away. About five or six minutes after a man called Clyburn came in. Witness said to him, "I cannot be bothered any more about the letter. I don't care two pence about it." Clyburn said, "Allen has asked me to give it back to you." Witness said, "Why does he give it me back?" Clyburn said, "Well, he says that you were kind to him, and that there is no use trying to rent you, as you only laugh at us." Witness looked at the letter, and, seeing that it was extremely soiled, said, "I think it quite unpardonable that better care was not taken of an original letter of mine." He said he was very sorry - it had been in so many hands. Witness took the letter then, and said, "Well, I will accept the letter back, and you can thank Mr. Allen from me for all the anxiety he has shown about the letter." He gave Clyburn half-a-sovereign for his trouble. Witness said, "I am afraid you are leading a wonderfully wicked life." He replied, "There is good and bad in every one of us." Witness told him he was a born philosopher. He then left. That letter had remained in witness' possession ever since, and he now produced it. Witness afterwards became aware that Lord Queensberry was making suggestions with regard to his character and behaviour. Those suggestions were not made in letters addressed to witness. On June 16th, 1894, Lord Queensberry and a gentleman called upon witness. The interview took place in his library. Lord Queensberry said to him, "Sit down." Witness said, "I don't allow any man to talk to me like that. I suppose you have come to apologize for the letter you have written. I could have you up any day I chose for a criminal libel for writing such a letter." He said, "The letter is privileged, as it was written to my son." Witness said, "How dare you say such things about your son and me." He said, "You were both kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice for your disgusting conduct." Witness said, "That is a lie." He said, "You have taken furnished rooms for him in Piccadilly." Witness said, "Some one has been telling you an absurd lot of lies about me and your son. I have not done anything of the kind." He said, "I hear that you were thoroughly well blackmailed for a letter which you sent to my son." Witness said, "The letter was a beautiful letter, and I never write except for publication." Witness then said to him, "Do you seriously accuse your son and me?" He said, "I don't say you are it; but you look it, and you pose as it. If I catch you and my son together again at any public restaurant I will thrash you." Witness said, "I do not know what the Queensberry rules are. The Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot at sight," and he then told Lord Queensberry to leave his house. He said he would not do so. Witness told him he would have him put out by the police. He said that it was a disgusting scandal. Witness said: - "If it is so, you are the author of that scandal and no one else. The letters you have written about me are infamous, and I see that you are merely trying to ruin your son through me. I will not have in my house a brute like you." Witness went into the hall, followed by Lord Queensberry and the gentleman. He said to his servant, pointing to Lord Queensberry, "This is the Marquis of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London. You are never to allow him to enter my house again, and should he attempt to come in you must send for the police." Lord Queensberry then left. It was not the fact that witness had taken rooms in Piccadilly for his son. It was perfectly untrue that witness had been required to leave the Savoy Hotel. Witness had nothing whatever to do with the Chameleon except to send his contribution, and he knew nothing whatever about the story of "The Priest and the Acolyte" contained in it. He highly disapproved of "The Priest and the Acolyte," and expressed that disapproval to the editor. Witness' attention had been called to the allegations in the plea impugning his conduct with different persons. There was not the slightest truth in any one of those allegations.
Replying to Mr. Carson, Q.C., in cross-examination, Mr. Oscar Wilde said that he was 40 years of age in October last, and Lord Alfred Douglas was about 24. He had known the latter since he was 20 or 21. Down to the interview in Tite-street Lord Queensberry had been friendly. He did not receive a letter in which the Marquis desired his acquaintance with his son to cease, but he gathered after the interview that that was so. Notwithstanding Lord Queensberry's protest, his intimacy with Lord Alfred Douglas continued to that moment, and he had stayed with him at many places, and very recently at Monte Carlo. Lord Alfred Douglas wrote poems for the Chameleon which he himself thought beautiful, and which contained no improper suggestions whatever. Witness considered that not only was the story "The Priest and the Acolyte" immoral, but worse, inasmuch as it was badly written. (Laughter.) He 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 the mere effusions of an illiterate undergraduate. He did not believe that any book or work of art had any effects on morality whatever. In writing he did not consider the effect of creating or inciting morality or immorality; he aimed neither at good nor evil, but simply tried to make a thing with some quality of beauty. Being questioned as to the morality of some of his expressions in the Chameleon article, Mr. Wilde said that there was no such thing as morality or immorality in thought, but there was such a thing as immoral emotion. The realization of one's self was the prime aim of life, and to do so through pleasure was finer than through pain. On that point he was on the side of the Greeks. He still believed that, as he then wrote, a truth ceased to be true when more than one person believed it. That would be his metaphysical definition of truth--something so personal that could never be appreciated by two minds. The condition of perfection was idleness; the life of contemplation was the highest life. There was no such thing as a moral or immoral book, to his mind. Books were either well or badly written. Well written, they produced a sense of beauty--the highest sense of which a human being could be capable--and badly written, a sense of disgust. No work of art ever put forward views, for views belonged to people who were not artists. The views of the illiterate were unaccountable; he was concerned only with his own views, and not with those of other people. He had found wonderful exceptions to the rule that the majority of people were Philistines or illiterates, but he was afraid that as a rule most people did not live up--for want of culture--to the position he asserted in those matters, and were not even cultivated enough to draw a distinction between a good and a bad book. He had no knowledge of the views of ordinary individuals, and was therefore unable to say whether the sentiments enunciated in "Dorian Gray" might lead ordinary individuals to see a certain tendency in them. Being vigorously cross-examined by Mr. Carson as to certain passages in "Dorian Gray," he denied that he had suggested anything to which exception could be taken, adding, amid laughter, in which everyone joined, that he had never given adoration to anyone except himself. There were people in the world, he regretted to say, who could not understand that an artist could feel for a wonderful and beautiful personality. Being brought to the facts of the case, apart from these generalities, Mr. Wilde said he wrote the letter to Lord Alfred Douglas from Torquay, the latter being at the Savoy Hotel. He thought it a beautiful and poetical letter--the letter of an artist and a poet. He had never written to other people in the same strain, nor even to Lord Alfred Douglas again, for he did not repeat himself in style. Mr. Carson here read a letter to Lord Alfred Douglas from the witness in similar terms to the other, which the witness explained saying that it was a tender expression of his great admiration for Lord Alfred. Being interrogated as to various allegations in the plea of justification, Mr. Wilde gave them an indignant and emphatic denial.
Replying to Mr. Carson, Q.C., in cross-examination, Mr. Oscar Wilde said that he was 40 years of age in October last, and Lord Alfred Douglas was about 24. He had known the latter since he was 20 or 21. Notwithstanding Lord Queensberry's protest, his intimacy with Lord Alfred Douglas continued to that moment, and he had stayed with him at many places, and very recently at Monte Carlo. Lord Alfred Douglas wrote poems for the Chameleon which he himself thought beautiful, and which contained no improper suggestions whatever. Witness considered that not only was the story "The Priest and the Acolyte" immoral, but worse, inasmuch as it was badly written. (Laughter). It was altogether offensive, and perfect twaddle. He 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 the mere effusions of an illiterate undergraduate. He did not believe that any book or work of art had any effect on morality whatever. In writing he did not consider the effect of creating or inciting morality or immorality; he aimed neither at good nor evil, but simply tried to make a thing with some quality of beauty. Being questioned as to the morality of some of his expressions in the Chameleon article, Mr. Wilde said there was no such thing as morality or immorality in thought, but there was such a thing as immoral emotion. The realisation of one's self was the prime aim in life, and to do so through pleasure was finer than through pain. On that point he was on the side of the Greeks. He still believed that, as he then wrote, a truth ceased to be true when more than one person believed it. That would be his metaphysical definition of truth - something so personal that could never be appreciated by two minds. The condition of perfection was idleness; the life of contemplation was the highest life. There was no such thing as a moral or an immoral book, to his mind. Books were either well or badly written. Well written, they produced a sense of beauty - the highest sense of which a human being could be capable - and badly written, a sense of disgust. No work of art ever put forward views, for views belonged to people who were not artists. The views of the illiterate were unaccountable; he was concerned only with his own views, and not with those of other people. He had found wonderful exceptions to the rule that the majority of people were Philistines or illiterates, but he was afraid that as a rule most people did not live up - for want of culture - to the position he asserted in these matters, and were not even cultivated enough to draw a distinction between a good and a bad book. He had no knowledge of the views of ordinary individuals, and was therefore unable to say whether the sentiments enunciated in "Dorian Gray" might lead ordinary individuals to see a certain tendency in them. Being vigorously cross-examined by Mr. Carson as to certain passages in "Dorian Gray," he denied that he had suggested anything to which exception could be taken, adding, amid laughter, in which everyone joined, that he had never given adoration to anyone except himself. There were people in the world, he regretted to say, who could not understand the intense devotion, affection and admiration that an artist could feel for a wonderful and beautiful personality. Being brought to the facts of the case, apart from these generalities, Mr. Wilde said he wrote the letter to Lord Alfred Douglas from Torquay, the latter being at the Savoy Hotel. He thought it a beautiful and a poetical letter - the letter of an artist and a poet. He had never written to other people in the same strain, nor even to Lord Alfred Douglas again, for he did not repeat himself in style. Mr. Carson here read a letter to Lord Alfred Douglas from the witness in similar terms to the other, which the witness explained by saying that it was a tender expression of his great admiration for Lord Alfred. Being interrogated as to various allegations in the plea of justification, Mr. Wilde gave them an indignant and emphatic denial. On the 4th of April, in the course of further cross-examination, Mr. Wilde was questioned about his intercourse with the man Taylor, and also about his acquaintance with young men named Mavor, Scarfe, Conway, Atkins, Parker, and Granger, of inferior social position, with whom he had dined several times, and to whom he had given presents. He remarked on several occasions that he cared nothing for "social position"; and he denied that he had ever misconducted himself with any of the young men named. In the witness's re-examination, letters were put in and read which had passed between Lord Queensberry and Lord Alfred Douglas with regard to the intimacy of the latter with Mr. Wilde. One telegram addressed to the Marquis by Lord Alfred was as follows: - "What a funny little man you are. -A.D." Mr. Carson, Q.C., in opening the case for the defence, said that Lord Queensberry withdrew nothing of what he had said or written. All he had done had been with premeditation and a determination to try and save his son. The learned counsel commented on the prosecutor's familiarity with young men who were gentlemen's servants and in similar positions, and also on the tendency of the prosecutor's writings. Eventually the charge against the Marquis of Queensberry was dismissed, and Mr. Wilde and Taylor, as the result of the revelations made in the case, were arrested and charged with grave criminal offences. [As our cablegrams have shown, the jury empannalled to try their case disagreed and were discharged. Accused will be placed upon their trial again. Meantime Mr. Wilde has been admitted to bail, himself in £2,500 and two sureties of £1,250 each.]
The cross-examination of the witness was unfinished when the Court rose, and the hearing was adjourned until to-morrow (Thursday), the Marquis of Queensberry being admitted to bail on his own recognizances.