Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org, version 6.0, 21 December 2014), December 1870 (t18701212).

Old Bailey Proceedings, 12th December 1870.

CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT

Sessions Paper.

DAKIN, MAYOR.

SECOND SESSION, HELD DECEMBER 12TH, 1870.

MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,

TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY

JAMES DROVER BARNETT

AND

ALEXANDER BUCKLER,

Short-hand Writers to the Court,

ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.

THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE

REVISED AND EDITED, BY

EDWARD T. E. BESLEY, ESQ.,

OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.

LONDON:

STEVENS & SONS, 119,CHANCERY LANE,

THE

WHOLE PROCEEDINGS

On the Queen's Commission of

OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY

FOR

The City of London,

AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE

COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX, AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION

OF THE

CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,

Held on Monday, December 12th, 1870, and following days,

BEFORE THE RIGHT HON. THOMAS DAKIN, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; Sir JAMES HANNEN , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's Court of Queen's Bench; Sir GILLERY PIGOTT , Knt., one of the Barons of Her Majesty's Court of Exchequer; Sir ROBERT WALTER CARDEN , Knt., WILLIAM LAWRENCE , Esq., M.P., and Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., M.P., Aldermen of the said City; The Right Hon. RUSSELL GURNEY , Q.C., M.P., Recorder of the said City; DAVID HENRY STONE , Esq., Alderman of the said City; THOMAS CHAMBERS , Esq., Q.C., M.P., Common Serjeant of the said City; and ROBERT MALCOLM KERR , Esq., LL.D., Judge of the Sheriffs' Court; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery of Newgate, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.

THOMAS SCAMBLER OWDEN , Esq., Alderman,

ROBERT JONES , Esq.

Sheriffs.

WILLIAM HALSE GATTY JONES , Esq.

ALEXANDER CROSLEY , Esq.

Under-Sheriffs.

CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.

DAKIN, MAYOR. SECOND SESSION.

A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—an obelisk (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.

LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.

OLD COURT.—Monday December 12th, 1870.

Before Mr. Recorder.

52. JOHN POWNE (33), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing 219l. 18s., of John Parker and others, his masters. Recommended to mercy by the Prosecutors—Three Days' Imprisonment.

53. WILLIAM BAILEY COOMBS (40) , to feloniously forging and uttering a transfer of a share and interest of John Would Lee, in 1500l. capital stock of the Great Eastern Railway Company, having been before convicted of felony at this Court in September, 1859— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

54. JAMES BURTON (29) , to feloniously marrying Mary Miles, his wife being alive— Six Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

55. WILLIAM HENRY ROSEBLADE (19) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Caroline Frances Teague, and stealing a variety of articles, having been before convicted— Seven Years Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

56. JOHN WYATT (21) to stealing 28lbs. of rope of Charles Strutton, from a barge on the Thames, having been before convicted— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

57. JOHN HENRY JARRETT (20) and JAMES PALMER (22) , Feloniously and sacrilegiously breaking and entering the Church of Our Lady of the Rosary, and stealing therein, four chains, one bag, one chalice, one monstrance, and one thurible, the property of Alfred White.

MR. GRIFFITHS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. ST. AUBYN the Defence.

REV. ALFRED WHITE . I am a Roman Catholic priest, and live at 30, Titchborne Street, Edgware Road—on 3rd November, about 11.15 at night, I left the Roman Catholic Chapel, in Marylebone Row, all safe; I looked it up myself—next morning, about 9 o'clock, I was sent for, and found the cellar-door, and three other doors of the chapel, broken open—I went inside the chapel, and found the iron safe broken open; the front was blown off entirely, and out of it was taken a silver monstrance, a thurible, and four chains attached, and a chalice was taken from a side table—the safe, had one of Chubbs' locks—it had been blown open by means of gunpowder—

the monstrance was worth nearly 50l., the thurible 20l., and the chalice about 16l. or 17l

Cross-examined. We were having a great many services at this time, on account of having a mission for the benefit of the people—we had had several services on 3rd November, and it was after the evening service that I locked up the chapel and left it—I think I had locked it up every night since 15th October—we had been having special services, but that night I recollect distinctly doing so; it was a very foggy night—I think it was the night of the great fog.

Re-examined. Just before I locked up the chapel, the articles I have mentioned were safe—I had looked them up in the iron safe after the last service.

WILLIAM McMATH (Detective Officer D.) On the morning of 4th November, I went to the chapel in Homer Row, I found a door leading from a school-room into the chapel had been broken open—a centre-bit and a jemmy had been used—there were other doors also broken open in the same manner—I examined the iron safe; the door of it had been blown off by gunpowder; it smelt very strongly, and the walls about were blackened—I examined the door of the safe, and found that a hole had been drilled in it, and I found this tube that had been used to insert in the hole, and gunpowder had been poured through it—it smelt very much of gunpowder at that time, and was blackened—it is black now—the interior of the safe smelt very strongly of gunpowder—I saw the prisoners at the Walton Street Station, on a Saturday, about ten days afterwards—I told them the charge—Palmer said "We have been told before; we know all about it"—they were then taken to John Street Station, and the charge was entered against them—Palmer was then put into cell No. 2, and Jarrett into No. 4, and I went into No. 3 cell—after a short time Palmer called out "Harry, where are you?" (I am referring to a paper which I made at the time in the cell) Jarrett answered "Here I am." Palmer said "Well, we are in for it now." Jarrett replied "No, you are not in for it, but I am; they found the b——tools at my place; I should like to take eighteen months for my bit," Palmer said "What can they do with the tools? nothing at all; but I am in for it as two of them picked me out." Jarrett then said "Oh, yes they can, they will go and fit the centre-bit and jemmy to the marks on the doors which we broke open." Palmer said "No, they won't think of that." Jarrett said "Had I known they were coming, they never would have found the tools." Palmer said "Well, we have got enough out of the b——stuff to pay for a good mouthpiece, will you have one?" Jarrett said "No, I will be my own mouthpiece; I told you they would not think to search there for it; how will we get it to the old women?" Palmer said "The old women will bring our dinner to-morrow, and we can put it in the dirty things." Jarrett said "No, they might search them, but we can do it in the House of Detention." Palmer said "No, we can't." Jarrett said "Oh, yes, we can give the screw something, and he will pass it." Palmer said "No, they won't." Jarrett said "They would do it at Wandsworth, and I am sure they will do it where we are going. You are safe to get off, Jemmy, and if you don't look after my old woman while I am in, so help me God I shall round on you when I am there." Palmer said "If I get off I will do the best I can for her, but what can I do by myself?" Jarrett said "Do the same as we have been doing." Palmer replied "What, by myself?" Jarrett said "Yes, or go with some of the other

blokes." Palmer said "Not me, I would not trust one of them." They then paused for some time, and then Palmer again called "Harry, had we known they would have found the little b——who picked me out, we would have left him unable to say much." Jarrett said "Yes, yes, I'm b——if we should not." Palmer then said "What is the name of that church where the bloke let us in? or do you know his name?" Jarrett said "I'm b——if I know the name of the church, but I know his name is John, his other name I don't know." Palmer said "Well, it's a good job they did not go to his place, if they had they would have found some stuff; but we can tell my old woman, and she will put him on his guard; she can easily find his address." Jarrett then said "What a good job they did not find any tickets, they would not think to look in the old woman's flour for them."—In consequence of what I heard them say I took Palmer out of the cell into the charge room, and searched him, and found three sovereigns in his stocking—I also had Jarrett brought into the charge room, and in his stocking found four sovereigns and two half sovereigns.

Cross-examined. I do not write shorthand—I will undertake to say that I took down this conversation word for word as I have detailed it—I should say it was going on for about forty minutes—there were a great many pauses—there was very little said besides what I have stated, except a warning to each other to hold their tongues, which I did not think necessary to take down; I only took down what I thought necessary—there was nothing else said but telling each other to be silent—they did say something else, but it is unfit to be mentioned in Court; it has nothing to do with this case—this was in the evening—there was a light in the cell passage—the door of the cell I was in was ajar—they did not hear me go into the cell; had they done so they would not have said what they did.

JOHN MANN (Policeman D 135). I was on duty in Homer Row, on the night of 2nd November, and saw Palmer there with another man, similar to Jarrett, but I could not swear to him, though I believe he is the man—it was near the chapel—a woman made a complaint to me in reference to the chapel; it was open, and service was going on.

Cross-examined. This was about 10.30, the night before the robbery.

MARY SHEEN . I am a servant, and live at 24, Stafford Street—I was in the chapel, in Homer Row, Marylebone Road, on Wednesday evening week, about 9.30—as I came out I saw the two prisoners standing at the side of the wall, which had a money-box attached to it—I looked at them very hard—they were whispering and talking to each other, and having their hands upon the money-box—I asked them if they were Catholics—they said they were—I said "You are not"—they said they were—I said "If you are Catholics, you are very bad ones, and if you are not, you are quite welcome to go inside if you want to be enlightened in anything"—they did not seem to go inside, so I said "You come out of here, you are not after anything good"—I insisted upon their coming out of the place, and they ran up the steps of the chapel, and swore at me most dreadfully—they then came out, and I came with them, and they stood by the railings of the chapel as the clerk was shutting the sacristy door—this was the night of the great fog—I heard of the robbery next morning, when I went to service at the chapel—I am quite sure the prisoners are the men.

Cross-examined. I have told the same story to day that I did before the Magistrate—I don't think there is anything different—I did not swear before the Magistrate that the two prisoners wets not the men—I said they ware

the men, but one of them I could not rightly recognize, but I was quite sure they were them—I said I recognized one better than the other—I don't remember saying they were not the men—(The witness's deposition being read stated: "The two prisoners are not the men. Palmer is very much like one of them; I think he is the man, by his appearance. Jarrett is also very much like the other man; he has the same features. I cannot swear Palmer is the same man.") I said those words about Palmer because Jarrett was the man, and the more I looked at them the more I recognized them—I was speaking longer to Jarrett, because he kept silent—I know they are the same persons; I will not say anything I am not quite sure of.

THOMAS STEVENS . I am a harness-maker, of 2, Spring Street, Marylebone—on 3rd November, about 12.30 at night, I was passing through Homer Row—it was the night of the fog—I had a lantern in my hand—I heard some whispering, and saw two men—I held my light in order to see their faces, and saw Palmer—he went into the chapel, and shut the door after him—I did not see the other man, I only saw his shadow—he was somewhere about the height of Jarrett, I should say.

Cross-examined. This was the night of the dense fog—it was very dark—I had been to Queen's Gardens, with a cab, and the cabman led the horse all the way—I had never seen the prisoner before.

Re-examined. When I put my light in his face it was light enough to see him—I was quite near to him—I held the lantern right in his face.

COURT. Q. When did you see him again? A. About a week afterwards, at the Police Station—he was with a lot of others, and I pointed him out—I had no difficulty in doing so.

WILLIAM WATTS (Detective Officer D.) I took Jarrett into custody, and Detective Clough took Palmer on Saturday afternoon, 12th November, between 12 and 1 o'clock, in High Road, Knightsbridge—I asked them where they were on the Wednesday night week—they made no answer—I then asked where they were on the Thursday night week, that very foggy night—Jarrett said "What has that to do with you?" and was going away—I said "Wait a moment, listen to what I am going to say, I am going to take you into custody on suspicion of breaking into a church near the Edgware Road, on that very foggy night, last Thursday week, and stealing a quantity of silver—they made no answer—after going a short distance Jarrett said "Where is your warrant?"—I said "I don't require one"—he commenced struggling, and said he should not go—a constable in uniform came up, and he walked—the prisoners knew I was an officer, they have known me long enough—when we got about 100 yards from Walton Street Station, Jarrett commenced struggling again—Palmer said "Does he want you to round, Harry? don't tell"—after taking them into the station Palmer gave his address, 4, Montpelier Road, Brompton, and Jarrett gave 69, Arthur Street—I went with Clough to 4, Franklin's Row, Chelsea, where Palmer rents a room—his wife was there, and I have seen him go in and out there—I searched the room, but found nothing—I then went to 4, Trinity Terrace, Vauxhall Bridge—I there saw Jarrett's wife—in a side cupboard of the front kitchen I found these tools, which I produce, a double-action centre bit, with seven bits to fit it, a jemmy, a screwdriver, putty knife, and a case containing nine small implements, to fit it as a handle; they are a saw, chisels, and boring-iron—I also found this black bag, dark lantern, two pieces of tin piping, and four keys—they appear to me to be keys of church doors, or something like that—on the following Monday I

went and compared the centre-bit with the hole in the iron-safe door, and this one fits the hole made in it—I afterwards went to Palmer's lodging, and found this pair of trowsers.

Cross-examined. I daresay there are a good many pieces like this—I do not know whose house it was where I found these things—Jarrett had been lodging there—I never saw him there, I saw his wife there.

JOHN MANN (Re-examined). I noticed the trowsers Palmer had on when I saw him in Homer Row—they were similar to these now produced—I could not swear to them—they had a stripe in the same way, and were grey trowsers.

HENRY DIXON (Policeman D 88). On Wednesday night, 2nd November, about 10.25, I was in Homer Row, and saw the two prisoners and a female speaking—I heard the woman say to Jarrett "You should not go into the House of God to made ridicule"—I came up at the time, and she said "Policeman, these men have been in the church, and laughing at me; and because I chastised them, they are following me about"—Jarrett said "It was not me that laughed, it was you"—I have not the slightest doubt the prisoners are the men—I afterwards saw them at the station, and recognized them at once—they were not placed with others—they were in the dock when I walked in.

Cross-examined. I knew what the charge was against them then—the night of 2nd November was damp, but clear—I had never seen them before.

REV. JOHN STEVENS . I am a Roman Catholic priest, and live at 8, Clapham Park Road—this black bag is mine—I had it at the chapel in Homer Row on 15th October, and left it there in the vestry.

Cross-examined. I am not one of the priests of that chapel, I was staying there for a few weeks—I was there at the time of the robbery—I could not say for a day or two when I last saw the bag, but within a week of the robbery.

GEORGE JARRETT . I am the father of the prisoner, and live at 18, By-water Street, Chelsea—I am a carpenter—he lodged at 4, Trinity Terrace, Vauxhall Bridge Road, Pimlico.

Cross-examined. He and his wife lived in the house, no one else—the house belongs to my wife's sister, and I had the letting of it and looking after it—I am not there every day—I have only been there ones in the last six weeks, I think.

EDWARD CLOUGH (Detective Officer B. I was with Watts, and apprehended Palmer—on telling him the charge he said "This is a bit more of it"—on the way to the station he asked where our warrant was, and I heard him call out to Jarrett "Harry, do they want you to round? don't tell."

GUILTY .

PALMER also PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction in April, 1869— Seven Years' Penal Servitude each. There was another indictment against each of the prisoners for a like offence.

58. CHARLES THORPE (32) , Robbery, with violence, on John Joseph Aggis, and stealing a purse and 2l. 4s., his property.

MR. PATER conducted the Prosecution.

JOHN JOSEPH AGGIS . I am a scale fitter—on the evening of 5th November, about 9 o'clock, I was in Lombard Street—I was walking fast to catch a train—I was carrying two parcels, one under each arm—a lady and gentleman, as I thought, came up against me—the prisoner was the gentleman—I begged their pardon—I felt something touch me, and I missed my

purse, containing 2l. 4s.—I saw my purse in the prisoner's hand—I tried to get it away from him and called "Police!"—I struggled with him till the female got away, and then he ran away—I saw him pass the purse to the female—the prisoner was stopped by a constable, and I gave him in custody.

Prisoner. How long were you conversing with the female? Witness. I don't know anything about conversing with her—I did not converse with her; that is your own make up—it was done very clever and very sharp.

FREDERICK DAVIS (City Policeman 760). I was on duty in Lombard Street, on 5th November, about 9 o'clock, and heard a cry of "Police!"—I ran up and saw the prosecutor and prisoner—the prisoner was given into custody by the prosecutor for stealing his purse—the prisoner said "You are mistaken in me, you must be mistaken"—the prosecutor had had a glass to drink, he was not drunk—he had a small bird-cage under one arm and a parcel under the other.

The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he saw the prosecutor talking to the female, and as he passed the prosecutor said he had lost his purse; and as he was walking away the policeman stopped him; and that he knew nothing of the purse.

NOT GUILTY .

NEW COURT.—Monday, December 12th, 1870.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

59. SAMUEL JONES (38), PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin— Nine Months' Imprisonment.

60. WALTER GUNYER (48) , to embezzling 4l. 5s., 18l. 5s. 6d., 3l., and 3l., of Bernard Ahrens, his master, who recommended him to mercy— Six Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

61. JAMES IRWIN SCOTT (46) , to unlawfully publishing a libel— To enter into his recognizances, having already published a public apology. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

62. HENRY MAHONEY (22), and GEORGE WILLIS (27) , Unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin, to which

MAHONEY PLEADED GUILTY .

MR. COLERIDGE conducted the Prosecution.

GEORGE MASON . My brother is a baker, of Chapel Street, Belgrave Square, which is also a post-office—on 29th November I served Mahoney with 2s. worth of postage stamps—he gave me a bad half-crown—I told him it was bad—he said "Let me look at it"—I did so—he broke it in two and gave me a good one—I asked him to let me look at the bad one, and retained half of it—he left, and my brother and I followed him—he joined Willis at the top of the street, and they went off together, towards Knightsbridge, where they separated, and Mahoney went into a baker's shop—I spoke to B 366, and my brother went into the baker's—the prisoners joined again, and I gave them in custody, with the piece of the half-crown.

JAMES WILSON . I am the brother of the last witness—I followed the prisoners, and went into the baker's shop at Knightsbridge, where Miss Couderoy, who was serving, gave me this half-crown—I gave it to the constable.

ELEANOR COUDEROY . I am assistant to Mr. Watson, a baker, of St. George's Place, Knightsbridge—on 29th November Mahoney came for two buns, and gave me a half-crown, which I put in a separate compartment of

the till, where there was no other half-crown—I afterwards gave it to Mason—I put the buns in a paper with Mr. Watson's name on it.

DAVID CONNELL (Policeman B 366). I received information, and saw Mahoney come out of Watson's shop, and saw Mason go in—the two prisoners were given into my custody—Mahoney said that he passed the broken coin in Chapel Street, and asked the gentleman to try it, who broke it—Mason gave me this piece, and gave me this half-crown at the station—Mahoney was searched, and a pocket-book, a necktie, a knife, a pencil, and a good half-crown were found on him; but no small change—on Willis was found a silver watch and chain, a bag with Mr. Watson's name on it containing two buns, nineteen shillings, a florin, and 2 1/2 d. in copper, all good, and 2s. worth of postage stamps.

WILLIAM WEBSTER . These two half-crowns are bad, and from the same mould.

Willis's Defence. I had been to Sloane Street, and met Mahoney, who I knew. He asked me to go with him, as he had some things to buy, but had only got 2s. worth of stamps. I gave him the money for them. He said "Wait a few minutes, and I will be back." He came back with a bag and some cakes. He returned me my 2s., and I gave him the stamps. I was just taking a cake out of the bag, when the policeman took me. A gentleman, for whom I have worked, will gave me a good character.

Witnesses for Willis.

WILLIAM CRESSWELL . I am a French polisher, a piece-master—I have employed Willis for six or seven months, and always found him upright and just—I think last Saturday week was the last time he worked for me—he was discharged when I had nothing for him to do.

Cross-examined by MR. COLERIDGE. I have known him several years—I do not know where he was for the eighteen months before he last went into my employ—I did not see him during those eighteen months—I believe he was away—I do not know that he was in prison during that time for passing counterfeit coin, or I should not have come here—he is no relation of mine—I do not know that he was passing by the name of Henry Coombes—he never worked for me in that name.

HENRY MAHONEY (the prisoner.) I asked Willis to give me 2s. for some stamps; he gave me a half-crown, and I gave him sixpence; I went and bought some buns, and came back, and handed him one, and paid him his money back, and the policeman came and caught us.

Cross-examined. This is not my first offence—I was convicted here two years ago, but not of uttering—I have known Willis three or four years; he is a French polisher—I met him by accident.

Witnesses in reply.

RICHARD KEMP . I am a gaoler, of Wandsworth—we received Willis there from Dover, just over two years ago—he was charged with uttering counterfeit coin, in the name of Cole, and sentenced to eighteen months—at the end of that time he was discharged; I think it was last April.

Willis. You are mistaken, I have never been in prison in my life. Witness. I have no doubt about you; you were under my observation the whole eighteen months.

Willis. I was out in the Mary Ann, as steward, and was away two years—I went to New York and back; when I returned I went to Mr. Cresswell for a situation, and he gave me one.

WILLIS— NOT GUILTY .

MAHONEY*— Six Months' Imprisonment.

63. MARGARET HANDS (22) , Stealing a watch, of Charles Pullinger, from his person.

MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution.

THOMAS BERGER (Policeman H 210). On the evening of 1st December, I saw the prisoner on Tower Hill, kneeling on the chest of a man named Bullinger, who was on his back—I went up, and he rose and crossed the road to a cab, which she stopped, and was going to put Bullinger into it—she said "I will put him in"—I went to the cab, and she went away about ten yards—I followed her, brought her back, and asked what she bad in her hand—she said "Nothing"—I caught hold of her hand, forced it open, and found this watch in it—I asked her how she came by it—she said "It belongs to that man," and that she was taking care of it for him—I told her I should charge her with stealing it—she said nothing to that—I knew her by sight—Bullinger came to the cab, and I asked him if the watch was his, but he was too drunk to identify it—he seemed to recognize it next morning at the Thames Police Court.

CHARLES BULLINGER . I am a fiddle-maker, of 16, Frith Street, Soho—on the evening of 1st December, I had taken too much drink, and do not remember meeting the prisoner—my watch was shown to me next day, and I identified it.

NOT GUILTY .

64. FREDERICK BUTT (20) , Feloniously forging and uttering an order for the payment 8l. 10s., with intent to defraud.

MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.

RICHARD COOK . I am the son of Richard Cook, of 62, Paul Street, Finsbury, and am getting on for twelve years old—on 1st December I saw the prisoner in Pitfield Street, Hoxton—he said that he would give me a shilling to take a cheque to the Imperial Bank, Lothbury, for him—he gave me a letter addressed to the Imperial Bank, and said I was to bring back a parcel to him at the corner of King Street, Finsbury—I took it there—a gentleman opened it, and took two or three papers out, one of which was a slip like this cheque (produced)—the gentleman gave me another letter for it, which I took to the corner of King Street, and waited there three quarters of an hour, but the prisoner did not come—I gave it to Funnell, the officer.

JOHN SBRJEANT . I live with my father, Henry Serjeant, a news-agent, at 20, Compton Street, Goswell Street—on 2nd December, I saw the prisoner in Aldersgate Street—he asked me to take a letter to the Imperial Bank, at the bottom of Moorgate Street, for him, and said he would give me 6d.—I told him I was going on an errand to Coleman Street, and could not go—he walked with me, gave me the letter, and said that if anybody asked me where I came from I was to say I worked for Mr. Jones—he said I should get a small parcel at the bank, which I was to bring to Finsbury Circus, and wait, at the corner for him—I went to the bank with the letter, and gave it to a gentleman there, who gave me another letter, which I took to Finsbury Circus, and gave to the prisoner—he gave me 6d., and went towards the railway station.

THOMAS WILLIAM HUNTER . I am chief cashier at the Imperial Bank, Lothbury—on 1st December, Cook came in with this letter—(This requested the enclosed cheque to be cashed in notes, and enclosed in an envelope, and the numbers taken in case the bearer should lose them.)—I made up a letter, and gave it to Cook—on November 2nd, Serjeant brought this letter and cheque

for 18l. 10s., payable to Mr. Jones, and signed "John Harris & Son"—(This was addressed 18, Church Street, Shereditch, and stated "Kindly secure money safely for boy."

RICHARD BIDDLE . I am a cashier at the Imperial Bank—I produce an order for a cheque-book signed "John Harris & Son"—at that time a person named John Edwards was in the service of the bank, whose duty it was to give out cheque-books—having done so it was his duty to enter in a book the numbers of the cheques—I find an entry on 2nd March in his writing, stating that a cheque-book and 100 cheques, numbered 138901 to 139000 had been given out—I believe the order is not in Messrs. Harris's writing—they have kept an account there for some time—this cheque 138901 for 21l. 15s. 6d., dated 2nd March, was presented and paid—it is a forgery—these other cheques for 25l. and 18l. 5s. are also forgeries—they are not in Messrs. Harris's writing.

JOHN HARRIS . I am a member of the firm of John Harris & Son, of Beech Street, Barbican, chemists and druggists—in 1869 we employed the prisoner for throe months as assistant dispenser, and he became conversant with our mode of signing cheques—he has been sent to the bank frequently—we had an account at the Imperial Bank, Lothbury—neither of these three cheques are our drawing—I do not know Mr. Jones or Mr. Robinson—this letter is in the prisoner's writing—(This was dated "Newgets, 6th, December" from the prisoner to Mr. Harris, in which he stated: "I have done that which is wrong, but that I intended to cheat or swindle I deny. May I beg of you to recommend me to mercy.")

Prisoner. Q. Did I conduct myself honestly all the time I was in your service? A. I can hardly tell—I have no reason to suspect you—you only came under a temporary arrangement.

EDWARD FUNNELL (Detective Sergeant.) I was called to the bank on 1st December, and on the morning of the 2nd I was sent for, and found Serjeant there, with this cheque and letter—I saw him leave, and followed him—I saw the prisoner close to the bank, watching the door—the boy went towards Finsbury Circus, and the prisoner crossed over and walked on the opposite side—as the boy went into Finsbury Circus the prisoner went behind him, caught hold of his hand, and they went round the Circus together, to the Underground Railway Station, where the boy gave the prisoner the letter, and he gave the boy something—Scott went after the prisoner, and I went after the boy—the prisoner was brought from the railway station, and I found a letter on him, addressed to Mr. Jones—another letter was given to me the preceding day.

GEORGE SCOTT (City Detective.) I was with Funnell—I followed the prisoner into the railway station, and asked him to give me what he had received of the boy in the street—he said "I have sent no boy for anything"—Funnell came up and took this letter from the prisoner's pocket—I searched him at the station and found four keys—he gave me his address 93, Pentonville Hill—I went there and found a box, which I opened with one of the keys, and found in it this cheque-book (produced.)

Prisoner's Defence. I used Messrs. Harris's name for the purpose of obtaining the money, but not with the intention of defrauding them, or the Imperial Bank. I meant to pay back every farthing of the money. If I had intended to defraud them I should not have stated in the letter that the bank were to take the numbers of the notes.

GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.

OLD COURT.—Tuesday, December 13th, 1870.

Before Mr. Recorder.

65. THOMAS JONES (17), PLEADED GUILTY to embezzling 3l. 19s. of Alfred Morrison, his master— Nine Months' Imprisonment.

66. ROBERT LAMB , to feloniously uttering a forged request for the delivery of goods— Recommended to mercy by the Prosecutor— Three Months' Imprisonment. And [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

67. BUXTON LEWIS (45) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of John Alexander Hankey, and stealing a sugar-basin and other articles, his property, having been before convicted of felony.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]

68. HENRY BENNETT (32) , Unlawfully forging and uttering a certain ticket of admission to the dress-circle of Drury Lane Theatre, with intent to defraud.

MR. F. H. LEWIS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.

JOHN REGAN . I attend Drury Lane Theatre in uniform, as servant to Mr. Chatterton, the lessee—on the evening of 30th November somebody made a communication to me, in consequence of which I watched the prisoner—I saw him follow about a dozen ladies and gentlemen up and down the front of the theatre outside—I did not see him offer anything—I communicated with the witness Shortis, and afterwards saw the prisoner hand something to Shortis—I went and took it out of Shortis's hand—it was this paper (produced)—it was not torn at that time—I took it to Mr. Guiver.

Cross-examined. My duty is to prevent people selling these orders and tickets in front of the theatre—this is a regular order for the theatre—there are parts of the year when a good many of them come in.

WILLIAM SHORTIS . I am a painter—on the evening of 30th November, between 6 and 7 o'clock, I was opposite Drury Lane Theatre and saw the prisoner—I asked him the way to the pit—he said "I will show you; are you going to the theatre?"—I said "Yes"—he said "I have got an order for two to go into the dress-circle; I will let you have it for 5s."—he took the order out of his pocket-book and gave it to me, and while I was looking at it Regan came and took it out of my hand—it was whole then.

Cross-examined. I saw at the bottom of the order "Evening dress is indispensable."

JAMES GUIVER . I am treasurer to Drury Lane Theatre—I was at the theatre on this evening—the prisoner was brought to me in front of the theatre—Regan said, in his presence, that he had been offering this order for sale, and he put it into my hands—no orders were being issued at that time—I held it up to the light, and in doing so I tore it—the date of the year and the day of the week has been altered—"Wednesday" has evidently been written over some other day—it appears to me as if it had been "Tuesday," and the figures following the 18 have been erased, and "70" substituted—I asked the prisoner where he obtained it—he said it was given to him by a bill-poster for exhibiting the bills of Drury Lane Theatre—10s. is the price of two admissions to the dress-circle—this ticket appears to have been given to a Mr. Cohen.

Cross-examined. I know this ticket was posted to Mr. Cohen—his name is on it—Mr. Todd, Mr. Chattertou's secretary, is the only person who writes the orders—there is no other Mr. Cohen who has orders—a great

many orders are given at times—orders are given to persons for exhibiting bills—Mr. Todd gives those, and he only—no orders have been given this season—this order would not have been admitted under any circumstances—we put on the orders "Evening dress is indispensable," but we do not enforce that regulation.

MOSES COHEN . I can't say that I recognize this order, but I may have received it at a certain time—I can't say that I used all the orders I received—I have not had any this year—I gave none of them to a bill-poster—I do not exhibit bills—these alterations are not mine.

FREDERICK CHARLES TODD . I am secretary to Mr. Chatterton—the words "M. Cohen, Esq., November 30," are in my handwriting—that was sent to Mr. Moss Cohen, the gentleman who has just been examined; I am certain of that—these alterations have not been made with my authority; I know nothing about them.

Cross-examined. I am the only person who sends out orders—this was sent out either last year or the year before—I should think last year—I was there all last year and the year before—at times there are a good many orders—there are none this year—no one would be admitted with an order—pit orders are given to bill-posters for exhibiting bills; not dress-circle orders.

JAMES HOWDEN . The prisoner was given into my custody by Mr. Quiver—I told him if he did not give me satisfaction how he came in possession of this ticket he would be looked up—he said he got it from a poster, in Whitechapel.

WILLIAM BOYLE . I received the prisoner in custody—I asked if he could account for the order—he said yes, it was given to him by a wellknown bill-poster, in Whitechapel—I asked him the name; he could not give it—I asked the address, and he said he could not give that—he could not tell the number of the house, the name of the street, or anything—he gave his own address as 6, Half Moon Passage, Whitechapel—I went there; it was an empty house—I afterwards went to 6, Half Moon Passage, Bishopsgate Within, thinking he might have made a mistake; he did not live there—it is a butcher's shop.

MR. M. WILLIAMS submittedthere was no case, the forgery must be shown to be to the prejudice of someone; but as it was proved that no orders were admitted, no one would have been defrauded. THE RECORDER considered there was evidence of an intent to defraud Shortis, because, had he paid the 5s. and not been admitted, he would have been the loser, and if he had obtained admission the lessee would have been defrauded.

GUILTY of uttering. **— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.

69. JAMES McDONALD (24), and GEORGE SAWYER (18) , Stealing a purse and 2l. of Lydia Jane Harris, from her person.

McDONALD PLEADED GUILTY .

MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution.

HENRY RANDALL (City Detective 168). On 1st December, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon I was in King William Street, City, with Lythell, another officer—I saw the two prisoners loitering about with another not in custody; they were talking to each other—I watched them, and saw them attempt to pick the pockets of three ladies in King William Street—McDonald put his hand into the pocket, but did not succeed in getting anything—Sawyer was close behind him, and the other man in front—they then went into

Gracechurch Street, where McDonald put his hand into the prosecutrix's pocket, Sawyer being behind, and the other in front—he did not get anything—they then followed the lady down Fish Street Hill, into Lower Thames Street, and there the third man placed himself in front of her, and impeded her passage—McDonald put his left hand into her pocket—Sawyer was close behind—I saw McDonald draw a purse out of her pocket with his two fingers, and the instant he got it he dropped it on the ground by accident—Sawyer immediately picked it up—they then separated, and ran as hard as they could in different directions—I followed Sawyer about 200 or 300 yards—he was running all that distance, but I did not lose sight of him—I came up with him, and told him I should take him into custody for picking a lady's pocket—he made no answer, but struggled to get away—I took him to the station, and there the prisoners denied knowing each other—I believe the purse was passed by Sawyer to the third man, who escaped, but I did not see it after Sawyer picked it up—the other man was close to him at the time.

LYDIA JANE HARRIS . I am single, and live at 326, Kingsland Road—I was in King William Street on this day, between 3 and 4 o'clock—I felt nothing there—I went into Lower Thames Street, and a man endeavoured to prevent my passing—I attempted to go behind the man, and he pushed me up against a cart wheel—I succeeded in getting past him, and after I passed I felt in my pocket, and my purse was gone—it was safe when I went into Thames Street; I had 2l. 0s. 9d. in it—the detective spoke to me as I was turning back—I did not see the prisoners.

SAMUEL LYTHELL (City Detective). I was with Randall on this day—I saw Miss Harris in Thames Street, and Sawyer close behind her, McDonald on her right, and a third man in front, pushing himself back so as to obstruct her—I saw McDonald put his left hand into her pocket, and as he drew it out he had something in his fingers, which immediately dropped—Sawyer stooped and picked it up, and I saw him pass it to the third man—by that time they were all pushing close together; there was rather a crowd—I took McDonald into custody, after a sharp chase, and brought him back, and then spoke to Miss Harris.

Sawyer. If I am fetched in guilty, I hope you will recommend me to mercy.

SAWYER— GUILTY .

The prisoners also PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions, McDonald in October, 1869, Sawyer in March, 1870.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment each.

70. CHARLOTTE BUCHANAN (53) , was charged on the Coroner's Inquisition only with feloniously killing and slaying Edith Reynolds.

MR. R. N. PHILLIPS, the prosecution, offered no evidence against the prisoner.

NOT GUILTY .

NEW COURT.—Tuesday, December 30th, 1870.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

71. JOHN WESTBROOK (21), JOHN MAHONEY (28), JOHN LANG (20), DAVID WHITESIDE (40), THOMAS ROGERS (29), and CATHERINE HOWE (33) , Stealing 1l. 9s., of James Dempster, from his person.

MR. DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution; MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS appeared for Westbrook, MR. ST. AUBYN for Mahoney, MR. COLLINS for Lang, MR. COOPER for Whiteside, and MR. PATER for Rogers.

CHARLES ROSS (Policeman) On Tuesday evening, November 29th, about 10.30, I was with another officer, outside the "Crooked Billet," Tower Hill—I saw the prosecutor with Westbrook and a man not in custody, drinking, in one compartment of the "Crooked Billet"—Westbrook's mother and grandmother were in the same compartment—they appeared to be quarrelling—Mahoney, Whiteside, Lang, and Howe were in another compartment—Mahoney was Quarrelling with Howe—Westbrook's mother and grandmother were upbraiding him for being in the company he was in, and he pushed them out of the house, with the assistance of the man not in custody, who went out with them—I then saw Westbrook place his hand in the prosecutor's trowser's pocket, and withdraw it—he threw something on the counter, saying "Here, I will pay for this pot" before that Mahoney and Whiteside had come into that compartment—Mahoney then went in front of the prosecutor, and began putting his hands round his pockets—he then went and sat down with Howe, who had come in with Lang, and appeared to pass something to her—I saw Rogers talking to the prosecutor and to the other prisoners—I fetched the prosecutor out of the house, and spoke to him—he was very drunk, and hardly able to stand—I was in a passage, with a half-glass window, so that I could look through into the compartment—I saw a Hanoverian medal, representing a sovereign, in the compartment, and Rogers' hand was over it—I took the prisoners all in custody, with assistance—Mahoney was very abusive, and said that I had got up this charge—I found on Westbrook 4s. 6d. in silver, and 9 1/2 d. in copper, on Howe a sovereign and 14s. 3d., and various sums on the other prisoners—the prosecutor's pockets were empty, except a halfpenny.

Cross-examined by MR. M. WILLIAMS. I could see everything that took place; but I could not see what was on the counter—I know that something was served, but did not hear Dempster asked to pay for it—Mahoney did not say to Dempster "Pay for the ale," nor did Dempster say "I have no money"—I did not see Mahoney shake Dempster's pocket, and take a strap from it; but I did not take particular notice—I could not see into the bar, or see the barman—I could only hear when they spoke in the ordinary way, not when they spoke low—I heard nothing about paying for the ale; but that might have been previous to my going to the house—I did not see Dempster with a purse—the prisoners were sober—Dempster said, at the Police Court, when he was perfectly sober, that he had not lost anything—Mahoney had then spoken to him.

Cross-examined by MR. COLLINS. There are four compartments, with seats all round—Lang was standing in front of the bar when I saw him first—I afterwards saw him sit down and drink.

Cross-examined by MR. PATER. I cannot say at what time Rogers came in.

Re-examined. The prosecutor at the station said he had lost 17s. 6d.; but at the Police Court he said he had lost nothing—that was after he had had a conversation with Mahoney.

Howe. The money was mine, and I can prove it.

JAMES WATLING . I am under-barman of the "Crooked Billet"—Dempster came in by himself, and called for a pot of stout, which came to

8d. and for some tobacco—Westbrook's mother and grandmother were in the same box, drinking, and after that Westbrook came in—he was going to treat his mother, I believe, and the prosecutor asked the mother to drink; but she would not—Mahoney and Whiteside came in together, and Howe followed—Dempster paid for what he had, and after 11 o'clock he said "I have no money"—he came in between 9 and 10 o'clock, and went to the bar—he paid 6d. and 3d. in copper; the tobacco was 1d—Mahoney came in afterwards; he shook Dempster's pockets, just before they were taken—I saw a strap, to put round the neck—Dempster was a little the worse for liquor—he took the 6d. out of a little pocket—I saw him with a purse; but saw nothing in it—I did not notice when Rogers came in—Mahoney put the strap back in Dempster's pocket—Lang came in half-an-hour after Howe.

JAKES DEMPSTER . I am a private in the 74th Regiment—on the night of 29th November I went into the "Crooked Billet," about 10 o'clock—I was sober, or nearly so—I had only had one glass of spirits before that, and nothing else—I had 1l. 10s. in my pocket when I went out—I paid for a glass of spirits, and had 1l. 9s. 6d. when I entered the "Crooked Billet"—it was in a purse in my right hand trowsers pocket—when I went in I ordered a glass of spirits—Westbrook and two females asked me to stand treat, and I called for some stout—I got very drunk, and have no idea how much I spent—I treated Westbrook and his grandmother, mother, and sister—beer principally was drank—Westbrook came in shortly after me, bringing another man with him—I am told that I had no money in my pocket when I got to the station—I do not recollect going from the public house to the station—I said next morning, at the Police Court, that I had not lost anything—I had a reason for saying so.

MR. DE MICHELE here withdrew the prosecution.

NOT GUILTY .

72. EIBERTUS ANTONIUS KONTER (32) , Feloniously marrying Amelia Pritchard, his wife Harriett Sophia being alive.

MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. PATER the Defence.

GEORGE TAYLOR . I am an upholsterer, of 78, Bishopsgate Street Without—I was present at a marriage between the prisoner and Harriett Sophis Alexander, on. 26th May, 1864, at St. Mary's Church, Islington—this (produced) is a copy of the register—I saw the wife last Friday—she is still alive.

Cross-examined. The prisoner was a widower at the time of his marriage—he had no family.

AMELIA PRITCHARD . I live at 33, Wharfdale Road, King's Cross—on 24th April I was married to the prisoner at St. Jude's Church, Gray's Inn Road—when I first knew him, two years ago, he told me he was a married man—I went with him to Hastings, at his request—he told me the firm was going there for a holiday, and a party of ladies were going, and I should be quite safe—he said in March or April last "My wife died last night," and asked me if I would be his wife—I said that I was in no hurry to marry, and said "You are too old for me"—he pressed me a great deal to have him, and I at last consented, and went through the ceremony of marriage with him about three weeks afterwards—it is the fact that when we were at Hastings he slept with me—my mother did not give her consent to the marriage, she was very much against it—she gave no reason—these

two letters are in the prisoner's writing—I have frequently seen him write—I am entitled to some property when I am twenty-one, and after we were married the prisoner used to ask me to get a loan on it, but I refused—about a month after we were married I found out that his wife was alive, and I asked him—he said that she was alive, but he had had a judicial separation, and I was legally his—I did not say anything to my friends regarding it, but continued to live with him—at the time he called on me in mourning I believed his wife was dead.

Cross-examined. I was at home when he first made my acquaintance—I afterwards took a situation at University Tavern, Tottenham Court Road—it was about two years ago, July, I think, that we went to Hastings—it was in summer-time, but I cannot say the month; it was soon after I knew him—it was in March this year that he said that he was no longer a married man—during the time I knew he was a married man, and since we went to Hastings, I continually went out with him, and slept with him at different places—I have not done so once or twice a week—I knew that he lived at Holloway with his wife, but was not certain of the address—I never went there—I was introduced to Mr. John Liddle about three weeks before the prisoner married me—that is he (pointing kirn out)—he is, I believe, a fishmonger, in the Caledonian Road—I went with the prisoner when he called upon Liddle, before we were married, but I did not go to the house—I did not hear him say to Liddle that he and I were going through a mock ceremony the following Sunday—what they said was quite private, and not within my hearing—I did not hear Konter ask Liddle to take us for a drive afterwards—I heard nothing about a drive—I did not see Liddle again for two months—I believe the prisoner and I called on Mrs. Emma Maria Konter once, shortly before the marriage—her husband is a dairyman, of Talbot Road, Netting Hill—he did not say to her on that occasion that he had left his wife, nor did he say "The reason I have come to-night is to ask a favour of you"—he did not say "If Mill's aunt comes here and asks any questions about us you are to say my wife is dead"—my name is Milly, and my aunt, Mrs. Harris, lives near there—Mr. Router formerly served her with milk—I did not say "Oh do, Mrs. Konter, please say that," nor did Mr. Konter say that he had crammed her up with a tale one morning, and the old girl shed a tear or two, nor words to that effect—I do not remember Mrs. Konter inquiring if his wife gave him any furniture, nor did I say "No, she only gave him a feather bed, an old-fashioned looking-glass, and a cracked tea-pot;" it is false—I did not say "She is an old cat"—I do not know anything of the linen given to the prisoner by his wife.

Q. During the two years previous to the marriage did he spend all he had upon you? A. I believe he made me a present of one dress—I have one bed belonging to him, which I lie upon—I knew that he was employed at Messrs. Waterlow's, in the City—he is a German—I did not want to marry him, but it was his wish; he ran after me everywhere, and was a perfect nuisance to me—I married him more out of pity than anything else—I went to Doctor's Commons by his desire, and got a license; my brother, a boy of fifteen, went with me—the prisoner did not write this letter to my mother at my request, but of his own free will—he did not first write a letter and show it to me, nor did I disapprove of it—my mother knew that I was in the habit of going out with him, but not of the connection between us—she knew I went to Hastings, but with a party of ladies; she knew he was married then—he used to call very often when I lived at home, but he

was not encouraged, for they had objections—I had never seen his wife—my brother George had not been to his house, to my recollection, but I was away for months in a situation—I saw this letter after my mother had broken the seal—this letter, addressed to his brother, the prisoner asked me to post, but I kept it, to spare his brother's feelings—I was on very good terms with the prisoner at that time—very recently and after we were married, the prisoner sent a letter to Lloyd's Newspaper, which was answered under the initials "A. B. C.," and in consequence of that answer he made his will in my favour—I do not remember the nature of the question he asked; he did not write it at my request—I have not got the will now, and do not know who has it; it is mislaid.

MR. M. WILLIAMS. Q. How many wills he may have made you do not know? A. No—my mother is an independent lady—she gave me her permission to go to Hastings, in consequence of the prisoner saying that there were a party of ladies—when I got there, there were no ladies, and he pressed me very much by persuasions such as men do use, and got me to stop with him—I have never received any money from him, except for the household expenses—he only gave me one dress, and no jewellery—this is the letter which I did not post to spare their feelings—(Read; "9/11/'70. My very dear Brother,—May Heaven reward you for your generous and noble behaviour in exposing myself and my poor girl to Mrs. Harris. If you could have foreseen the consequences perhaps you would not have acted so rash; as it is, it can, unfortunately, not be undone, and I must, therefore, confess that, with your kind help, my game is played out. May God grant that none of your bastards may ever be so unfortunate as your unhappy, wretched brother, who, for the sake of love too passionate to control, is compelled to place the halter round his own neck. May God forgive you! E. A. Konter. To Mr. John Konter, dairyman, Notting Hill")—Mrs. Harris is an aunt of mine; she is the person to whom the prisoner gave information of his former marriage—I saw the word "bastards" in it—that is what I mean by keeping it back to spare their feelings—after I was married I had no idea that the prisoner's wife was alive till I heard it from Mrs. Harris.

COURT. Q. When did you first learn that he was married? A. About a month after we were married I gained the information from a friend—I then asked the prisoner, and he said yes, but that he was legally separated from his wife, and I was legally his, and I continued to live with him—my friends found it out, and induced me to separate from him—I have no child—(Another letter from the prisoner to Mrs. Pritchard was put in, in which he stated: "I feel it my duty to inform you that my darling pet, your daughter Amelia, was entirely ignorant of the fact that my wife Harriette was alive when she married me in April last, as she fully believed my lie that Harriette had died, and it was by my desire that she went to Doctors' Commons for a marriage license."

MR. PATER here stated that he could not struggle with this evidence. GUILTY . In mitigation of the sentence, James Liddle stated that he was aware from the prisoner that there was an illicit connexion between him and the prosecutrix before they were married, and that the prisoner told him in the prosecutrix's hearing that he intended to go through a mock ceremony of marriage with her to deceive her mother; Emma Afiria Konter, the prisoner's sister-in-law, stated that the prisoner and prosecutrix called upon her in April before their marriage, when the prisoner told her to tell Mrs. Harris, if she enquired, that

they were married, and that hit wife was dead; that the prostcutrix said her mother did not know it, and that the prisoner said he had put on a hat-band, and said that his wife was dead, and Mrs. Pritchard shed a tear or two, and that the prosecutrix heard the whole conversation, and seemed to enjoy it.

Judgment Respited.

OLD COURT.—Wednesday, December 14th, 1870.

Before Mr. Justice Hannen.

73. EDWARD SEARY (26), was indicted for the wilful murder of James Gordon Kennock. He was also charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with manslaughter.

MESSRS. RIBTON and MAYNE conducted the Prosecution; and MESSRS. HUNTER and CHESTER the Defence.

ARCHIBALD PETRE . I reside at 39, Saville Street, Great Portland Street, Fitzroy Square—I was acquainted with the deceased—on Sunday evening, 6th November, at 8 o'clock, I was in Saville Lane, Saville Street, with Mr. and Mrs. McGill, a cousin of Mrs. McGill, the prisoner, and the deceased—after supper we went to convey the young woman, Miss Maitland, to a 'bus, and on returning we had some drink at a public-house in Cirencester Place—after leaving there the prisoner and I went to a public-house in Carburton Street, and had a pint of beer, and were standing there when the deceased came in—the prisoner insulted the deceased; the words tire too indistinct in my recollection to use them under oath—the deceased challenged him to repeat the insult, which he did—the deceased then struck the prisoner, and they fought several rounds; at the last knockdown the prisoner would not rise—the deceased then left the bar—the prisoner and I finished our pint, and left to go home—we had not gone very far down the street when the deceased came up, seized the prisoner by the shoulder, and asked him if he had had enough, or did he wish for any more—they then stripped, and fought in the street; it ended in the prisoner being several times thrown, and the arrival of the police, when he was taken to the hospital to be dressed—after being dressed, we left the hospital and went home—immediately after coming out of the hospital the deceased disappeared—the prisoner, I, and the witness Euston went home; we got home about 11.15, and went to bed—the prisoner and I slept in the same bed, and Euston in a bed near us, with the deceased—the deceased came in and went to bed about half-an-hour after us—all was quiet until about 4 o'clock, when the prisoner got out of bed and examined the bed the deceased was in—I was awake, and saw him—after having examined the bed, he exclaimed "Are you there, you b——?"—he then left the bedroom, and went into the workshop, the next room—he then returned, and requested the deceased to get up out of bed—he did not get out—the witness Euston, having seen the prisoner strike a blow at the deceased, sprang out of bed over the deceased, and took the prisoner out of the bed-room into the workshop—the deceased then got up and bolted the door, and commenced to dress himself—Euston then requested to be let in, he being undressed; the dececased let him in, and again bolted the door—the prisoner then came to the door, and requested to be let in, saying he would show who was the cur now (the deceased had called the prisoner a our in the beer-shop)—he was not let in, but the landlord appeared on the scene, and requested the deceased to open the door to allow the prisoner to go to bed, and, at

his request, the door was opened, and the prisoner was admitted—the deceased charged him with striking him on the arm with a file, while in bed, when the prisoner said "Me strike you with a file? I could have dashed your brains out with it if I had liked"—thus provoked the deceased struck the prisoner in the face; they exchanged blows rapidly, when the deceased called out "He's got a knife! he's got a knife! I am stabbed! I am stabbed in the guts!"—McGill and Euston then hurried the deceased away to the hospital, and I and Seary were left alone in the room—he commenced to dress himself to go out, and was just on the landing when the police and McGill returned from the hospital, and took him into custody—the deceased's name was James Gordon Kennock—I saw his dead body the day after his death.

Cross-examined by MR. CHESTER. I was one of the supper party at 39, Saville Street—we had the usual glass of beer there, that was all, just one glass at supper—after seeing Miss Maitland to the omnibus, Mr. and Mrs. McGill, the deceased, the prisoner, and myself went to the public-house in Cirencester Place—we had some brandy there, as near as I can recollect five quarterns—we were all friendly, drinking each other's health—McGill and the deceased then went home, and the prisoner and I went to a beer-shop at the corner of Carburton Street, and had a pint of beer, and when the deceased came in he had a share of it, a glass; the prisoner treated him—there was only one pint—at that time the prisoner was a little under the influence of liquor; he was easier affected than the rest of us—I say that from my previous knowledge of him—he was not very much affected—when he has taken a considerable amount he is very much affected by it—I have seen him drunk several times—he is very noisy then, knocking about, and seems not to know what he is doing; he tumbles about greatly—I can't remember the nature of the prisoner's insult to the deceased in die beer-shop; I was so completely upset with the fight: this was before the fight—I remember well enough that it was an insult, because the deceased challenged him to repeat it, and he did; but I cannot recollect the words—he called him a name, something of that—it was a slight insult—Kennock struck Seary first, he struck him in the face—the struggle lasted about a minute—they both struck—Kennock struck him generally about the head and face; I can't say how many blows were struck; it being so short, I should not expect more than a dozen blows passed between them—Seary was knocked down more than once at that scuffle, and in the second fight, in the street, he fell several times—he got the worst of it; the deceased fell as well—I should think the prisoner fell two or three times—I can't say where he was hit—no doubt he was hit on the head as well as other parts of the body—his head was cut by falling on the kerbstone, at the last fall—he appeared to be pretty well sobered after the fight—nothing was said about giving the deceased into custody for the assault—the police accompanied us to the hospital, in case there should be such a thing—I ac-companied the prisoner home from the hospital, and put him to bed—he did not behave very quietly on the way home, he used threatening language—I don't think he was awake when the deceased came to bed—when the prisoner arose, about 4 o'clock, he was partly dressed—he slept in his trowsers; he was just as he had laid down—he went and examined the deceased's bed—he did not look under the bed, that I am aware of; I did not notice that—there was a small gaslight in the room—we had utensils in the room for the purposes of nature—there was one under the deceased's

bed—I am inclined to think that the prisoner went there and used it, and after accomplishing that he examined the bed; he looked to see if the deceased was in bed—I was about eight yards from that bed; the prisoner was leaning over the bed, looking into the faces—he could have seen from our bed if he had liked; but, being two in a bed, I expect he wanted to be minute—he exclaimed "Are you there, you b——"—the deceased did not make any reply, that I recollect—the prisoner was about a minute in the workshop; when he came back he went to the bed and challenged the deceased to get up now—he did not call roe any name, that I recollect; he struck him with the file—Euston put him out of the room—there was no difficulty in doing it—he did not say anything, that I recollect—he asked to be let in again—he did not try to break open the door—I noticed nothing particular about him when he came in again—I noticed nothing in his hand—he could have concealed anything if he had liked—the knife is much smaller than the file—they struck each other about a dozen times in that fight; the blows were mostly about the head and face—I saw no knife in the prisoner's hand during the scuffle—I had not seen a knife in that room in the course of that day or evening—we have the usual shoe-maker's implements in the workshop; everything we use in the trade—the prisoner did not seem excited when Euston was putting him out of the room; there was nothing particular about him; when he said he could have knocked the deceased's brains out, he said it in a determined manner—the deceased had been living there since March last; I have known him from boyhood, sixteen or eighteen years—he was quiet and peaceable, very industrious, and steady—I have known the prisoner about fifteen months, since he came to Saville Street—he is quiet and inoffensive when sober; not so very industrious—I was alone with him in the room after the deceased was taken to the hospital—he was siting on a box, by the side of my bed, until they left; after that he searched for his boots, and was in the workshop searching there to get ready to go out; he was just on the landing, going out, when the policeman came—he asked me which public-house it was that was open in Portland Street, and I had just said it was the one below the church, when I heard the footsteps of the policeman—that may have been seven or ten minutes after the deceased was taken to the hospital—when McGill asked the prisoner what he had done it for he seemed rather nasty, and said "Away with your Scotch sympathies, does any more of you want any of it?"—he did not appear to be excited, he quietly sat down.

Re-examined. He used threatening language on returning from the hospital—he said "Oh, I will be a Traupman, I will do for him before to-morrow night"—it could not exceed a minute after the deceased struck him before he called out that he was stabbed—I never saw the knife at all—McGill had his hands round the prisoner, attempting to get the knife from him when ho said "Away with your Scotch sympathies."

COURT. Q. Was the deceased a Scotchman? A. Yes, and McGill and myself also.

JAMES EUSTON . I am a shoemaker, and at the time in question lived in Saville Street—I went to bed about 12.15—the deceased was not then in the room—the prisoner was, and the last witness—I remember the deceased coming in about twenty minutes after I had gone to bed—we went to sleep—I was disturbed about 3.30 in the morning by hearing a noise in the workshop—the deceased was then in bed—I could not see whether he was

awake then or not—the next thing that attracted my attention was the prisoner coming in from the workshop, with a file in his hand—he came forward to the bedside and looked at the deceased—he lifted the file and said, "Get up, you b——"—he struck the deceased on the left arm with the file—I jumped out of bed, and caught him, and pushed him out of the room into the workshop, and the deceased got out of bed and bolted the door, leaving the prisoner and I outside—I was afterwards admitted—the prisoner remained outside—McGill came up while I was outside in the workshop—after I had gone into the room McGill asked that the prisoner should be admitted, and the deceased opened the door and let him in—the deceased pointed to his arm, and said to the prisoner, "You have struck me with a file"—the prisoner said "Me strike you with a file; I could have knocked your brains out"—the deceased had his coat off, and he struck at the prisoner—I could not see whether he hit him or not—they both closed, and fought and struck each other—I did not see anything in the prisoner's hand then—I heard the deceased say that he was stabbed; that was not more than a minute, I should say, after they had closed—McGill was with the prisoner then—I did not see whether he had hold of him or not—they ceased fighting, and I took the deceased into the workshop, and examined him—I found he had been stabbed in the belly—McGill and I took him to the hospital.

Cross-examined by MR. HUNTER. I had not been one of the party that met that night in the house at the supper, nor at the public-house—the fight that I saw took place beside the prisoner's bed, next the door—I never knew anything amiss with the prisoner's character—I have known him about eighteen months—I have seen him drunk before—he is rather quarrelsome when drunk.

DAVID McGILL . I am the landlord of the house—these persons were lodging with me—we had had supper, and went out, and returned home—I was disturbed, as near as I can recollect, about 3.45 in the morning, by a noise as if some of them were jumping out of bed—I went up stairs, and found the prisoner and Euston in the workshop, and the room door bolted—Euston asked to be admitted—he was admitted, and the door bolted again—I went down stairs to put on some clothes, and, hearing a noise, I went up again, and asked Seary if he wanted to go into bed—the door was opened, and he was let in, and I went in with him—the deceased, when he saw Seary, said "See what you have done to my arm with the file," and he threw off his coat and undid his arm, and I could see the mark on it—Seary said "Me strike you with a file, I could have knocked your brains out?"—the deceased then threw off his coat altogether, drew his arm, and struck Seary right in the face—they then closed, and blows were exchanged, as far as I could see—there was a small light burning—I could not say for certain that I saw anything in the prisoner's hand at this time—I was trying to get in between them, to separate them—the deceased called out, in about a minute, or scarcely that, "I am stabbed; he has got a knife"—they were then separated—Euston brought the deceased into the workshop to see where he was stabbed—I said to the prisoner, "What do you mean by doing this, here?"—he said "Oh, your Scotch sympathies; do any more of you want any of it?" and immediately he held up the knife—this is it (produced)—it is a knife used in the trade; not a pocket knife—it was always kept in the workshop, with other knives like it—I assisted the deceased to the hospital, and came back with a policeman, who took

the prisoner into custody—there might be about a dozen knives of this sort in the workshop—each man had a knife of his own, and some two or three—this knife belonged to the prisoner—he had only one knife of that sort—he was in the habit of leaving it in the workshop, not carrying it about with him—these knives are never out of the workshop, except it may be on a rare occasion.

Cross-examined by MR. CHESTER. When I went up and spoke to the prisoner, he said "Is people going to be murdered 1"—he did not appear much excited—I could scarcely see his face—there was a shade on the lamp, and the way he was sitting kept the light from his face—when I went up I asked the meaning of the row; no answer was made, and I asked a second time, and then Seary said "It is all very well to talk about a row, but is people going to be murdered"—I could not make out what was the matter—this is the prisoner's knife—it is not occasionally left in the bedroom—I can't say that I ever saw it there except the time it was hi his hand—I very seldom saw it out of the workshop—it must be on very rare occasions—I did not see it in his hand on the landing before he went into the room—it was dark there—I never used it for cutting corns or paring nails—it might be used for that—it might be taken into the bedroom for that purpose—I can't say for certain that it was in the workshop on Sunday night—I don't know where it was—I had been at one of the public-houses with the prisoner that night—we had been drinking—I was present when the brandy was drunk—I can't say that the prisoner was intoxicated—he is a very quiet man when he has no drink in him, as quiet a shopmate as ever I sat beside—the words he used in the room were "I could have knocked out your brains if I had liked."

Re-examined. When the prisoner was admitted to the room I went in close to him—he had no opportunity of taking up the knife from any part of the room, between that and the deceased calling out "I am stabbed"—not without it was on the bed where he slept, and that was a good distance from any place where he could have left it—he, went near enough to the bed, supposing it to be there, to take it—his back was to the bed when the deceased struck him first, and he went back that way with the fall—I did not see him take it up, nor any movement like it.

COURT. Q. What other furniture Was there in the bedroom besides the bed? A. A table and two or three boxes; no chair; there were two bedsteads.

JOHN FINNERHAM (Policeman E 394). About 4 o'clock on Monday morning, the 7th, I met the deceased with McGill, and assisted in taking him to the hospital—I then went back and took the prisoner into custody—he said nothing—I searched him at the station, and found this awl on him—I produce the file.

ANDREW CLARK . I am house-surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—on Monday morning, the 6th November, the deceased was brought there—I examined him—he had seven stabs on him; two in the belly, one in the right hand, one in the chest, and one or two in the arm—two were deep, the one in the belly, and the one on the leg—the others were superficial—the bowel itself was not protruding from the wound in the belly, but parts of the tissue attached to the bowels were—he died on the Friday, from inflammation of the bowel and peroneum, produced by the wound—this knife is exactly the sort of instrument the wounds would have been done by—they seemed to get smaller as they went in.

The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate: "The knife I got was in the fire-place; I took it from the workshop on Sunday night to pare my nails. At the time he was striking at me, which he did several times, my right eye was completely blinded, and my head was enveloped in a bandage from the time McGill came to the door—it was after that that Kennock struck me as often as he did—when he struck me I lifted the knife off the fire-place—I had the knife in my hand when he struck at me again, and I think he caught the knife in his hand or his arm in attempting to strike me—he struck me again, and I struck him with the knife—I don't know how often after that I noticed him to leave the room."

Witness for the Defence.

JOHN DAVISON . I am house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—on the evening of the 6th November the prisoner was brought there—he had a contused wound on the forehead, with the surface broken—it was partly lacerated and partly contused—it was bleeding slightly—it penetrated the whole depth of the soft parts over the forehead down to the bone—it was not a long wound, speaking roughly, about an inch—the prisoner was intoxicated—I did not see him when he was brought in—he was sitting in a chair when I saw him—he was incapable of controlling his muscles—he could not hold up his head, he let it drop down while his wound was being dressed—he was very much affected by drink—such a blow as I have heard described inflicted on a drunken man I should say would not be liable to bring on mania—possibly it might produce compression of the brain—I mean it would not produce mania for any considerable length of time, it might happen after some length of time—the effect of compression would be to deprive a person of control over their actions.

Cross-examined. There was not anything like compression—I found no symptom of it, if there had been any such thing it would have manifested itself Afterwards, next day in all likelihood.

Re-examined. Drunkenness might mask compression.

The prisoner received a good character.

GUILTY OF MANSLAUGHTER — Ten Years' Penal Servitude.

NEW COURT.—Wednesday, December 4th, 1870.

Before Mr. Baron Pigott.

74. GEORGE WILLIAM MOORE (46) , Rape on Ann Moore.

MR. COLLINS conducted the Prosecution.

GUILTY — Ten Years' Penal Servitude.

THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, December 4th, 1870.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

75. MARY ANN SEAMAN (17) , was charged on the Coroner's Inquisition only with the wilful murder of her newly-born child.

MR. COOPER, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.

NOT GUILTY .

76. MARY ANN SEAMAN was again indicted for unlawfully endeavouring to conceal the birth of her child, to which she

PLEADED GUILTY . Judgment Respited.

77. WILLIAM MOODY (48), was indicted for wilful and corrupt perjury.

MR. HARRIS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.

ADOLPHUS CHARLES SHELLEY . I am employed by Messrs. Barnett & Buckler, short-hand writers to this Court—on 21st September I was present at the trial of Thomas Henry Griffiths, who was charged with feloniously destroying a bill of sale—the defendant was the prosecutor in that case—he was sworn and examined—this is a correct transcript of the short-hand notes which I took of his evidence—he was asked "Q. In whose possession was the bill of sale; this sham one under discussion, on 4th November, when it was made?" A. In my possession. Q. Have you had it from that time until down to the time you put in execution? A. Yes; except only on one occasion, at Whitsuntide, when I left it at his house for five or six hours, and afterwards when I went for it they pretended it was not there"—Griffiths was acquitted of the charge brought against him.

THOMAS HENRY GRIFFITHS . I am a wheelwright, and carry on business at 120, New Street, Deptford—I have a freehold house there, which I bought about two years ago—I borrowed 80l. of Mr. Musgrove, a butcher there, to enable me to pay off the purchase-money, and gave him a mortgage on my property—in November last year Moody came to my house and said that he had seen Mr. Musgrove, my mortgagee, and he said he should come down on me and seize my stock and all, if the money was not paid, and the best thing I could do was to have a bill of sale on my stock and furniture, as well as the house—I told him I owed no money—he said "If I had a bill of sale I could get money on it to pay the mortgage off; and he said he knew a man who would draw it up cheap, for 30s"—I told him I would consider of it—he came again, and said he had seen Mr. Wilmott; that was the man who drew it up, and he was coming to his house in the evening—it was drawn up on 3rd November, by Wilmott, and on the 4th we met at the prisoner's house again, and Wilmott produced the bill of sale, registered—he had taken it away to get it registered—it was a bill of sale from Griffiths to Moody, for 100l., and included my stock and furniture—I never owed Moody a penny at that time, or any other time—no money was ever advanced by Moody to me on that bill of sale—Moody said, after the bill of sale had been made out and taken away to be registered, that we had better write some I O U's, and date them back, to make it appear that he had lent me the money—he wrote them, and I signed them—Eldridge was not there at that time—there was no attesting witness to the I O U s—I paid Wilmott 1l. 10s. for drawing up the bill of sale—on the 4th November, after it was brought back by him, registered, he put it on the table—I took it up and took it home—I kept it till the beginning of December, without it ever being out of my possession, and then Moody came and borrowed it of my wife; he only kept it a day; he brought it back and delivered it to my wife—I was not present—I found it there when I got home; I kept it in my possession from that time till 1st April—Mr. Moody came and borrowed it again to show to his lawyer; he kept it thirteen days, and me and my wife went and fetched it back on 13th April, two days before Good Friday—I kept it then till 15th-August, when Mr. Moody came to me and said he had seen Mr. Sorrell, his lawyer, who had agreed to lend me 40l. on it—I told him I had sold several things included in the bill of sale, and he had better have the deeds of the house and the abstract title, and hand me the money—I said if he paid the mortgage I would give him 40l. towards the 80l.—I had 40l. of my own by me at the time; he said it did

not matter at all; he had seen Mr. Sorrell, and he was willing to lend it on the bill of sale; Mr. Sorrell did not want the deeds, he wanted the bill of sale—I went to London with him, taking the bill of sale and these other papers; we went to Mr. Sorrell's office—Moody told me I had better wait while he went in; he took the papers in—I waited about eight minutes, and when he came out he said he had left the papers with Mr. Sorrell, and he would give me the money in four days; we then went home; I waited a week, and then Mr. Moody sent over to say that Mr. Sorrell was out of town, and I spoke to a policeman about it—Mr. Moody sent the abstract of title and the other papers over to me, but not the bill of sale—I could not see Mr. Moody—on 25th August, a man named Ford came to me and wanted 100l.—he had the bill of sale in his hand, and asked me for 100l.; I told him I did not owe Mr. Moody 100 farthings—I took the bill of sale out of his hand, tore it up, and put it in the fire, and said it was my property; I was summoned at the Police Court for doing that, in September, and I was committed for trial—I was released on bail, and when I got home I found my place broken open, and my stock, vans and cabs, and all, gone, and my workshop pulled down—I was acquitted of the charge—I had to pay Mr. Musgrove by instalments, on 1st February, the 1st May, and 1st August; he never asked me for a penny.

Cross-examined. I am about forty-six years old—I have been a wheel-wright all my life—I was going to have a bill of sale of Mr. Elworthy before, but I did not because he wanted so much interest—I had a bill of sale of Mr. Moody about six years ago—he did not advance me any money—it was a fictitious bill of sale; my solicitor has it—I gave it to him, there it is—Moody suggested that I should give him a fictitious bill of sale—that was a bill of sale from Moody to me—I don't know that it was done to defeat Moody's creditors—I can't tell what it was done for—I don't know—the bill of sale which is the subject of this inquiry was made in order to pay Musgrove off what I owed him—I had 40l., and wanted 40l. to pay him off—Moody said I could get money on the bill of sale—I did not get any on it—I did not pay Musgrove, because Moody got the bill of sale, and came and took my stock and all—the bill of sale was given for me to raise money on—I had the stock at the time which was specified in the bill of sale—I did not raise money on my stock; I did not want to raise money; I did not owe anything—I did not want money to pay Musgrove then, but Moody said Musgrove wanted the money—he said Musgrove was coming down to sweep off the whole of the shop and stock—I believed that at the time—I should have wanted to pay Musgrove—the prisoner said he could get me money on the bill of sale, and that was the reason I gave it to him and not to Musgrove—the prisoner wrote two I O U's, and I signed them, to make it appear that he had lent money, he said—there was one for 50l. first, one for 32l., and one for 18l., making up 100l.—they were all signed on 3rd November, and dated back; all three of them—no one was present—they were not witnessed by anybody—those are the only receipts I signed, except the bill of sale—I can't tell whether I signed a receipt for 13l. 10s., it is so long ago—I might have done it—it is in my writing—it did not belong to the bill of sale—I don't know what it was, it is so long ago—I don't know what it refers to—the receipt is in my writing—I don't know what it refers to, it is so long ago—Moody never lent me any money at all, not a shilling—Musgrove summoned me in the County Court for 15l. on an I O U; that was last April—he got judgment agains

me—I got leave of the Judge to pay it by instalments of 1l. a month—I said I had a bill of sale over my property—I did not tell the Judge it was held by Moody—I said I could not pay the money because trade was bad, and I said I had got a bill of sale on my goods; I meant this bill of sale—I did not tell the Judge it was a fictitious bill of sale—I knew it would have no effect on my goods—I said I could pay 1l. a month, and I had got a bill of sale—I did not say what one—I said before the Magistrate that I told the Judge I had a bill of sale—I did not say on what; I told the Judge it was on my stock—I had the bill of sale myself at the time—these three I O U's were all given at the same time, in November, and no one was present—after I had taken the bill of sale from Mr. Ford, and thrown it in the fire, my goods were taken away by the prisoner to the value of 124l.—they were given away, they were not sold—J mean they were sold so cheap—I don't know what they were sold for; I heard they were sold cheap—about 25l. or 26l.—I have the value down here—I inquired what the goods fetched—I have charged the prisoner with stealing them in another indictment; those very goods—I have the value here, 22l. or 23l., what be took out of the yard when he broke the yard open and tore the shop and all down—I know a man named Rutledge, by sight—I never spoke to him—I did not see Rutledge at the prisoner's house on 17th July, 1868—I swear that—he did not witness the I O U for 50l. in my presence—if he swears that, it is perjury—he did not—Rutledge was not present, and not a penny passed—I did not count the money, take it up, and put it in my pocket—certainly not—I swear that Wilmott put the bill of sale on the table, as I said just now, and I took it up and took it home with me—it is not true that Wilmott handed it to the prisoner—I did not tell Mr. Wilmott that I owed the prisoner 68l., or that he held I O U's from me for that amount—I did not show Wilmott an I O U for 50l. and one for 10l. of the prisoner's, a fortnight before the bill of sale—they were not in existence, I pledge my oath to that—Mr. Ives is the attesting witness to the bill of sale—he was present when it was signed and attested—I make wheels and carts and vans; brand new—I sometimes buy them second-hand, and I also repair them—I had to give one cart back which I bought—it was a spring cart—a man of the name of Plant called with it and said it was his—it turned out he had merely hired it, and came and sold it to me—I used to let it out—I had to give it up—that was three or four years ago—when I commenced these proceedings the prisoner sent me a writ for 88l., the day the summons was to be tried—I have not got the writ—my solicitor has it—he is here—I made the defendant a cart ten or twelve years ago—he did not purchase any furniture of me in 1866—this (produced) is not in my writing—I never sold him any furniture in my life—the signature is not my writing—it is a bill for some furniture amounting to 18l. 10s.—J never sold him any furniture—I believe it is not my writing—I won't swear that this I O U for 10l. signed "T. Griffiths" is or is not my writing—I can't swear to it, but I believe it is not—I have signed two or three I O U's—I signed one for 18l.—I believe this one is not my writing—it is dated March 4, 1869—there were I O U's for 18l., 32l., and 50l.—I only signed two, and I believe that one is not in my writing—I don't believe the signature to this other one is mine—I could not swear to it—it is an I O U for 50l., dated July 17, 1868—the signature "T. Griffiths" is mine—I believe now that the one for 18l. is not in my writing—I don't recollect anything about the bill for the furniture, it is not in my handwriting

writing, I believe—I say that the signature to the I O U for 50l. is in my writing; the one for 18l. is not, nor the signature to the furniture, and the one for 13l. 10s. is in my writing—I don't recollect that I ever lent a cart on hire to the prisoner—I let so many out, I can't say who I let them to—I can't say that he has paid me for a cart he hired—I don't recollect—I don't believe that is my signature—it is dated "March 4, 1864, received of Mr. Moody the sum of 16s. for the use of horse and cart; signed, T. Griffiths."—I don't recollect about it, it is so long back—I applied to Mr. Elworthy for a bill of sale to take up an award—that was in September, 1869, two months before the one made in November—I can't say to a week or so, it was nearly three months, it was either the latter part of August or the beginning of September—it was an application to Elworthy for 52l. 10s., to take up an award—it was to be lent on a bill of sale—the bill of sale was drawn up—I did not sign that bill of sale to Elworthy because he wanted too much interest—he wanted 12l. 10s. for three months—I did not say to Elworthy "I don't want the money because I have got it elsewhere"—I swear that my solicitor, Mr. Wilkinson, supplied the money to take up the award in September, 1869—he took it up himself—Elworthy sued me in the County Court for his costs—I did not swear then that I had obtained the money elsewhere on a bill of sale, because I had not a bill of sale—I swear that; Mr. Wilkinson paid the money—I did not obtain the money on a bill of sale—I told the Judge at the County Court I had obtained the money elsewhere, but I did not say on a bill of sale—I tore the bill of sale up but I did not owe the money, it was my own, I paid 30s. for it; it was my property and I did not like to be robbed, that was the reason I tore it up; I had had possession of it all the time, and when Ford brought it to me I tore it up because it was no good to me.

Re-examined. I was in a passion—I am no scholar, and am not able to read much—I have never in my life been charged with any offence till this man took out a summons against me—a young man named Plant came to me, and said he wanted a little money, and asked me to buy the cart, and I did buy it, and paid him for it, and I let it out for a shilling a day—there was a name on the shaft of the cart—I had it three or four weeks—I let it out to a man named Wilson, and he stopped at a public-house where the cart had been hired from; the landlord saw the cart, and stopped it, and took it to the station-house; he came down to me with the cart, and I showed him the receipt for it, and then I gave the cart up to him—I signed three receipts on 4th November—Mr. Moody wrote them, I only put my signature—I am not quite sure whether these are the ones or not—I never sold or parted with any of my furniture to Moody; never in my life—I know nothing about the bill for 18l. 10s. for furniture—I had one transaction with Moody with reference to a bill of sale—he told me a man owed him 200l. or 300l.—he did not get the money, but he got a lot of willow rods, and he asked me if he could put them in my cellar, and I did; then he asked me if I would take a bill of sale—I did not know what a bill of sale was—I took the bill of sale of him, and kept it, and it appears those rods he got from a Mr. Applegate, and never paid for them, and he went through the Court at the time—it was his suggestion that I took the bill of sale—he did not owe me any money—they were willow rods to make baskets of—he gave me a bill of sale on them—no money passed—Mr. Moody took the rods away, and sold some, and worked some up—I heard afterwards that he had them on credit from Mr. Applegate, and he owed

him for them—I don't recollect whether anything was done on that bill of sale to make it appear that any money was due—I don't remember at all, it is so long ago—it was six years ago—I did not want to raise any money in November till the prisoner suggested it to me—I did not want it till August the following year—I was paying Musgrove his interest—the award that I had to take up was on an action by my landlord for pulling the side of my house down—Mr. Wilkinson, my solicitor, gave me a cheque for it—there was so much to be paid to me, and he deducted the 52l. 10s. out of it—Mr. Musgrove was a party with me in bringing the action for clearing away my wall, and we were to divide the damages, and after the award was taken up I had not paid him, and he brought the action against me—there was a certain amount awarded, and before that Mr. Wilkinson had to advance the money—Mr. Musgrove was to have half of what I got for damages after all expenses were paid, and there was not enough to pay his share—I gave him an I O U—Mr. Musgrove is here—he never troubled me for the interest on the 80l.

SARAH LTDIA MALIN . I am the daughter of the last witness, and am the wife of George Malin, of Deptford—he is a coppersmith—on 17th December last, I was at ray father's house—I know it was the 17th because I was confined on Christmas-eve, the week after—I saw an envelope on the mantelpiece, and I took it down and opened it—it contained a bill of sale, dated 3rd November, between Griffiths and Moody for 100l.—I did not read it then—I opened it and looked at it—I noticed the signatures—it was signed by Griffiths, Moody, and Mr. Ives was the witness—I remember seeing Moody at my father's house in October—he said he was persuading father to make a bill of sale out on his things, because the mortgagee would come upon him—he said he did not know what "that old sweep" might do—he mentioned Musgrove as the old sweep's name—I said father did not require one, because he did not owe anyone any money; and he said he would be able to borrow money on the bill of sale, and get his deeds and papers that Mr. Musgrove had—I saw the bill of sale again on Good Friday, 15th April; father was reading it—my mother was there—she is not here to-day; she is very ill—she has a diseased heart—I have got a certificate—the last time I saw the bill of sale was on 14th August—I was at father's house then—it was on a Sunday, and I saw it then—I know it was the 14th August because my little baby was very poorly on that day, and the next day I fetched the doctor, and she died on the 16th—I saw the bill of sale two, days before the baby died.

Cross-examined. I did not make any note of the dates when I saw the bill of sale—the first time I saw it was 17th December—I had never seen a bill of sale before—I saw it was dated 3rd November—it was written on the top of it—it was twelve months ago, and I remember the date—I did not read it through—I opened it and looked at it—I saw it again on 15th April, Good Friday—I was out for a walk that day with my husband and child; we called at father's, he was reading it, and the buns were on the table—I remember the 14th August because baby was poorly and died two days afterwards—that was the third time I saw it—there was nothing the matter with the baby on Good Friday—I was not living at my father's—my mother was at the Police Court—she was not examined—she is always ill—she was well enough to be at Guildhall, but not to be examined—she was there twice, I think—I don't know whether she was examined on either occasion—I have seen my father write—this signature, "Thomas Griffiths,"

looks like his writing, but I can't swear to it—he might have written it (this was the I O U for 50l.)—I can't say one way or the other—it looks different to what father writes in general, it looks like scribbling—I can't say positively—I have no belief about it—I can't say—this signature looks more like his—I think it is his writing—this I O U for 18l. is not his writing—I don't believe these three are in my father's writing—I don't believe they are, I can't say—he might have different pens—I don't know anything about them—I don't know any of father's business—I remember the days my father's things were taken away by the prisoner—I did not drink tea with the prisoner's wife that night—I never drank tea with her in my life—I don't believe I called there and asked her to come to tea; not the day the things were taken away—I did not ask her to tea—I never ask anyone to tea—I may have called in there, not the day the things were taken away, the day after father had the man in for 100l.—I had a nail in my boot, and called in to take it off because it was in my foot—I merely called in with mother—I never go and see anyone—I never did like them—I went in then with mother to take the nail out of my foot—mother has been ill, on and off, for a long time—she is not always very bad—I have seen her to-day in the front parlour—she was not in bed—I saw her yesterday—I did not ask her what time she got up—I saw her yesterday morning—she was here in the morning—she was here the day before, but not for long—she has had the doctor this morning, and would not stay away if she was able to come—she has been here twice—I did not go before the Grand Jury—I came here to go, but I did not go—we have got a solicitor here, Mr. Chappell—he lives at Deptford—my mother was here when father went before the Grand Jury.

Re-examined. There was only one witness examined before the Grand Jury—my mother is ill to day, and I have got a certificate from the doctor to prove that.

JOHN JOSEPH GRIFFITHS . I am the prosecutor's brother, and live at Deptford—I am a traveller to a printer—at the latter end of April, or the beginning of May last, I saw the defendant Moody at the County Court—we went to the "Globe" public-house, close by, and he asked me about Musgrove and my brother—he asked me what I thought of the case—I told him I did not think much of it—I thought it was against my brother—he said "Never mind, we understand each other; we have got a little friendly concern together"—I asked my brother the meaning of the "friendly concern" in the prisoner's presence, and my brother said "It is only a little thing between our two selves"—some time after that I was at my brother's house, and saw a bill of sale—it was in the evening, about a fortnight after the action in the County Court—I did not read the bill of sale—I saw it was between Griffiths and Moody—my brother wished me to read it, but I said I did not care to—I did not see any signatures—I saw two stamps.

Cross-examined. I saw this bill of sale about the latter end of April, or the beginning of May—it was in my brother's house, in his back room, on the shelf—it was in an envelope—my brother took it down, and opened it, and showed it to me—I have never seen any other bill of sale in my brother's possession—I have never seen this one (produced)—I have seen my brother's wife this morning; she was ill in bed, and could not get up—I did not go into her bedroom; her daughter told me so, the one that is at home; she told me her mother was in bed; it is not my place to go and

see; that was between 8 and 9 o'clock this morning—I came here with Mrs. Malin—we came from Deptford by the 9.35 train—the daughter told me her mother was ill in bed about 20 minutes before we started.

WILLIAM WHITE . I am a general dealer, and live in South Street, Blackfriars Road—I have been there thirty years—on Wednesday, in Whitsun week, I was at Griffiths' house—he said he wanted some money, and I asked him on what security—he showed me a bill of sale in favour of Mr. Moody, for 100l., and he wanted money on that—I did not advance him any—I told him it ought to be in Mr. Moody's possession.

Cross-examined. I did not read it—I looked at the bottom, and saw the names and the seals—I told him he could not raise money upon it—I had it in my hands about three minutes; there were two red seals on it—I never saw this bill of sale before, from Moody to Griffiths—I did not notice the date of the bill of sale—I saw the names of Moody, Griffiths, and Mr. Ives—I said I should not lend money upon such a thing, and I put it down—I know this was in Whitsun week, because my men were holiday making, and I went down to Mr. Griffiths as I had plenty of time to spare; it was on Wednesday—I don't know what month—I am quite sure it was on a Wednesday, because it was holiday making time—it was between 11 and 12 o'clock in the morning that I saw the bill of sale—I don't remember what month it was—I have summoned Mr. Griffiths for a watch I sold him; his defence was that he had to work it out for me—I wanted the balance in money, and he would not pay me, and I went before the County Court Judge; he swore he had to take it out in work, and I said he only had to work a portion; the verdict was in favour of Mr. Griffiths, as the Judge said; he ought to work it all off as he commenced it—when I told the prosecutor the bill of sale ought to have been in Moody's possession, he said it was a friendly concern, and I declined to have anything to do with it.

JOHN MALIN . I am the husband of the prosecutor's daughter, who has been called—I am a coppersmith, and live at Deptford—I was at Mr. Griffiths' house on 4th November last year, late in the evening—he showed me a bill of sale—I opened it—it was between himself and Moody for 100l.—Mr. Ives' signature was on it as well as Mr. Griffiths' and Moody's—some conversation took place between me and my father-in-law respecting it—it was dated 3rd November.

Cross-examined. I did not make any memorandum of it—I am sure it was dated the 3rd—it was more than a year ago, but I looked particularly to the date, and I made a remark about it—I saw it on the 4th November, and I said "It is dated the 3rd, and to-day is only the 4th"—I made that observation to Griffiths—I am quite sure of it.

COURT. I don't recollect what day of the month my baby died—it was seven or eight months old when it died—it was born on 24th December.

THOMAS CHILMAN . I live at Brewer's Hall, Deptford, and am a toy dealer—about the commencement of April last I was at the Greenwich County Court, with Mr. Griffiths and Mr. and Mrs. Moody—we afterwards went to Moody's house, and we were there about three-quarters of an hour, talking about different actions and that, and I heard Mr. Moody say to Mr. Griffiths "If it was not for that friendly bill of sale between you and me, Mr. Musgrove would be the ruin of you."

Cross-examined. I have been called as a witness before at this Court—I was before the Magistrate about this trial, but I was not on my oath—I was not called—I saw the prosecutor's wife there—she went into the

witness box—I don't know whether she was examined—I saw through the glass door—I was asked last Saturday to come and give my evidence here—I told Mr. Griffiths that I had heard this conversation some time ago—he knew what I could prove when we were at Guildhall—it was in April the conversation took place, as near as I can tell, because I wondered what a friendly bill of sale was—I don't know whether Moody's wife was in the room when it was said—she went to fetch some beer—she went in and out several times—Mr. Griffiths and me and the prisoner were alone—I was asked to go to Guildhall, and I went at the commencement.

EDWARD JOHN MUSGROVE . I am a butcher, at High Street, Deptford—in September, 1868, I lent Mr. Griffiths 80l. 1l. 6d.—I never told the prisoner that I meant to come down on Mr. Griffiths for the money, and sweep away his goods and everything—about two years ago Mr. Griffiths brought some papers to my house to take care of for him—this bill of sale which has been produced was amongst them—I kept all the papers down to about three mouths ago—they were locked up, and were never out of my possession.

Cross-examined. There were a number of tax papers and insurance papers brought with that bill of sale—they were not left as security; only for me to take care of—I have them now—they were a sort of security—I brought an action against Griffiths at the County Court for 15l.—it was money that was agreed between us for services I had done for him in his action at Maidstone—I have been with him on many occasions, advising him and writing for him, and seeing his lawyers—we agreed to divide whatever was the result of the action—it was merely a verbal agreement between us that we were to divide what was recovered—it was two years ago—it was an action brought by Griffiths at Maidstone—we did agree in a great measure to divide the proceeds of that action, and it was to be a sort of remu-neration for my services—I don't know what he got—he gave me an I O U for 94l. 10s.—he did not give me an I O U for my share of the proceeds of the action—I have not got it yet—I brought an action against him for it upon the I O U for 94l. 10s., of which the 15l. was part—I swore in that action that he owed me 15l.—I don't think he swore that he did not—I don't recollect what he said—I swear that I don't remember—I don't think he swore that he had never signed the I O U; I think he acknowledged that he had signed it—he did not swear that he had not; I can't say whether he swore that he had—I got a verdict for the 15l.—I have not got it yet—it was to be paid into Court by instalments of 1l. a month—he has paid some; I can't say how much—I have not drawn it out—I have fetched some out; 4l., about eight months ago—I don't know whether any more has been paid in—he told the Judge he was a poor man, and that was the reason he was to pay 1l. a month—I did not hear him say he had a bill of sale over his furniture.

Re-examined. I am the mortgagee of his property, and the action at Maidstone was for damage done to it—I had an interest in the property, and I helped to maintain the action, and I was to be paid my expenses by half of what should be awarded, and to secure that and my 80l. he gave me an I O U for 94l. 10s.—I did not sue him for 94l. 10s., but for the difference between 80l. and 94l. 10s.; I sued him for 15l.

PETER MARGETSON (Detective Officer A). The prosecutor came to me about the end of August last, and made a complaint with reference to the prisoner and a bill of sale.

Witnesses for the Defence.

PATRICK ORD . I am a clerk at the Deptford Branch of the London and County Bank—on 11th December, 1866, a cheque for 125l., payable to Moody, was paid through that bank—I can't say whether the prisoner received it—it was in favour of Moody.

Cross-examined. I don't know the fact that he was a bankrupt in 1865, 1866, and 1867.

GEORGE LOCKYBR . I am clerk to Mr. Pulling, solicitor—in April, 1868, he was the prisoner's solicitor in an action, "Moody v. Kirk," brought by the prisoner in the Mayor's Court, London—the prisoner was the plaintiff—he gained a verdict, and at the end of the action we enclosed him a cheque for 48l., 17s.—that was on 4th May, 1868—I have the letter and entry in the book.

Cross-examined. I don't know that a Mr. Mason was the real plaintiff in that action, or that he received 30l. of that money—I forget the particulars of the action—it was brought by Moody to recover from Kirk some money lent—I was not in Court—the gentleman who knows all about it has left us now—I don't know where to find him—I don't know whether it was for an accident—I don't know of any actions for tumbling down cellars, or where his wife had received damage in a railway accident, nor of any other action—we had not been his solicitor, that I am aware of, in any of his bankruptcies or insolvencies, nor in any claims against Insurance Companies for fires—we have had no business with him except this action in April, 1868—I merely prove the payment of the cheque—I don't know whether Rutledge was a witness in that action.

THOMAS RUTLEDGE . I reside at Deptford—I have been foreman for nineteen years to John Scott Lilley, at the Composite Paving Works—I knew the prisoner in 1868—I was at his house with his wife and Mr. Griffiths—I was present when Mr. Griffiths wrote this I O U for 50l., and I witnessed it—I saw Moody pay to Griffiths 45l. in gold, and 5l. in silver—I did not see where the money was taken from—that is my signature at the bottom—I could swear to it in any part of the world—Griffiths wrote the I O U in my presence.

Cross-examined. I was a witness at the last trial for the prosecution, and I swore this before the Jury then—I am out of employment now, and have been for very nearly two years—I had 30s. a week when not at work, and 2l. 2s. when at work—I was there nineteen years—I have a wife and a son—I was a witness for Moody in an action against Stewart for defamation of character—that was because he was called Fireman Billy, or some such name as that—I was a witness at the County Court in that—he got 5l. damages—it was tried last summer—I heard some talk about it two years ago—the action was not commenced on 16th July, 1868—I have never been a witness for Moody in any action which he has brought for an accident—he was a witness for me once where I lent a man 46l.—I recovered then—he was present when I gave the money—it was money lent on an I O U—he and his wife were present, three years ago, when I advanced the money—his wife was a witness, too—Moody and his wife proved the case against the man who borrowed the money from me—it was on 17th July, 1868—there is no doubt about that—Moody paid Griffiths 50l. in my presence, and I signed as witness to the transaction—I did not write with the same pen and ink—I did not notice what pen Griffiths wrote with—I did not take any particular notice—there were two ink bottles on the table

—I wrote my name with a different pen and ink—he had a pen in his hand, and he said "Take this, Mr. Rutledge"—I had a pen in my hand, and I said "This will do"—I had a different pen and a different bottle of ink—it was a steel pen Griffiths wrote with—Moody did not suggest that I should take the ink out of the other bottle—I took it because it was close to me—Mr. Moody went up to his room, and he brought down 45l. in gold—I don't know where it came from—I can't say whether they were half-sovereigns or sovereigns—I am sure there was 45l. and 5l. in silver—I might have said there was four or five pounds in silver—I am almost sure I said 5l. in silver on the last occasion—5l. was the money he gave—I saw it, counted—I did not count it—I saw him count the 45l.—I did not—he laid down 20l., 20l., and 5l., in different heaps—I counted them to myself—I did not count the silver—I took no particular notice of that—I saw Moody put the money on the table, and Griffiths took it up—there were two piles of 20l., and then he counted 5l. on the table—the silver was counted the same as the gold—I could not say whether it was in shillings or half-crowns.

PHILIP WILMOTT . I am a house agent, at Commercial Road, Peckham—in October, 1869, I prepared a bill of sale, at the request of Moody and Griffiths conjointly—it was to secure the payment of 100l., stated to be due from Griffiths to Moody—Mr. Ives was present—I asked what was the consideration for preparing the bill of sale, and the reply was that there were two I O U's, one for 50l. and one for 18l., making 68l., that they bad had many transactions together, and there was a further sum of 32l. to be advanced, to make up the 100l.—the bill of sale was dated 8th November, and registered on the 4th—I saw the two I O U's at the time my instructions were given, and I made a memorandum of them at the time, one for 50l. and one for 18l.—I have the memorandum here I made at the time, with the dates of the I O U's—the considerations were recited in the bill of sale—I drew a bill of sale dated November 3rd—it was previous to that I saw the I O U's—I received the instructions, I think, two days before—I think I drew the bill of sale on the day it was dated—I went to Moody's house to receive the instructions two days before I made it—the bill of sale was signed at Moody's house, in the presence of Mr. Ives, myself, and I think Mrs. Moody and Mr. Griffiths—I took it to be registered, and got it Registered on 4th November—I handed it to Mr. Moody—it is untrue, if Mr. Griffiths has sworn that he took it off the table—I handed it to Moody; he looked at it, and read it over—Griffiths looked over it at the same time—Griffiths came out afterwards into the shop, and paid me the balance due to me for executing it—I am perfectly sure I handed it to Moody—I was wrong in saying at the Police Court I delivered it to Griffiths.

Cross-examined. I wish to correct myself to day; I did say at the Police-Court that I handed it to Griffiths—I said I wished to correct myself there—it is not the fact that I placed it on the table and that Griffiths took it up—Griffiths was reading it over in Mr. Moody's hands—I saw no money paid by Moody to Griffiths, but Mr. Moody went up stairs to get some money—I did not see any paid—I went away—I have seen Mr. Ives this morning, he is too ill to come here—I know he has been subpœnaed by the prisoner.

Re examined. Mr. Ives was the attesting witness—he said at the last trial that he went away before any money was paid—he said "There is no occasion for me to remain to see the money paid, all I want is to see the

signature of Griffiths," and he went away before any money passed; I went with him.

COURT. Q. How do you know that the prosecutor did not take the bill of sale off the table? A. Mr. Moody had the bill of sale in his own hands when I was in the room; that is all I can say—I don't know what became of it afterwards—I saw the I O U's at the latter end of September or October, four or five weeks before the bill of sale was prepared—the I O U's were dated 17th August, 1868, and 4th March, 1869—I saw them at Moody's house; everything transpired there.

JOSEPH ELDRIDGE . I live at 11, St. James' Place, Greenwich, and work for the prisoner—I remember the prosecutor being at the prisoner's house in November last year—I was called up stairs, and I saw Mr. Moody hand over some money to Mr. Griffiths—I have been sent by Moody to Griffiths' for money about a dozen times—I used to go and ask Mr. Griffiths if he could let master have some money, and Mr. Griffiths told me to tell Mr. Moody that as soon as Mr. Ricketts' account came he would give him some.

Cross-examined. I have been a witness for my master once before, in Stewart's case—the action was for coming into Moody's place and saying words as he did—I have not been in any case of accident—I am going to bring an action for an accident; Mr. Moody was with me when it took place—I was not examined as a witness in it—I was in the cart at the time the accident happened—it was Moody's cart—I am going to bring an action in the same case—I have been with Moody six or seven years—I don't know how many accidents he has met with during that time—he brought an action once when he was hurt at the sewers; that was a long while ago—I can't say how long—he has had a fire at Bridge Street since I have been with him—I don't know whether he got any money for it—it was three or four years ago—I don't know of any other fire; on my oath—I only know of the fire in Bridge Street—I don't know of his having been a bankrupt during the time I was with him; or insolvent—he is a basket-maker—he does not keep any men—I am the only one—I was in the basket trade before I went to him—Mr. and Mrs. Moody and Griffiths were present when the money was paid—Mr. Wilmott and Mr. Ives had been there, but they were away before the money was paid—I was in and out of the room while Ives and Wihuott were there—I can't say how long they were there; I did not see them come in—I believe they were there an hour—Mr. Moody called me up to be a witness to see Mr. Griffiths receive the money—he said "Joe, here, just come and see Mr. Griffiths receive the money I am going to pay"—Moody has brought an action during the time I have been with him, for tumbling down a sewer—I don't know that it was proved he tumbled down stairs.

Re-examined. I don't know of any other accident but that one—I don't know whether that was ever tried; I was not examined about it.

COURT. Q. Did you see any money when your master said "Come and see the money received?" A. Yes—I saw three piles of gold on the table—I daresay about 30l.—I did not count it, I merely judge from what I saw—Mr. Griffiths took it up, and put it in his pocket, and I went down stairs, and master called me up again, and asked me to lend Mr. Griffiths a bag to put the money in—I believe I said at the last trial that 32l. was paid in gold, as far as I could say—I had a bag in my pocket, and I lent it to Mr. Griffiths—I believe this is the bag (produced)—I got it back about

two months ago—Mr. Griffiths put the money in the bag, and put it in his right hand trowsers pocket—I would not swear this was the bag.

Witnesses in reply.

ADOLPHUS CHARLES SHELLEY (Re-examined). I have the original notes of Moody's cross-examination at the last trial—(parts of the cross-examination were read, which stated: "I have been bankrupt twice. I was insolvent on 10th August, 1867, and did not pay any dividend. I was bankrupt on 18th May, 1864; no dividend was paid then. I took up my discharge on 21st December, 1865. I was bankrupt on 17th August, 1865. I paid every man what I owed him then; the defendant was a creditor. I should think I owed him 21l. 9s. I had a bill of sale then; he lent me 20l. on my pony and cart.")

WILLIAM MASON . I am a market gardener—I remember an action which was brought by Moody against a man in the New Cross Road; it was settled without going into Court—I never knew the amount of the award that was given—I don't know when the action was—I should think about three years since—I had some money from the prisoner after it was settled; about 30l.—I think I had a cheque from Mr. Pulling.

GUILTY .— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment.

Before Mr. Recorder.

KENT CASES.

78. GEORGE WILLIAMSON (29), PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully obtaining, by means of false pretences, 1l. 3s., from William Bleach, with intent to defraud.— Six Months' Imprisonment.

79. PETER MULLINS (30) , Unlawfully obtaining, by false pretences, 1l. 12s., from William Bleach, and 1l. 17s., from James McGuiness, with intent to defraud.

MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.

WILLIAH BLEACH . I am Staff Sergeant of Pensioners, at Woolwich—on 10th May last, the prisoner came to my office—it was part of my duty at that time to enrol men in the Old Reserve—that office was regulated by the 30 & 31 Vic., chapter 110—the qualifications are that the men, amongst other things, must have served in the army for not less than three months, and be in good bodily health, and produce a certificate, and be sent before the doctor—the prisoner represented himself to be George Williamson, of the 2nd battalion 2nd Foot—he was sent before a doctor—I wrote to his regiment, and received this certificate, signed by the sergeant of the regiment he stated he belonged to—I showed that to him, and he took it to the hospital with him—this attestation would be sworn by him—I ultimately paid him 1l. 12s. as pay and bounty, and for necessaries—on 22nd November, he came to the office again; he then asked to be reenrolled in the New Reserve—he gave the name of George Williamson—ultimately he was given into custody, from information I received—I saw this document on 24th or 25th November—we did not observe until then that it was a forgery—that was the document he had to take before the surgeon in May—he would bring it back to me filled up, and it was shown to me before I paid the money to him.

Prisoner. Q. Did I produce a paper when I first applied to be enrolled in the reserve? A. No—I enrolled you as George Williamson, upon the paper that was written from your regiment—you would have to wait five

or six days—I have not a doubt about you being the person—if I did not pay the money into your hands another sergeant did—I handed it out.

GEORGE SPILLER . I was a Sergeant of Pensioners at Woolwich, in the same office as Mr. Bleach—I saw the prisoner in the office on 10th May—he had been prior, and communication had been made with the regiment, and this document had been received back—he came to the office for the purpose of being enrolled in the Army Reserve, stating that he had bought his discharge, and we wrote to the 2nd Battalion 2nd Foot Regiment for this document—the whole of it, with the exception of the prisoner's signature and the doctor's, is in my writing—I took the prisoner with it to the Woolwich Police Court, and this is his signature attesting it—(This contained a certificate of the surgeon, J. R. Reed, that he had examined George Williamson, of the 2nd Battalion 2nd Regiment of Foot; and also a certificate from the Staff Officer, dated 9th May, 1870, giving a description of George Williamson, his character good, no badges for good conduct, cause of discharge, purchase, residence 2, High Street, Woolwich, present occupation bricklayer, and was signed George Williamson, formerly of 2nd Battalion, and stated: "I declare that I have had read to me the foregoing, and am willing to serve Her Majesty for five years provided my services be required, and until fogally discharged, and I further declare that I do not belong to any other force, and have not been in any other class of the said Reserve Force")—The particulars which are filled in are got from the man himself, and from the history you have there—I don't know Dr. Read's signature.

Prisoner. Q. How many times did you see me previous to 10th May? A. It may be three or four times—you came Three or four times in the morning to see if the document had arrived, and when it did arrive the attestation was made out—I am not aware that I have seen you since 10th May, till I saw you at the Woolwich Police Court—I was employed as assistant staff-sergeant up to 16th August in the present year—I resigned because the salary was so small—it was not through the effect of drink that I was removed from the office—I have not a shadow of a doubt that you are the person—I paid you the 1l. 12s.—I believe I paid it at the Police Court where you were sworn, for I invariably paid it there—I am quite sure I paid you—I was in the office when Mr. Bleach paid the money, and I paid it to you at the Court—I went and had something to drink with you at the "Castle" public-house afterwards.

WILLIAM BLEACH (Re-examined). The signature of Mr. Reed, the surgeon, to this paper, is not in his writing.

JAMBS McGUINESS . I am Staff Sergeant of Pensioners at Deptford—on 7th July the prisoner came to the office either to me or Major Richmond; he afterwards came to me to enrol himself in the Reserve—he gave the name of Peter Mullins, late of the 61st Foot—1l. 17s. was paid to him in my presence, by Major Richmond, the staff-officer there—the prisoner produced the document which Major Richmond enrolled him on; this is it; he wrote his name to it in my presence—I am quite sure he is the person—(This described the volunteer as Peter Mullins, late of 61st Foot, discharged as a private, after ten years' service; two good conduct badges; and he claimed his discharge, and the attestation was signed "Peter Mullins, in the presence of E. Coffan")—That was the man who went with him to the Police Court—on 4th October the prisoner applied for and received 1l. 10s. for quarterly bounty; and on 31st October I paid him 2s. for a day's pay; he received the money in the name of Peter Mullins.

WILLIAM BRADLEY . I am Colour Sergeant of the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Foot, quartered at Devonport—the prisoner was in that regiment, in the name of Hurley—in 1866 he was transferred to the 61st Regiment; he had then been in the 2nd Regiment about five years—he was in my Company—there was also a man in my Company named George Williamson; he was discharged by purchase, on 26th February, 1869—the particulars set out in this document correspond with the particulars of George Williamson, as near as I can think—when a man changes from one regiment to another, certain documents go with him, and he goes in the same name; both George Williamson and the prisoner served in the same Company of the 2nd Foot.

Prisoner. Q. Where was the regiment lying when Williamson took his discharge? A. Aldershott; the 61st Regiment was in Bermuda then—the 2nd Regiment left Aldershott in 1869, and went to Gosport—Williamion was discharged in February, 1869—when a man is transferred, it very often occurs that he changes his name; he can do so by authority; you have to apply through the Commander to the War Office.

Re-examined. It would appear on the certificate of discharge—he would be discharged under an alias.

THOMAS READ . I am Sergeant of Out Pensioners, at Woolwich—towards the end of November the prisoner came to me and asked to be enrolled in the New Reserve—he said his name was George Williamson, of the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Foot—some inquiry was made, and the first enrolment paper looked to; Dr. Reed saw his name, and the prisoner was detained, and ultimately given into custody.

Prisoner's Defence. I have got to state that on the day in question I can prove by two witnesses that I was at Gosport; they belong to the regiment to which the sergeant, who has given evidence, belongs—I have no means of bringing them here; they are with the regiment at Devonport, at present.

GUILTY — Twelve Months' Imprisonment.

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

SURREY CASES.

80. JOHN TOMLINSON (34), and GEORGE SMITH (55), PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously uttering counterfeit coin, they having been before convicted of uttering.

81. JOHN TOMLINSON and GEORGE SMITH were again indicted with MARY ANN LEWIS (24), for unlawfully having counterfeit coin in their possession, with intent to utter it, to which

SMITH** and TOMLINSON** PLEADED GUILTY .— Fifteen Years' Penal Servitude each.

MR. STRAIGHT and MR. HORACE BROWN conducted the Prosecution.

JOHN MOORE . I am shopman to Henry Cook, a cheesemonger, of 365, Walworth Road—on Saturday night, 12th November, about 11.30, I served Tomlinson with some butter, which came to 1 3/4 d.—he gave me a sixpence, which I put in the till—I afterwards found it there on top of some other silver—it was bad.

ZACARIAH SELTH . I keep the "Lord Clyde," Avenue Road, Camberwell—on 12th November, at night, I was in my cellar—my daughter called me up, and I ran out, caught Tomlinson and Lewis, and brought them back—my daughter said to Tomlinson "You gave me a bad shilling"—he said "Not that I am aware of"—I had cleared my till before I went down

stairs, and there were only a few sixpences in it—I gave him in custody with the shilling, which my daughter marked—she is not here; she is ill.

WILLIAM PUTTICK (Policeman P 140). On Saturday night, 20th November, just before 7 o'clock, I saw the three prisoners together—Tomlinson left the others, and went into a butter-shop, not Mr. Moore's, but another—he came out, joined them, and gave Lewis something—they walked on together down the Walworth Road, and Lewis handed something which I could not see, to Smith, who went into the "Sir William Walworth" public-house—the others remained close by—he came out, rejoined them, and they crossed over to the corner of Carter Street—Tomlinson then went into Mr. Cook's shop, came out, and gave something to Lewis, and something to Smith—I followed them to Avenue Road, and saw Tomlinson and Lewis go into the "Lord Clyde"—Smith remained outside at the corner—I went to the door, saw them inside, and told them I should take them in custody—Tomlinson said "You have made a mistake"—I took hold of Lewis, and heard money chink on the stones—I took them to the station, and received this sixpence from Moore and this shilling from Miss Selth—I received these seven sixpences and three shillings from Day.

WILLIAM DAY . I lived at 1, Elizabeth Street, Westmoreland Road—on Saturday night, 12th November, Puttick spoke to me, and I followed the prisoners—Lewis passed something to Tomlinson previous to going to Cook's butter-shop—I took hold of Smith and Lewis—Lewis threw away some coins in paper, which struck against a fence, and went into a garden—I afterwards picked them up, with the potman—there were seven sixpences and three shillings.

Lewis. I could not have thrown them away, as you held me round the arms. Witness. No, I held you round the neck.

GRACE WELLS . I am the wife of James Wells, a policeman, and am searcher at Carter Street Station—I searched Lewis, and found eight small parcels, and among them a small quantity of butter, which Moore identified.

WILLIAM WEBSTER . These shillings, uttered by Tomlinson, are both bad—these seven sixpences and three shillings, thrown away by Lewis, are bad—two of the sixpences are from the same mould as Tomlinson's.

LEWIS— GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.

82. ANNIE REEVE, alias WOOD (29) , Feloniously marrying George Wood during the life of her husband, Charles Julian Reeve.

MR. LEWIS conducted the Prosecution.

REV. MATTHEW HOUSE PIERPOINT . I am Rector of Elworthy, near Taunton—I know the prisoner—I married her to Charles Julian Reeve, in June, 1863, in the name of Annie Rickaby —I saw Mr. Reeve the day before she was committed for trial—I was examined at this Court on 10th June, 1868, when she was tried for bigamy (See vol. lxviii. p. 186)—I then swore that Mr. Reeve was alive, and she was convicted.

Prisoner. Q. Do you consider that you are justified in being a witness against me, considering the character you bear in Cardiff? A. That has nothing to do with it, I am simply subpœnaed to appear here, and here I am.

MR. LEWIS. Q. Was her defence, on that occasion, that somebody had told her that Mr. Reed was dead? A. I believe it was.

GEORGE WOOD . I am of no profession—I married the prisoner on 30th

July—she represented herself as the widow of Captain Armstrong, of the 16th Regiment, and said that she never knew who her father and mother were, as she had been left, as an infant, in the charge of Major Polsworth—I afterwards found that her father and mother were living within a few doors of me, and that she had married Mr. Reeve and Mr. Blackman.

Prisoner. Q. Were you not perfectly acquainted with everything relating to my former marriages? A. Certainly not.

Prisoner's Defence. I was perfectly convinced that I was free to marry Mr. Wood. All my letters and papers are in my solicitor's hands, and he is not here. There are several letters, stating that Mr. Reeve is dead, which the solicitor has Mr. Wood has abstracted some letters from my luggage, which would have proved that Mr. Reeve was dead, or that it had been stated to me that he was dead, for my father saw his mother, who said that she thoroughly believed he died in Dublin.

GEORGE WOOD (Re-examined) I have two boxes in my possession, which I was obliged to remove from the lodging, or I should have had to continue to pay the rent—the solicitor asked me to give them up—I said I would do so if the prisoner gave up my letters; from people from whom she had obtained money in my name.

GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.

83. ANN SHIPTON (31), and HANNAH TEDGELL (32) , Feloniously killing and slaying Elizabeth Stevens.

MR. BOTTOMLEY conducted the Prosecution.

MORLEY COPPIN . I am a surgeon, of 138, Westminster Bridge Road—on 26th November, about 9 o'clock at night, I was called to Tower Street Station, to see a woman on a stretcher—she was lying before a fire, and had been dead about an hour—the pupils of her eyes were very much dilated, and her fingers were slightly contracted—there was no congestion, and no marks of violence—I infer, from the dilation of the pupils, that she died of apoplexy—I cannot say whether she had had any drink—it is very difficult to smell drink from a dead person.

ROBERT ANDREW BOLT . I am a surgeon, of 108, Blackman Street, and surgeon to St. George's Hospital—on 28th November I made a post-mortem examination of the deceased, and found a clot of blood, and 2ozs. of blood and serum at the base of the brain—there was no fracture of the skull; there was a bruise on the right knee, a graze on the right hip, and a scar about the middle of the back, just over the kidneys—the brain was congested—the stomach was perfectly healthy—apoplexy was the cause of death—there was not sufficient evidence of violence for me to form any conclusion what brought on the apoplexy.

COURT. Q. Would excessive drinking be likely to bring it on? A. It would tend to weaken the vessels of the brain, especially if it had become habitual—she had been drinking; but I made the post-mortem on the Monday, and she died on the Saturday.

ROBERT BARTHOLOMEW (Policeman L 42). On the night of 26th November, about 6 o'clock, I found the deceased, whose name I afterwards found to be Elizabeth Stevens, sitting on the footway in King Street, Cornwall Road, with her back against the wall—I raised her up, and asked her name; but I could not understand what she muttered—she was the worse for liquor—I sent for a stretcher, and conveyed her to the station—she smelt of drink, and was placed in a cell, and died about 9 o'clock—the corpse was taken to St. George's Workhouse.

MR. BOTTOMLEY, in reply to THE COURT, stated that he had no evidence of any violence which would have caused apoplexy.

NOT GUILTY .

84. ANN SHIPTON and HANNAH TEDGELL were again indicted for assaulting the said Elizabeth Stevens.

MR. BOTTOMLEY offered no evidence.

NOT GUILTY .

85. DANIEL CALLAGHAN (17) , Feloniously cutting and wounding Joseph Priestley, with intent to do him some grievous bodily harm.

MR. BOTTOMLEY conducted the Prosecution; and MR. RIBTON the Defence.

JOSEPH PRIESTLEY, JUN . I am a dog dancer at a music-hall, and live at 6, Durham Place, Peffer Street, Borough, near the prisoner—on Saturday evening, 12th November, between 5.30 and 6 o'clock, I was standing against a shop, in Peffer Street, and saw the prisoner and a young lad, Hugh Nicholls, who asked me a question, and the prisoner said "Heugh!"—I replied "Heugh!" to him, using the word back again, as I thought he was jeering me, and I touched him three times under the chin with my fingers, not with my fist—he then kicked my shins three times, and I struck him on the eye with my fist—he then said, "God strike me stone blind, I will go up stairs, and get a knife, and rip you open"—I went indoors, and got my father to come and take care of me—I came out again, and my father and mother followed me—I then saw the prisoner at the corner of the street, about nine yards from me, with a knife in his right hand, and made my way to run home, but, in turning round quick, I ran up against a lamp-post, and he came over and stuck the knife into my left shoulder with all his force, and said, "I have done it for you"—he ran away; my father ran after him, and I followed—we caught him with the knife in his hand, and brought him to the corner of the street—I then felt so giddy that I had to let go of him—I went indoors, took off my coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and found I was bleeding very much, and went to the hospital—I still feel weak, and cannot dance now—I had had no quarrel with the prisoner.

Cross-examined. I am nineteen years old, and the prisoner is fifteen—the first struggle did not occur near Elizabeth Lashmere's door, but afterwards we were three yards from her door; she said "Callaghan is coming," and I rushed across towards my own house—I did not turn round and face Callaghan; we did not both meet face to face in the road—I had nothing with a knob at the tip, in my hand, covered with a handkerchief, nor did I aim a blow at the prisoner with it—I did not say, "Now, Callaghan, come on"—I did not strike him on the head with it, nor did he stagger back—we did not fight in the middle of the road, and both fall—the people did not call out "One has got a knife, and the other has got a hammer"—I swear I had nothing in my hand; I only had my fist—I did not come out again after I was wounded—I did not go home, pull my coat off, and say, "We will have a fair fight"—I do not know Catherine Foley—the prisoner did not call out, "Pray take that hammer from him, or else he will kill; me with it"—my father did not come out and take the prisoner by the throat with both hands, and hold him as tight as he could—a woman did not call out "Let them be, man to man"—I had a life preserver, but I chucked it on the tiles six weeks ago; it had a string round it—I am not a fighting man—I have fought twice, for 10s. each fight, but only twice;

once was with Stack, of Bermondsey New Road, and once with Pepper, of Kent Street; I won—one is twelve stone, and the other ten—my weight is nine stone ten—I have never fought with Wallace or Jerry Hurley—I have got into a row many times, but only fought twice for money.

MARIA PRIESTLEY . I am the mother of the last witness—my husband is a dealer in sawdust, and lives in Peffer Street; on Saturday evening, 12th November, about 6 o'clock, I was indoors, and my son ran in, and said "Father, come and see me righted"—he ran out, his father ran out after him, and I followed, and saw the prisoner standing against a shop, about twelve yards from my door—I saw Callaghan come from the shop window; he made towards my son, who tried to get away from him, but ran against a post, and the prisoner stuck a knife into his shoulder, saying "I have done it for you, now"—he ran away, and ray husband ran after him, and brought him back—my son said "Father, I am stabbed"—he was perfectly sober—they laid hold of Callaghan, but he got away.

JOSEPH PRIESTLEY . I am the prosecutor's father—he is about twenty—he came in on this night, and said "Father, will you come out and see me righted?—I went out, and my missus followed after—I saw the prisoner by the corner shop, ten or eleven yards from me—he ran across towards me, with a knife in his right hand—my boy made a rush to get away, and fell against a post, and the prisoner dug the knife into his shoulder with all his force, and said "Now, you swine, I have done it for you!" and ran away—I ran after him, caught him by the collar, and asked him for the knife, but he would not give it to me—I got hold of the blade, and loosened it—my finger was cut—he turned me round, and got away—this is the knife; the blade is loose—I pointed out the prisoner to the police.

Cross-examined. My son and the prisoner did not make a rush at each other; he made a rush at my boy—I was examined at the Police Court—it is true that they made a rush at each other—that was when he had the knife—I seized the prisoner by the neck with one hand, and seized the knife with the other—I did not seize him so that he could not breathe except through his nostrils.

Re-examined. If I had done so, he would have had an opportunity of driving the knife into me—when my boy came out with me, he went towards the left-hand shop, and the prisoner was towards the right-hand shop—he did not go towards the prisoner, but the prisoner rushed at him, and he rushed away—my boy ran towards him two or three yards, and then turned round to run away, and ran against a post.

GEORGE SMITH . I am employed at a printing office—I was standing against Mrs. Lashmere's shop, and saw the prisoner come down to the corner from his house, with a knife—he made his way over to Priestley, and they were both backing each other, but they were not quite close enough to push one another—the prisoner then made a rush at the prosecutor, who turned to run away, but came against a post, and the prisoner being close behind him, said "I will rip him up," struck him with the knife on the shoulder, and ran away—old Mr. Priestley caught him—I helped to take Priestley to the hospital.

Cross-examined. I did not see the father and mother there when the blow was given; I saw them both there after it was given—they may have been there when it was given—Priestley told me that he had had a quarrel just before—I saw the prisoner come from the door—his eye was bleeding—they

got close to each other, but I did not see any blows struck then, they only kept backing each other—I did not see Priestley strike the prisoner at all.

Q. Have not you said before the Magistrate, "Priestley struck the first blow two or three minutes before he was stabbed?" and again, "Priestley struck the prisoner when the prisoner went up with a rush at him?" A. Yes, that is true.

COURT. Q. Then how can this be true? A. Priestley struck the prisoner, but whether he had anything in his hand I will not swear.

MR. BOTTOMLEY. Q. When the prisoner came out what did he do? A. He stood against Mrs. Lashmere's shop, and the prisoner was over the way—the prisoner made his way over to him with the knife, like this, and they both made a rush at each other, and Priestley struck him—I mean to say that he hit him, but I do not know where—I saw him make a hit at him.

MICHAEL FITZGERALD . I live at 21, Falcon Court, Borough, and know Priestley and the prisoner—on Saturday evening, 12th November, I saw a crowd in Union Street, and saw Mr. Priestley holding the prisoner—he asked him for the knife—they took him as far as Lashmere's corner, and let him go, and then they came out again, and the prisoner said "Heavy, I will lock you up"—that is a nick name—I saw a boy pick up this knife from the gutter, and give it to a bigger boy—I afterwards saw it thrown down the sewer.

Cross-examined. Q. Have you ever seen this life preserver before? (produced). A. Yes, I saw it in Priestley's possession about five weeks before the row; he had it in his pocket, with a string round it, and I asked him to let me have a look at it.

CHARLES JOHN OLDHAM . I am house-surgeon at Guy's Hospital—I examined the prosecutor; he had a stab on the left shoulder, a clean cut about four inches deep, passing from behind forward toward the pectoral muscles, but it did not pierce them; it was in a dangerous place—he is likely to recover, but is not quite well—I have attended him a month.

JOHN LUCY (Policeman M 173). On 12th November, about 6.30, I was on duty in Union Street—I received information, went into the prisoner's room, and said "You are the party I want for assaulting a man in the street by stabbing him"—he made no remark—I found this life-preserver and hammer-head on him—he said, "This belongs to Priestley."

Cross-examined. They were in his pockets; the hammer was in his waistcoat pocket—he had a fresh cut on his eye—there were signs of blood, but not a great deal—these are Priestley's clothes, they are saturated with blood.

BENJAMIN POLLIN (Policeman M 129). I heard that a knife had been thrown down the grating of a sewer; I went there on the Sunday and found this knife, after getting a great deal of mud away.

Witnesses for the Defence.

ELIZABETH LASHMERE . I am a widow, of 34, Orange Street, at the corner of Peffer Street—on 12th November I was standing at my shop door and saw Priestley eight yards off, or hardly so much, having words with the prisoner; Priestley said "If it is kicking you mean I will brain you," and then Callaghan passed me and they both went home—in about three minutes Priestley returned and stood talking to a young man—in about a minute Callaghan came, and I went round the corner and called to Priestley, "Callaghan is coming"—I thought it would prevent quarrelling, and they were near my window—Priestley crossed the road and turned round with

something in his hand, wrapped in a white handkerchief; he went into the road and said "Now Callaghan, come on," and he took an aim at Callaghan's head, it hit him, but I do not know whether on his hat or the brim—the thing had a knob at the tip, but it was covered over—he staggered back and Priestley backed into my window—they stood there a minute or two, face to face, and then began to fight in the middle of the road, and then they went on the pavement, exchanging blows—Priestley was backing, and they shut the shops up over the way—they both fell and rose up again, and people called out "One has got a knife and one has got a hammer"—they went on two houses further, and fell again by the wood yard, and struggled five minutes before it was over—Priestley said "I will pull off my coat and have a fair fight," and he rushed home and came out again—I did not see him stabbed, but I heard him say "I am stabbed! I am stabbed!"—I have known the prisoner from a child, and Priestley for twelve months in the neighbourhood—the prisoner is a quiet lad, in fact he is more childish, playing with children—he was in the shoe-black society for years.

Cross-examined. I saw them fall—Priestley had not his coat off then, but he went home and pulled it off, and came out and said that he was stabbed—he must have been stabbed before he pulled it off, because he came out at the door stabbed—he had his coat on when he went in—the prisoner does not know my daughter; she would not look at such a fellow—I did not hear the prisoner say that he would go and fetch a knife and rip him up—I never saw a knife at all—I did not cry out "He has got a knife"—I only said "Callaghan is coming"—I heard the people say "One has got a knife"—I cannot say what Priestley had in his hand, but he twisted a white handkerchief round his hand—when young Priestley came out of his house the prisoner was not there—he never entered my shop—he hit the prisoner on the head with the hand that was covered up, and he staggered back towards my window, but did not fall—I did not see the prisoner strike young Priestley before he went in to take his coat off to have a fair fight—I did not see him turn, with his back to the prisoner, and run against a post—there were, I daresay, twenty people in the road—I heard Priestley say that he was stabbed when he came out.

COURT. Q. Did this fighting go on till it got beyond your house some distance? A. It began before it got to my house, and finished four houses off—I went before him twice, and did not see he was stabbed—I saw him struck when they were fighting.

CATHERINE FOLEY . I am a widow, and live in Peffer Street—I was outside my door and saw the prisoner and Priestley scuffling—they moved from Mrs. Lashmere's door, and Priestley struck the prisoner on the forehead with a two-pronged hammer—the prisoner said "Take the hammer from him, or he will kill me with it"—there were very few people about, and they were all young men—after the blow was struck old Mr. Priestley came up and caught the prisoner by the throat with both his hands, and held him very tight, so that he could scarcely breathe—I said "What a bad man the father is to catch hold of the young man by the throat, let him loose, and let them be man to man"—somebody fetched me away.

Cross-examined. I did not know that at the time the father had hold of him the son had been stabbed—I saw no knife—Priestley had this hammer in his right hand, and struck the prisoner a violent blow on the left forehead with it; there was nothing else in his hand—I saw nothing white in his hand.

GUILTY of unlawfully wounding.— He received a good character— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.

86. WALTEK JACKSON (19) , Burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Herbert Wood, and stealing therein 2l. 0s. 6d. his moneys.

MR. RIBTON conducted the Prosecution.

LOUISA WOOD . My brother keeps the "Prince of Wales" beer-shop, 2, Ingledon Street, Brixton—on 19th July he went into the country, and left me in charge of the house—the prisoner was there early on the evening of 19th July, with Priddeaux and Smith—they left about 10.45, and I shut the house up—I shut the back-door into the yard with a latch, and fastened the other doors with a key; anybody could get over the wall into the yard, and then the back-door was only on the latch—I put 2l. 0l. 6d. in a work box, which I left on the sideboard—I went home, and knew nothing till my brother came to me; he came home the same night.

HERBERT WOOD . On Sunday, 18th July, I went away and left my house in my sister's charge—I returned on the Tuesday night, at 12.30, and called at my sister's and got the key—I just lifted the latch, went to the back-door, lit a candle, and saw the prisoner and two men, who have been convicted, standing in the lumber-room, at the back of the wash-house, with their backs towards me—I asked them what they were doing there—they immediately blew out the light, and tried to escape—I stepped back to the door, bolted it, and called "Police!"—the prisoner tried to pull me from the door, but I pushed him back—Priddeaux then put his arm round my throat, and held me while the prisoner and Smith escaped—Priddeaux then went out—I saw a constable, and gave him the names of the three—I knew them all—my sister came back with me, and missed some money from a box, which was broken open—the house is in Lambeth.

Prisoner. I never stood with my back towards you; I stood with my face towards you.

HENRY PARSLOW (Policeman N). I took the prisoner on 20th November, at the "Prince of Wales" beer-shop—I had been looking for him a conderable time—I told him I was going to apprehend him for being concerned, with two others, in breaking into the house he was then in—he said "All right!"—on the way to the station he said "I was drove into it"—the other two have been convicted at Guildford Assizes.

Prisoner's Defence. We had all three been in the house all the afternoon, drinking, and at night, when they shut up the house, we went out, and they said "Let us come and get some more beer." I said "You cannot; the house is closed." They left me and went back; I went to see where they were; the gate was open, and I went in and found them, and Mr. Wood came. I did not know what they were going to do.

GUILTY — Nine Months' Imprisonment.

Before Mr. Baron Pigott.

87. WILLIAM MEAD (47) , Feloniously cutting and wounding Susan Mead, with intent to murder her. Second Count—To maim and disable her. Third Count—To do her some grievous bodily harm.

MR. BOTTOMLEY conducted the Prosecution.

SUSAN MEAD . I am the prisoner's wife—we live at 10, Francis Street, Westminster Bridge Road—ou 27th November, between 11 and 12 o'clock at night, I was in bed, my three children were sleeping at the foot of the bed—my husband came to bed, and afterwards said "I cannot sleep, I shall get up and light my pipe"—I took no further notice but dozed off to sleep—presently I felt him at my throat—I thought the bed-clothes were off

and that he was putting them on—I then felt a knife going to the bone, and blood trickling down my chest—I laid hold of the blade of the knife, and he had it by the handle—I stood straight up in the bed, and halloaed to my son "Your father has cut my throat"—I saw the prisoner—there was a light in the room, because my boys were out, and I always leave a light—I said to the prisoner "What are you up to?"—he made me no answer—I was cut across my throat, and he gave me two stabs on my right chest, which went to the bone—one of my hands was cut because I had hold of the blade of the knife—my son Patrick came and took the knife out of both our hands—he then got me out on the stairs, threw me my petticoats and boots, and I went out of doors, and met a constable, who went back with me, and I gave the prisoner in custody—the prisoner had been in and out all day, and was very good-tempered—he is a shoemaker—he had had a little drop of drink, not very much—I know that because I was with him about an hour and a half at the "Peacock," and he only had a half-quartern of rum, and a pint of 6d. ale—that was between 12 and 1 o'clock in the day—we had supper together between 9 and 10 o'clock—we had a pint of ale with it, 1 1/2 d. worth—the children were present at supper—we were on very good terms during the day and at night, and directly I had done my supper, he said "Come up to Mr. Coppin's, in the Westminster Road, and have the tooth out," as I had the toothache; and I did go, and he paid for it—this is the knife (produced)—sometimes there used to be a few words between us—he threatened me all through the piece that I should never eat my Christmas dinner in this world—I mean for three or four months—we were not disagreeing, but sitting friendly when he would say that—I do not think he is at all affected in his mind—he was very fond of the children—he used to say that day after day—he was very odd, but I did not think he would do such a thing—he last said it a day or two before he did this.

COURT. Q. Had he been drinking at the time? A. No, sitting down at his work—I had given him no provocation—I was always a good mother to his children.

Prisoner. Q. What was it I cut you for, did I give you any reason? A. No—I am sure I did not do it myself—I did not stop out all night five or six months ago, but I stopped on the threshold of the door, or under the stairs, all night, because you used to give me great hidings when you were drunk—that was when you were in bed with the children, or lying on the boards drunk—I had the door open.

COURT. Q. Did you never sleep away? A. Yes, I was in a lodging for a week, which I paid 18d. for—that was about three months ago—I stayed away from him the whole week—he knew where I was—the lodging is No. 38, Johanna Street, New Cut—it is kept by a widow, who has three or four lodgers—none of them are men—he has threatened me before that—I stopped away because he would not let me lie in the bed, and I was glad to get rest—he and the children came backwards and forwards to me—he never made any charge against me of being away with other men.

Prisoner. This woman has picked up with another man, and she says he is a better man than me. Witness. Nothing of the kind, it is not true—I did not take the sheets off your bed, and leave you with nothing; such a thing never occurred—this was on Tuesday night—you drank very little on the Monday; but you did not work at all—I was not in your company—you were locked up on Monday night for cheekng a policeman—I

did not see you again till you came home, between 12 and 1 o'clock on Tuesday—we were out drinking the whole afternoon—you had a quartern of rum.

JURY. What is the character of the house you were lodging in? A. They are poor, decent people; Mrs. Shanner keeps the house—my husband came there every day, and wanted me to come home; but I would not till he left off drinking—I drank very little with him—I went to public-houses with him to get him home—he was in and out during Tuesday.

Prisoner. You knocked a piece out of my eye with a quart pot. PATRICK MEAD. I am eighteen years old, and am a bricklayer's labourer—my father is a shoemaker; I live with him—he works just by the side of the bed in the front room, where he and my mother sleep—I sleep in the back room, with my brother Jem, sixteen years old—my sister sleeps in the front room, with my father and mother—on Tuesday, 22nd November, I came home, about 5.30, and had my tea with my father and mother—I went out on purpose, at 5.45, as they were rowing; I mean jawing one another, calling one another names—no blows passed; but he said "You had better go out, I don't want you here"—a very little makes my father drunk—they did have a drop of beer; but they were not drunk—I saw them inside the "Peacock" after tea, about 8 or 9 o'clock—my brother Jem came home about 8 o'clock, and we were looking for them—they had been drinking before tea; they were not quite sober—about 11.30 I went home with my brother Jem, opened the front-room door, and father was awake—there was no light—I said "Where is the candle?"—he said "Wait a minute, I will get up and light it for you"—he got up and lit a candle; we undressed ourselves there, and went into the back room—he asked us what time we wanted to get up—my brother said "Call me at 6.15"—my father stopped in the back room some time, smoking his pipe, and standing, waiting for my brother to take off his trowsers—my father kept his knives on the seat, just against the bed—I had hardly time to cover the clothes over me when I heard my mother call out "Oh!"—I went in, and my father said "Here is your mother going to cut her throat"—my mother was sitting up in bed, holding the blade of a knife, and my father held the handle—my mother got out of bed—there was a light in the room—my father was standing by the side of the bed—he said "Your mother has been cutting her throat, Pat"—I said "Serve you right, you are always a nagging him"—my father said nothing more; he went into bed, and my mother got up and went down stairs, and I chucked her down her clothes—my sister was in bed, awake—I did not see what become of the knife.

Prisoner. Q. Did not she say she could get a better man than me, and a better looking man? A. Yes, I have heard her call you a blind-eye whore's son, and say she had got a better-looking man than you—she cut your work up about three months ago, it was worth 13s. 6d., on purpose that you should get the sack—I saw it cut up when I came home—I have heard you say to her "You had better go with Jack Wright"—those things have been said both when you were drunk and when you were sober—it is a rare bad street where my mother lived for a week—I did not go to see her there—a couple of days after she cut the work up she took away the sheets, the quilt, and some of the chairs—I expect she sold them, they were not brought back—she also broke a new looking-glass; I did not see it done, and cannot say whether she did it on purpose—she used to drink

as well as you—I never heard her ask you to become a teetotaller, or threaten not to come back till you had left off drinking.

Prisoner. None saw a knife with me, but I was taking one from my wife.

JURY. Q. When your father came to you at 11.30, was he quite sober? A. Yes—I do not know how long he was drinking at the "Peacock"—there was no blood on his hand when he had the knife in it.

MARY MEAD . I do not know my age—I sleep with my sister Katie, at the foot of the bedstead where my father sleeps—my younger brother also sleeps at the foot—I was with them at tea on this Tuesday—they were on good terms—I went to bed—I was awake when my father lit the candle—I saw him with a knife in his hand—my mother was fast asleep, he put his ear down to her mouth, but not quite against it—he took the knife and cut her throat—she sat up in bed and halloaed out "Oh! Patsey, Patsey, Patsey," and I halloaed out "Patsey," and fether had hold of the knife, and mother had hold of the knife, and Patsey came in and made them leave go of it, and shoved father out by the fire—mother went out and put her stockings on and her petticoats over her head, and ran up the turning.

Prisoner. I asked her where my awl was; she said "How do I know? If she was asleep she could not have said that. Witness: She was fast asleep; I did not hear that.

ISAAC CATTBRMOLE (Policeman L 216). I was in Westminster Bridge Road on the night of November 22nd—the prosecutrix came up to me, bleeding from a wound in her throat, another on her breast, and another on her left hand—I went with her to 10, Frances Street, and found the prisoner in bed—I told him he was charged with cutting his wife's throat—he said that he did not do it, she had done it herself—I found these two knives (produced) on a seat near the bed—he was sober, and so was she—there are no marks of blood on the knives—the children were all in bed, but awake.

THOMAS MALLESON DONAHOO . I am a surgeon, of 109, Blackfriars Road—I examined Mrs. Mead at the station, about 12.30—she was sober—she had an incised wound on her throat, about three inches long and one-eighth of an inch deep—it was very superficial, but dangerous, from its situation; she might have had erysipelas—she lost a good deal of blood, which would leave her weak for a considerable time—I sewed it up—no large vessels were severed—the trachea was cut into, and she could scarcely speak before the Magistrate—there were also two incised wounds on the right side of her chest, about two inches deep, going to the ribs—the larger one was deeper and nearer the breast—I had to put in two stitches—that went to the ribs also—there was a good deal of blood from them—the little finger of her left hand was nearly cut off above the second joint; not through the bone—they were all done with a very sharp instrument, and all clean cut—such a knife as this would produce them—she is out of danger now, but very weak through loss of blood—there must have been four distinct blows.

Jury. Q. Is it possible that the wounds were self-inflicted? A. Looking at the position she was in at the time, it is more probable they were done by someone else—I do not think the larger wounds could have been self-inflicted—her finger was probably cut in taking hold of the knife.

Prisoner's Defence. I did not do it, she did it herself. Her finger was cut when we were pulling the knife.

GUILTY on the third Count. Recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of the nagging life tay led.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.

before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.

88. MARY HALL (52) , Unlawfully conspiring with one Annie Augusta, to impose upon George James Loe, and to palm off on him, as his child, a female child of Charlotte Farrant, to induce him to foster and support the child, and to cheat and defraud him of his moneys.

MR. WILLIS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. GRIFFITHS the Defence.

GEORGE JAMES LOE . I live at Manor Cottage, Queen's Road, Peckham; in October last I was living with a person named Annie Augusta, as my wife—I was not married to her—I had been living with her three or four years—I believed that she had a child in November, 1868; the prisoner attended her as nurse in her confinement; it was a girl—I maintained the child until its death, in April, this year—Dr. Fair attended Annie Augusta, as well as the prisoner—I buried the child in my own vault—I registered its birth, and I have the register here. (This was a copy register, from the General Registry Office, of the birth of Mary Laura Loe, on 13th November, 1868, the name of the father, "George James Loe Harper" and the mother, "Annie Augusta Harper, formerly Bennett" registered November 21st, 1868).—I did not know the surname of Annie Augusta; not positively—about two months after the death of the first child, she led me to believe she was with child; that would be some time in June—I saw the prisoner at my house about two months after she had attended the first child, and I paid her according to what I was told to pay her for attending as nurse—I saw her again on 5th October, this year, about 5.30 or 5.45 in the evening, when I went home to dinner; as I hung my coat up in the hall, and passed through into the dining-room, Annie called out to me, "George, here is Nurse Hall, ain't you going to speak to her?"—I said, "What, that wretch in my house! get out immediately, or I will kick you out!"—I used those words in consequence of something I had heard—I was very much annoyed to see her there, and I put my hat on, and walked out to the road—I altered my mind, and turned back, and went to the house, and Annie pulled me almost to pieces, and pulled my coat off my back pretty nearly; the prisoner was there, and I ordered her out of the house—she came into the dining-room, and I accused her of bringing the previous child to my house, and she got hold of my whiskers—Annie went up stairs, and the prisoner and she had some conversation—the prisoner returned, and she took hold of me with one hand, and shoved her fist in my face, and making use of very bad language, and said what she would do to me if I dared to say such a thing—she certainly frightened me for the time, till I recovered myself—she said she would smash me, and made use of very bad language—I saw Annie Augusta on the Sunday, 9th, for a few minutes; she complained she was very bad indeed, and went up stairs again—I have not seen her since the 9th—on Saturday, the 22nd, I went to Brighton by the "first train" in the morning—I was supposed to have gone for three or four days, on business—in consequence of something I received, I returned to the house on the same day, about 7 o'clock—something was told to me

—Collins, the nurse, spoke to me—Hall was not in the house when I got there—I saw her on the following morning, Sunday—I was waiting for the doctor to come, and I saw her come up the garden, some distance from the road—I went and opened the door, and confronted her—I said "You wretch, you brought a child to my house yesterday"—she turned round immediately, and, as she did so, she said "Oh, did I," and got out of the garden gate, and went back again towards Camberwell, as fast as she could—I called to one of my servants to follow me—I got up to the prisoner, and the said "What are you following me for?"—I said "To give you in custody"—she said "You dare not"—I said "I shall"—she turned down one street, and when she found I followed her, she turned round and came back into the road again—we turned into several streets, and she went to the Queen's Road Station, I went up, and said she should not have a ticket, and she left; as she came out from the station she stopped an omnibus that was passing, and got in—I got on the top of it—I could not find a policeman—she went in the omnibus about three-quarters of a mile, quite the reverse way of her own home, and when the omnibus stopped, she got out and called a cab—when she got in the cab, I dared the cabman to take her—he said he must take the fare—I called another cab, and drove after her towards Peckham; as she got to the Peckham Station, we got in front, and stopped her cab, and I called a policeman, and gave her in custody—I then went home, and found the child in the house—that was between 8 and 9 o'clock—Annie Augusta left the house the same night, and I have not seen her since—Collins, the nurse, had charge of the child.

Cross-examined. I mean really to say I have not seen her since the 9th October—I have not the slightest idea where she is—I have heard from her since; about a week or ten days ago—I have not got the letter—I believe I destroyed it—there was no date, and no name to it—it was left at my office about a week ago—it had an envelope—it did not come through the post—I did not say anything to the police about it—I considered Annie a very beautiful woman, and I was very fond of her; I was also very fond of the little girl that died, believing it to be mine—when I was home I always slept with her—my business took me away at times—sometimes I was away for a week or ten days—I was very sorry when the child died, till I knew it was not my own child—I should have been very pleased if Annie had had Another child, if It had been mine—the first time I knew Annie she went by the name of Bennett; but it was only an assumed name, Mrs. Bennett—on my oath I did not know her surname—my name is not Harper, and never was—I made the register—I gave my name, address, profession, and everything—I put "Harper," because I was asked to do it by the supposed mother, because I believe there was some property it was entitled to, and she asked me to do it—I did not want to make the Registrar and the public believe I was married to her—I don't know the reason—I went and got a copy of the register, and produce it here—I did not wish them to believe she was my wife—I registered it myself—I believe it was put down en a piece of paper why I should do it—I had never registered a child before—I was to register it because it was necessary—my name "George James Loe," is on the register—I don't know why I registered it as Harper—my name is not Harper—my name is there "George James Loe Harper"—I never lived as George James Loe Bennett—I never assumed the name of Bennett—Annie assumed the name of Bennett; I went by my own name—I never knew her name was Harper—I mean what I say that I registered that, and

I believe it is perfectly right, with the exception of the name of Harper—she told me to sign it as Harper—when we went to live at Queen's Road, Annie assumed the name of Mrs. Loe; I never told anyone she was my wife—she had money when she wanted it—she might have paid some debts for me—I used to give her a cheque when she wanted money, and made it payable to the grocer or butcher—I never made them payable to order—I think I can swear I never did—I slept with her during the time I believed her to be in the family-way—she did not sleep with her clothes on; certainly not—I engaged a medical man for her, and I believed her to be in the family-way within a month of her alleged confinement—I should imagine Annie was in a bad tamper on the evening when she was tearing me to pieces—I have got some clerks—Annie did not throw an inkstand at one of the clerks; it would be me that was out of temper, not Annie—I was very much out of temper—I did not throw an inkstand; I should not forget myself as much as that—there was no inkstand thrown; there is not the slightest foundation for saying so—I may say Annie had never been to my office; I don't think she had ever seen one of my clerks, therefore I don't know what you mean; it was at my house where Mrs. Hall was, where they tore me to pieces—no inkstand was thrown at my house, that I recollect—the day Mrs. Hall was there I said "I would rather put my head under the railway-train than that woman should be in my house"—there was a beefsteak in the house that day; Mrs. Hall had some of it in the dining-room—I did not drink wine with her—she might have had some; I believe she did—they had some sherry before I got there; it was never locked up—I did not tell her on the 5th October that Annie was in a passion, and would be better after a bit—I was in a passion—I think it might have been that Annie told Mrs. Hall I was in a passion, and would be better after a bit—I did get better—I don't think I got so much better as to go down to the kitchen and tell the servant to keep the beefsteak hot for Mrs. Hall—I can't say whether I went into the kitchen or not; I think it was most likely to keep my own dinner warm—I had not had my dinner; the prisoner had some in the dining-room—you don't suppose I should sit down, too—I was walking about—I swear that I did not have some at the same time—I don't believe I told the servant to keep the beefsteak warm for Mrs. Hall—it is very possible that I had some wine at the same time she did—if there was any wine on the table I daresay I took some—I did not tell Mrs. Hall, when she went out of the room, that if I required her I would write to her—I did write to her the next day, and dared her to set her foot in my house again—I enclosed a directed envelope to her—when I ordered her out that night I challenged her with regard to the first child—I put this piece of newspaper in the letter, and requested her to return it; it is a report of the Skeplehorn's case—in that letter I dared her to put her foot in my place, and said if she was an honest woman, when she found that it made it unpleasant, she would never attempt to do such a thing—I received the piece of newspaper back from her—I received a telegram when I was at Brighton; not from one of the servants—they did not know about the child coming to the house—the nurse Collins is here—when I came up, on the 22nd October, I went into the dining-room—it was about 7.30—Collins came into the room, and said "This is a bad job, Mr. Loe"—I said "What, Collins?"—she said "There is a baby in the house, but Mrs. Loe has never been confined; and the doctor is of the same opinion"—I believe those were her words—they told me the doctor was coming that night, and I waited for him, and I was waiting for him

the next morning, when the prisoner came to the gate; no one went up to Annie from 9 o'clock in the evening till 8 o'clock the next morning, and she never asked for anything—Mrs. Hall was arrested a little before 1 o'clock, as the people were coming out of church—I never saw Annie go—I saw her last on Sunday, 9th October—I don't know what time she left the house—I did not dine with her on the day the prisoner was given into custody; certainly not—from what the servants said, she must have gone about 4 or 5 o'clock—Mrs. Hall was supposed to have nursed Annie with the first child; she was there as nurse, and I paid her as nurse.

Re-examined. I went to Manor Cottage in February, 1869—I had lived there before for eight or nine years—I have a long lease of it—I have never passed by any other name than George James Loe—I have a son twenty-four years of age—he passes by the name of Loe—I lost my wife in the summer of 1868, and after that Annie Augusta came to live with me—I had not lived with her before that—I had visited her—she was under my protection—I bought a house for her in Font Street, Kennington—the prisoner went by the name of Mrs. Jones when she nursed Annie, in 1868—she was in the house three or four days—she came in and out, not like a regular nurse—I paid her for waiting on Annie Augusta, and I paid the doctor for his attendance—Dr. Farr was the doctor on that occasion, the same gentleman who attended her on the second occasion—until I received the paper of which I have spoken, I had the fullest belief that I was the father of the child that came to my house in November, 1868, and died in April—I was in no way a party to this child being brought to the house in October this year—I did not suggest or connive at the bringing of that child by Mrs. Hall—I believe when I went home on 5th October, Mrs. Hall did have some beefsteak and wine—that was before she pulled me by the beard—Annie Augusta had struck me before that, because I ordered the woman out of the house—I said I would go for a policeman, and she got hold of my coat to prevent my going—my coat was torn completely up the back—I gave Mrs. Hall something in the dining-room, and then I charged her with having brought the first child, and it was then that she took hold of me.

EMILY PAY . I am cook at Mr. Loe's house, Queen's Road, Peckham, and have been in his service about a year and nine months—there was a person living in the house who passed as Mrs. Loe—I recollect on a Saturday in October, Mrs. Loe sending me out, but before that a note came for her—it was brought by a man—I have not seen him since, to my knowledge—I can't say positively that that is the man (the witness Adams)—I had seen Mrs. Hall at the house in the morning, before the note came—she was there about ten minutes—she left, and about 3.45 the note came—I took it up to my mistress, and she read it—she told me to go for Dr. Farr—I went—on the way I called for Collins, the nurse—I went to Dr. Farr, and on my return I saw the prisoner in the kitchen, having her tea—I went up stairs some time after, and I saw Collins with a child in the nursery—it was not in the house when I went to fetch the doctor, so far as I know—when I saw the prisoner in the kitchen she said "Your mistress has another little girl"—I did not go into my mistress's bedroom at all—I did not see anything that took place there—I always believed the lady in the house was my master's wife.

Cross-examined. I remember Mrs. Hall coming to the house on 5th October, and my master telling me to keep some beefsteak warm—that was

about 5 in the afternoon—my master had not had his dinner—Mrs. Hall was in the dining-room—I am the cook—I did not wait at table—I think the steak was brought into the kitchen, to be kept warm—the housemaid, Caroline Saville, waited at table—she is here to-day—my master appeared angry when he came home and saw Mrs. Hall there—he did not throw the inkstands about—I did not see any thrown—I have not seen Mrs. Loe since that Saturday—I have seen her handwriting a great many times—I did not always take the letters in in the morning—I have not seen any letters come in her writing since she has been away, for Mr. Loe—Saville takes the letters in sometimes—I did not see Mrs. Loe leave the house that day—my master dined about 2.30 on the day Mrs. Hall was given in custody—his son dined with him—Mrs. Loe refused to have anything—she was in her bedroom, and did not come down at all—Mr. Loe did not send and ask her to come down, to my knowledge—Saville would be the person to take messages of that sort.

CAROLINE SAVILLE . I am parlour-maid to Mr. Loe, and have been in his service about four months—on 22nd October, I opened the door to the prisoner in the morning—she went up stairs into mistress's bedroom—after she had been there some time she called for me to bring up some hot water and a bottle of gin—I took them up, and went into the room—my mistress was lying on the bed—there was no child there then—the prisoner came twice, once in the morning and once in the afternoon—I let her in the second time, not the first time—when she came in the morning I was in Mrs. Loe's bedroom, and she came in—nothing took place then—it was in the afternoon that I took up the gin—I did not see any child then—nurse Collins came soon after that—she went up stairs—I did not hear Mrs. Hall asking for her—I saw a child in Collins' arms soon after that—that was the first time I had seen it—I always thought the lady living in the house was my master's wife.

Cross-examined. I don't remember Mr. Loe giving orders for some beef-steak to be kept warm for Mrs. Hall on 5th October—I waited at table—Mrs. Hall was there on 5th October—I don't remember her having any beefsteak—she went into the dining room, I believe, when she came—Mr. Loe saw her there—he had not had his dinner then—I did not hear anything pass—Mrs. Hall had something to eat before she want away—it might have been an hour before she left—I did not hear Mr. Loe tell her that when he wanted her he would write to her—I did not see him give her some wine—I don't remember whether there was any on the table—the wine is kept on the sideboard; not locked up—Mr. Loe has not spoken to me about this matter since the woman has been in custody, or since she was before the Magistrate—not at all—I don't know what time Mrs. Loe left the house on the day the prisoner was given into custody—I think my master dined between 2 and 3 o'clock that day—Mrs. Loe did not dine with him—she was up stairs in bed—Mr. Loe did not go up to her, that I am aware of—I have seen Mrs. Loe writing—I have not seen any letters from her to Mr. Loe since she has gone away.

ANN COLLINS . I am the wife of George Collins, and live at Alexandrs Terrace, Hatcham Park Road—I sometimes attend ladies in their confinement—about a month prior to October, I saw the person who passed as Mrs. Loe, at Manor Cottage—she asked me to attend her in her confinement—she had every appearance of being with child—she said it was expected at the end of October or the beginning of November—I visited her after;

generally twice a week—on Saturday, 22nd October, I was sent for between 12 and 1 o'clock—I went to Manor Cottage, and saw Annie Augusta in the dining-room—to all appearance she was in pain—I went up stairs, and I did several things necessary for such an occasion—she then told me she was getting better, and I could go home, and she would send for me again when she wanted me—I was sent for between 3 and 4 o'clock—I went directly to the house—the housemaid met me at the door, and told me Mrs. Hall was there—I went up stairs, and rapped at Mrs. Loe's bedroom door, and then opened it—I went in, and Mrs. Loe was sitting at the side of the bed, undressing—Mrs. Hall said I was not wanted yet; when she wanted me she would call me—I had never seen Mrs. Hall before that—I went out of the room, and she locked the door, and I went down stairs—about half-an-hour afterwards Mrs. Hall called for a jug of hot water—I took it up into the room, and Mrs. Hall said the baby was born—I went out of the room—she called me back a few minutes after, and produced what generally is produced after stich an occasion, what is called the after-birth—Mrs. Loe was lying on the bed at that time—the prisoner told me to get some water to wash the child—I got the water in the next room, and she brought the baby in—she said she would wash it—I told her I would wash it if I should have to do with the child after—she handed me the child, and as soon as I sat down to wash it, I knew that it had been washed, and had not been born then—it did not present the appearance of a newly-born, unwashed child—I washed the child—I did not say anything to the prisoner about it—I saw Mr. Loe soon after he arrived home, but I saw Dr. Farr first, and I made a communication to him—I spoke to Mr. Loe afterwards—I stayed in the house till 12 o'clock on the Saturday night, and had the care of the child the greater part of that time—after I had washed it, it was taken in the bedroom and put in bed with Mrs. Loe—I had it again afterwards, during the evening—it was in a state of stupor; it was insensible, it never cried—I was there all day on Sunday, and it did not cry till Monday morning—if a child an hour or two old was taken from the mother out into the air it would not affect it in such a wayas that—I stayed there very late on Sunday night, and was back early on Monday morning—there were no other appearances which led me to believe that the child had not been born in the house, except that it was washed.

Cross-examined. The appearance of Mrs. Loe presented to my mind that she was in the family-way—I did not see her undressed—I should have soon formed an opinion if I had.

GEORGE FREDERICK FARR . I am a Doctor of Medicine and Licentiate of the College of Surgeons, practising at 20, West Square, Southwark—I have known Mr. Loe, and the person who lived with him as Mrs. Loe, for about three years—I attended her in her confinement in November, 1868—I saw a child on that occasion—I did not deliver her—she had been confined before I arrived, and I did not see her till the next day—the prisoner was the nurse on that occasion—I did not know her name—that child died in April in the present year—soon after that I had a conversation with Mrs. Loe as to her condition—she spoke to me about the death of the child, and she said "What makes it more unfortunate for me just now is, I am about three months gone again"—I saw her about six times between then and October—I was engaged to attend her—on Saturday, 22nd October, I was sent for to Manor Cottage, about 4.30—I got there about 5.30—I went up to the bedroom; the door was locked and was opened by the prisoner—

Mrs. Loe was in bed—the prisoner said "It is all over, doctor; it is a little girl," and she immediately brought me the after-birth, and said, "See here is the after-birth," almost immediately I entered the room—nothing was being done to Mrs. Loe at that time; I went to her and said "This is very quick, Mrs. Loe, how are you?"—she seemed too ill to speak for a little time—I took hold of her hand and felt her pulse, and she was not what one would expect to find immediately after giving birth to a child; and in a minute or two she turned her head and said "Oh, is it my doctort"—I said "Yes, how are you"—she said "I am dreadfully bad, I have been very bad indeed"—she said she had so much pain in the stomach—I said "Let me feel where the pain is"—she said "No, don't touch me, I am in too much pain now"—the prisoner was in the room all the time—I then went down stairs, and went up again in about an hour—the process of bandaging was then going on—at that time I had made up my mind that it was not her child—I stood with my back to the fire, rather amused at the operation—she screamed out very much—the prisoner said "It must be done; after this is put nicely on, and the doctor has prescribed some medicine for you, you will be all right"—Hall then collected the soiled linen about the room and went out—I locked the door and said to Mrs. Loe "The presence of that woman has given me a strong suspicion that matters are not all right, and I wish to have a little serious conversation with you"—she said "Good God, doctor, what do you meant"—I said "I mean to say that you have never given birth to this child"—she said "Good God, do you mean to drive me mad with the very idea of the thing"—I said I did not wish to give her any pain, but they were my suspicions, and before I left the house I must convince myself of it—I said "Do you intend to nurse this child," and she said "Yes"—I said "Well, then, let me see your breasts"—I examined them and said "Now I must make a further examination"—she said "I can't allow you to do it to-day, in the state that I am in, but you shall to-morrow"—I said "Well, now you know what I think about this matter, and I am afraid it is a very serious matter"—I opened the door and Hall came in—I said to her "Where do you live?"—she said "Where I always have lived"—I said "That is no answer to my question; I want to know where you live"—Mrs. Loe then said "No. 6, Cold Harbour Lane"—I said "I take you to be a very good-for-nothing woman, and if Mr. Loe was at home he would kick you out of the house"—I left the room and went down stairs, and almost immediately after the prisoner left the home—I went into the nursery, the room adjoining Mrs. Loe's bedroom, and there I saw the baby—it was a fine, well-developed child, but seemed very pale, and the extremities were very cold—I opened the eyelids and looked at the eye—it seemed to me in such a state of stupor, that I was under the impression something had been given to it—the ball of the eye was very much contracted, and the child really seemed to have very little life in it—I was under the impression some narcotic had been given to it—I told Collins to warm it by the fire, and rub its hands and feet, and then I left the house—from what I saw I should say that Mrs. Loe had not given birth to a child; certainly not—I should say she never had—I examined her breasts, that was all—there was no milk in them—I tried to put my hand on the stomach, but she would not allow me to—I saw the child again on the Sunday, between 2 and 3 o'clock—I was told it had not cried or taken any food, and it still seemed to be under the influence of some narcotic—it was wanner than when I saw it on Saturday—I heard that the prisoner had

been arrested on the Sunday, and I visited her at the police-station, and I got the name of the mother of the child from her—she said it was Farrant—I saw the child given up afterwards to Mrs. Reeves, the aunt.

Cross-examined. I did not examine Mrs. Loe when she told me she was three months gone again—I could not tell, from the examination I made, whether she had had a miscarriage—I should have known it if she had—the child being taken out in the air would tend to make it heavy—if the child cried a great deal it would weaken it—children, after they are born, don't sleep for hours—they mostly cry—I am a married man.

ELIZA REEVES . I am the wife of Thomas Reeves, who keeps the "Anchor and Hope" beer-shop, at Smith Street, Peckham—Charlotte Farrant is my brother's wife—my brother and his wife have lived in my house since March last—on 22nd October, my sister-in-law was delivered of a child, about 11.45—I know the prisoner—she is my father-in-law's sister—I saw her at my house, between 10 and 11 o'clock—she went away before the baby was born, and came back again—she was not gone more than half-an-hour—I saw the child dressed—I did not hear any conversation between Hall and my sister-in-law as to the child—I saw the child taken away by Mrs. Hall in a cab—it was wrapped up in three or four flannels—the prisoner did not tell me where she was taking the child to—I heard her say she was taking it for adoption—I did not see anything given to it before it was taken away—I fetched it home afterwards from Mr. Loe—I knew the child—I have no doubt that it was the same child.

Cross-examined. The child was wrapped up nice and warm—the prisoner said it was to be adopted by a lady and gentleman who wished for a baby, and it would have a good home, as the mother could suckle it—she took it away about 4 o'clock—the baby is here to-day—it is a nice baby.

CHARLOTTE FARRANT . I am the wife of Henry Farrant—on 22nd October, this year, I was delivered of a female child, about 12.15, at the house of the last witness—I know the prisoner—three weeks before the child was born she asked me if I would let her have it—I told her I could not decide then, and I took a fortnight to consider, and then I made up my mind on account of my ill health—I have always been so very ill after my confinements—she took it away about 4 o'clock on the Saturday—three or four hours after its birth—it was brought home on the Monday night as it was taken away on the Saturday—I did not see anything given to it before it left.

Cross-examined. She asked me if I should like a lady and gentleman to have the baby to adopt—she said it would have a good home, and be well taken care of, and I should know once a week how it was—this is the baby; a nice baby, and quite well.

DR. ISAAC SHORTLAND SHILLINGFORD . I was engaged to attend Mrs. Farrant in her confinement—I went to the house about 12.45, and found she had been delivered of a child—it was dressed, and lying on the sofa in the room adjoining the bedroom—it was in a perfectly healthy condition—I should never consent to a child being removed soon after its birth if it could be avoided—it was a very wet damp day—the prisoner and the mother of the child told me it was going to the mother's sister at Walworth, to be nursed—they did not say when or for how long.

HENRY PEARCE . I am a cab-driver, and live at Wilson Street, New Cross Road—on Sunday, 23rd October, the prisoner told me to drive towards Peckham, anywhere in fact—she handed me a bundle while I was driving her—it was tied up—I took it to the police-station.

JOHN BALDESTONE (Policeman P 134). On the Sunday when the prisoner was given into my charge—this bundle of things was handed to me—they were very much stained—I have had them washed—they were half a dozen stained napkins, in an old pocket—the prisoner tore up a letter at the police-station, hut it does not relate to this case.

WILLIAM ADAMS . I am a cab-driver, and live at 3, Tring Yard, Camberwell—on 22nd October the prisoner hired me from Camberwell to the "Anchor and Hope" beer-shop, in Smith Street, Commercial Road—she got out there, and stopped five minutes, or a little longer, and then we went to Queen's Road, Peckham—she told me to drive about fifty yards past Manor Cottage—she got out, and went back towards the Manor Cottage—she came back again, and said "Now go to the corner of Smith Street"—I went to the corner of Smith Street, and set her down there—she said if I liked to be there at 2.30 I could have another job—I went about 2.45, and stopped half-an-hour—she came out first, and Mrs. Reeves came out and put two parcels in the cab, and then the prisoner ordered me to Peckham—I drove her again to the Manor Cottage—I pulled up a little past the door—she sat in the cab, and I took a note to the door of the house—the servant said that Mrs. Loe was ill in bed, and Mr. Loe had gone in the country, and would not be home till Monday—I gave the message to the prisoner—she got out of the cab, and walked back to the house—I did not see any child, or hear any cry.

MR. GRIFFITHS to G. J. LOE. Q. When you told the prisoner you would give her in charge, and she said "You dare not," did she not go on to say "It will be a great exposure for you and me?" A. Yes—I said I did not care about that, I did it for the benefit of the public.

GUILTY .— Two Years' Imprisonment, and Fined 100l.

89. GEORGE BEDMORE (20), GEORGE BILBY (19), GEORGE BRADLEY (21) , Stealing a pair of boots, the property of Robert Johnson.

MR. BOTTOMLEY conducted the Prosecution.

ARTHUR GLANVILLE . I am salesman to Robert Johnson, a boot-maker, of 21, London Road—on the afternoon of 28th November, I saw the three prisoners outside the shop, about 2.15—Bradley said he wanted a pair of boots—I invited them in, and I fitted him on a pair—they fitted him very nicely—he said he wanted to see some more—they all objected to them—as I was going outside I saw Bilby lean back and pull three pairs of boots down—he got hold of one pair, and put them under his coat—I went outside, and told the boy to fetch a policeman, and kept the prisoners in the shop—the constable came immediately—I told them I should charge them, and Bedmore dropped the boots from under his coat—I picked them up, and gave them to the policeman—these are the boots; they are worth 5s. 6d.

JOHN MCCONNELL (Policeman L 139). I took the prisoners into custody—the prosecutor said he had invited them to come in to fit them with a pair of boots, and that they had stolen three pairs of boots from the mantel-piece, and that he saw Bedmore with a pair of boots under his coat—Bedmore said "I had no idea of such a thing, I have got plenty of money"—Bradley said he came to buy a pair of boots, and would not be insulted—I found 25s. 4d. on Bedmore—these boots were handed to me—they are women's boots.

GEORGE CHESSEMAN (Policeman M 108,). I took Bilby into custody—I found 1l. 11s. 1d. and three duplicates, on him.

JAMES MCGILLIOUDDT (Policeman L R 13). I took Bradley into custody, and found 16s. 2d. on him—I had seen the prisoners in the London Road previously, about 200 yards from the shop.

Bedmore's Defence. Bradley stopped at the boot shop to buy a pair of boots; he tried on a pair, and Bilby pulled down a pair of shoes from a nail, and said "Try these on." I did not have the shoes at all, and did not go in with the intention of stealing them.

Bilby's Defence. I took the pair of boots from the nail as he was trying one pair on. I did not notice they were women's boots. I had no intention of stealing them.

Bradley's Defence. I went in to buy a pair of boots.

NOT GUILTY .

90. GEORGE BILBY and GEORGE BRADLEY were again indicted, with ELIZABETH BEDMORE (24) , for burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of William Walls, and stealing five overcoats and other goods.

MR. BOTTOMLEY conducted the Prosecution.

WILLIAM WALLS . I live at 73, Union Street, Borough, and am a tailor—on 27th November I went to bed, about 9.45, and left my house secure—I was aroused about 3.15 by a policeman ringing the bell—I went down and found the shop in confusion, and I missed five coats, three pairs of trowsers, and three waistcoats, worth about 10l.—these are the coats (produced)—this old coat was on the shop floor—I have seen it fitted on Bradley; it seemed like his coat—there was a shutter over the doorway, which had been forced open, and they had got in that way.

GEORGE CHESSEMAN ((Policeman M 108). I took Bilby into custody, and found on him 1l. 11s. 1d., and three duplicates—one was for a jacket, pawned on 28th November, and another for a coat, on the same day—the prosecutor has identified them—the prosecutor went to the station and identified the coat Bradley was wearing—he said he bought it.

WILLIAM SPICE . I am assistant to Frederick Folkard, 160, Blackfriars Road, pawnbroker—I produce a jacket, pawned in the name of John Pearce, on 28th November, for 11s.—I think by Bradley, but I can't swear—I produce the corresponding duplicate.

Bradley. I did not pawn the coat at all.

ROBERT BIGGS . I am manager to Samuel Barnett, a pawnbroker—I produce a coat and waistcoat, pawned about 9 o'clock, on 28th November, for 12s., in the name of John Pearce, by the prisoner, Bilby—I have the corresponding duplicate.

GEORGE WATERS . I am assistant to William Barnett, pawnbroker, Lambeth Road—I produce a coat pawned on 28th November, about 11 o'clock, by the female prisoner, in the name of Ann Jennings—this is the corresponding duplicate.

Bedmore. A man asked me to pawn the coat, and I went and pawned it.

HENRY HUBBERFIELD (Policeman M 274). I woke up the prosecutor; I found the house had been broken into, and fetched two constables.

Bilby's Defence. I met Bradley, with a man named Pearce, and he asked me to pawn a coat and waistcoat for him, and I did so. I know nothing about breaking into the place.

Bradley's Defence. I met the man Pearce in Blackfriars; he asked me to buy a coat for 16s.; I gave him 12s.; we went to the "Elephant and Castle," and met this man Bilby, and he asked him to pawn a coat for him, and we met Miss Bedmore, and she went and pawned a coat for him.

GUILTY .

BILBY also PLEADED GUILTY to having been, before convicted on 17th November, 1869— Twelve Months' Imprisonment each.

Before Mr. Recorder.

91. RICHARD CLEAVER (44) , Wilful and corrupt perjury.

MR. GIBBONS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. STRAIGHT the Defence.

GEORGE JAMES ANDREWS . I am a clerk in the Lambeth County Court—I produce the papers and record in an action of "Dover v. Peed," an action of replevin—there is an affidavit made by Richard Cleaver (the prisoner) in the case—I saw it made before the Registrar, Mr. Charles Twamley—I was present at the swearing of the affidavit—I identify the prisoner as the man who swore it, and I saw him sign it—(This was an affidavit of Richard Cleaver, of Fish Wharf, Thames Street, carman and contractor, and of 61, Albany Road, Camberwell, declaring himself to be worth property over and above 30l., after payment of his just debts, the property consisting of horses, vans, carts, harness and stable utensils, and houschold furniture)—On that affidavit Cleaver was accepted as surety—I have the replevin bond here—(The parties to this bond were Henry J. Dover, Richard Cleaver, and John Barnes)—the Richard Cleaver there mentioned is the prisoner—I served a notice on Peed—I have a copy of the notice—I attended at the County Court—the action was brought before the Court; it was not tried; they did not go on with it; it commenced; it was struck out; they did not appear—an action was afterwards brought on the bond—they justified; I was a witness; there was a verdict for the plaintiff.

Cross-examined. I suppose the proceedings took half-an-hour or an hour—the affidavit is partly in my writing, partly in Dover's, and partly in the Registrar's—it was read over to Cleaver before he signed it.

BENJAMIN PEED . I am a gardener; I was landlord of a house at Norwood—I had a tenant named Dover—there was some 15l. or 16l. arrears in the rent, and I distrained on him for 15l. 15s.—I got a notice of replevin, in consequence of which I attended at the County Court—I saw the prisoner there; he was one of the sureties to the bond—I saw Mr. Andrews there—they sent us away and said it would be all finished, we need not stay any longer—I never got my rent—I sued afterwards on the bond—I never received a farthing.

Cross-examined. This is a notice dated 18th March, 1870, stating that Dover was going to enter into a bond with two sureties—my broker went to find Cleaver at London Bridge—we could not find the other one—Dover, the prisoner, and Barnes were charged with conspiracy to defraud me—I don't think the Grand Jury threw out the bill—there was a bill thrown out yesterday, I believe.

MICHAEL DICKSON . I am a broker, living at Norwood—I was employed to put in the distress in this house of Mr. Peed, for 15l. 16s.—I remained in possession, inside and out, about seven days—I went out in consequence of a notice from the County Court—I made inquiries about the sureties of the bond, as to Cleaver, prior to last November—I made the inquiry, when the replevin botid was going to be entered into—I went at the request or Mr. Peed, and I saw Cleaver at his place of business—I asked him his name; of course he told me his name—I said "What are you, pray?"—he said "I am a master carman"—I said "You know, of course, that you are going to enter into a bond for Henry John Dover?"—he said "Yes, I

do"—"Well," I said, "if he don't pay, you will have to"—he said "Of course, I am quite aware of that"—I said "Are you worth 30l. after all your just debts are paid?"—he said "I should be very sorry if I was not"—I saw some horses and waggons, standing, adjoining his place of business, in Thames Street, close to Fish Wharf, and I said "Are those yours?"—he said "Yes"—I heard him give the men orders where to go to to transact business, and I says "Of course you have got some household furniture?"—he said "Yes"—I said "Where is your private residence?"—he said "In Cork Street, Camberwell"—"Have you been a bankrupt?"—"No"—"Have you a bill of sale on your property?" and he said "I have not"—I said "How long have you been a master carman in the City?"—he said "Ever since I could handle a whip, and my father before me"—I said "On that condition we will accept you as a surety;" that was on the Saturday, as we had to execute the bond at the County Court on the Monday—I did not see the bond signed—on Friday, 4th November, I went to him, and saw him at his place of business, and said "Well, Mr. Cleaver, what are you going to do about this affair of Dover's?"—he said "I can do nothing in it; I have not got a shilling in the world"—I told him that I had been informed on good authority, at the time he entered into the bond for Dover, that he was an uncertificated bankrupt; he made no answer—I said "I believe you have not got any horses or vans, that you are only transacting the business as foreman to your brother"—he said "Yes, I am only transacting the business for my brother"—"Then," I said, "if you are worth nothing now, you were worth about as much when you executed the bond?"—he said "Yes, just about the same"—I said "I can't think how you could be so foolish as to enter into a bond, and make an affidavit that you were worth so much, when you have not got a shilling"—he said "I did it out of pure kindness for the man; I thought he was a respectable man, and it would end there, and I should not have been called on any further."

Cross-examined. This was eight months afterwards—I have been acting in this prosecution so far as my duty called me—I never fell out with the prisoner, but he made a most scandalous charge against me at the Lambeth Police Court, which Mr. Elliott dismissed, without a stain on my character—a charge of conspiracy was made against Barnes and Cleaver after that; Mr. Pope was the solicitor instructed to prosecute—I did not instruct him—I took no part in it at all, except as a witness—I stated, at the Police Court, what passed when I went to inquire after the prisoner's respectability—my deposition was read over to me, and I put my name to it—I believe what I have stated to-day is word for word in my deposition—I read my deposition myself, before I signed it, and I believe the conversation I have detailed to-day is in it, word for word; the material part is correct, I believe—I had no execution against the prisoner when I saw him eight months after; the liability that bad attached to the bond was to be enforced against him, but I was not employed to execute it—I have heard there was an execution out against him, but I had nothing to do with it.

BERTRAND ROBERT JOHNSON . I am a clerk in the Court of Bankruptcy, Basinghall Street—I produce the proceedings in the bankruptcy of Richard Cleaver, described as a carrier and carman, 61, Albany Road, Old Kent Road—it is a prison adjudication, dated May 19, 1869, from Horsemonger Lane—the discharge was on the 12th July, 1869—it states that at the time of his discharge he was carrying on business at Lower Thames Street—the final order for discharge has not been made.

Cross-examined. He might have taken it up at any time, and then the final order would have been made—it is a very common thing for persons not to take up their order of discharge—sometimes they do and sometimes they don't—I fancy more usually not—sometimes the making of the final order is a mere matter of form.

Re-examined. It requires a 1l. stamp, and until that is paid it does not operate.

SAMUEL HBYWOOD . I am Sergeant-at-Mace to the Sheriff of London—I had a writ of fi. fa. put into my hands on 18th October, against the goods of Richard Cleaver, Fish Wharf, Lower Thames Street—on the 19th I went there—I did not find any hones or vans—I saw the defendant, and I asked him if he had any horses or carts, or any goods whatever in the City—he said he had not, and he had not had any from the time of his bankruptcy—he had no house there.

Cross-examined. I have heard persons say before that they had no goods when I have been to pay them a visit—I can't say that it is an uncommon occurrence—from inquiries I made I understood he had not any—I did not go to Albany Road, that is out of the City—the amount of the fi. fa. was 63l. 6s. 10d.

HENRY HERRICK . I am assistant to Mr. Herrick, one of the officers of the Sheriff of Surrey—I have seen Cleaver once or twice—I took him in April, 1869, on a ca. sa., at 61, Albany Road, and put him in Horsemonger Lane—in October last I had a fi. fa. to executure at 61, Albany Road on the suit of Benjamin Peed—I did not find any goods there—I was told by Mrs. Dorey, the landlady, that there was nothing there belonging to him—she claimed the whole of the goods—she produced a rent receipt in her name, and I thought that was sufficient.

ANN DOREY . I live at 61, Albany Road—the prisoner has lodged there twelve years—he was lodging there in March, 1869 and 1870—the house and the furniture belong to my husband—Cleaver had three chairs, a table, and a box with clothes, and a desk there and a chest of drawers—he had that property in March last—it was not worth 30l., nor half that, I should think—it may be worth 5l.

Cross-examined. He has always been a very respectable hardworking fellow—he has paid his rent regularly—I never knew of his being harassed by creditors; not at my house—I have seen him driving in a van, but not of late years—he used to go out from 8.30 to 9 o'clock in the morning, and return sometimes at 6.30 or 7—I have not seen the other place where he carried on business.

MR. STRAIGHT submitted there was no evidence to go to the Jury; that the certificate of discharge would have purged the bankrupt, and would entitle him to consider that any property he afterwards acquired was his own; that the prosecution were bound to show by very substantial evidence that, at that time, it was not worth 30l. and that it was proved to be the common practice not to take up the discharge. THE COURT was of opinion that it was a question for the Jury whether he might haw supposed the property to be his; and that it was not merely the bare proof of bankruptcy here, but there was proof of the conversation, and his own statement.

Witnesses for the Defence.

WILLIAM HURCOMBE . I reside at 17, Barnham Street, Tooley Street, and am a contractor, carrier, and carman—in December, 1869, I sold the prisoner a grey mare—he was to pay 27 guineas, but he only had 15l., and he paid me that on account when he bought the mare—he paid me the rest

in January, this year—I have seen him using that mare in a van—he is a carman—I am in the habit of seeing him pretty nearly every day—I saw his man in March, using the mare in his van.

Cross-examined. I have always supposed him to be a master carman—his brother is a carman, I believe, and so was his father—I believe his brother carries on business in Thames Street—I have seen him driving a van in Thames Street—I don't know that his brother is the master—this was the man I sold the horse to—I have always heard that his brother is servant to him—I have sold him horses previous; many—he came to me, and said he had got into some little difficulty in bankruptcy or something, and could I let him have a hone—I don't know whether he was acting for himself, or on behalf of his brother.

COURT. Q. You say you frequently sold him a horse? A. Yes; four or five, or six or seven years ago—I have gone to Gower's, in Bond Street, and bought horses for him—I have an account there, and when he has been short of money, I have bought a horse for him, and he has paid me by instalments.

WILLIAM CASH . I live at 12, North Street, Whitechapel Road, and am a master-carman—I bought a grey mare of the defendant, about 20th September last, to slaughter—I gave him 2l. for it.

GUILTY .

Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury, thinking he did not, perhaps, know what he was doing so clearly as some persons would, and that he was led into it by Dover— Six Months' Imprisonment.

Before Mr. Justice Hannen.

92. THOMAS CANNON (45), was indicted for feloniously, with menaces, demanding money from Henry Bulkeley, with intent to steal.

MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH, with MR. WILDEY WRIGHT, conducted the Prosecution.

HENRY BULKELEY . I have rooms, at 93, Regent Street—I am a retired officer in the army, having been a lieutenant in the Dragoons, and also in the Hussars—about 20th September last, I saw an advertisement in the Times for a partner, with from 150l. to 300l.—this is a copy of it: "Partner, active or dormant, with 150l. to 300l.; can be admitted with or without lucrative and agreeable occupation, in London, into a highly respectable and profitable undertaking. Principals (who will please make appointments, if in town) only, to Partner, Mr. Steel, 2, Spring Gardens, S.W."—At that time I was residing at 56, Commercial Road, Landport, near Portsmouth—I answered it, asking for full particulars—I received a reply, but have not got it—I don't know what has become of it—I think I must have lost it—I well recollect the tenor of it; it was in these terms: "I want 150l. to establish a new dramatic club. I have taken eligible premises in the Strand; and I also want 300l. to bring out a newspaper, to be called the City Argus"—I replied to that letter, stating that as I could take no active part in it, I would advance the 150l., provided proper securities were given to me—in due conrse I received this letter, marked "B"—to the best of my belief it is in the defendant's handwriting—I had conversation with him afterwards as to it—(Read: "15, Parkstone Road, Peckham Rye, London, S.E., September 24, 1870. Sir. In reply to your favour of yesterday, I should be happy to place in your hands a Policy of Insurance for 300l., and promissory note, and give you a mortgage or bill of sale upon the whole of the furniture and effects of the club, which I am going to buy with the

moneys to be advanced, except 40l. I have to pay down, which includes the first quarter's rent. If you would be inclined to accept those terms, I am prepared (as you would not be able to take an active part) to allow you 100l. per annum for the money so long as I keep it; six months' notice to be given on either side. I offer this liberal interest, because I know the value of the property, and what I can do with it; and also because I am not giving you realizable security, though, if you feel disposed to make me the advance, I will send you documentary evidence to show that I have a good business, and can repay your principal and interest quite independently of the success or failure of the club. I shall esteem it a favour to hear from you per return. Yours very faithfully, Thomas Cannon. To H. Bulkeley, Esq.")—I had a correspondence with the defendant, and on 1st October, in reply to a letter of mine, asking for an appointment, I received a telegram, stating that he would meet me on 3rd October, at the refreshment-room, Waterloo Station, at 2 o'clock—I left a letter there for him, appointing an interview at the Hotel de Provence, Leicester Square, from 3 to 6 o'clock—the defendant came to me there at 4 o'clock; that was the first occasion of my meeting him—there was some talk about the club—I asked him if it had promise of success—he maintained that it had—I can't tell you the whole of the conversation—when it came to the business-part of it, I asked him if he had the securities with him—he said he had not; but he held a form of agreement for me to sign, and if I would give him the 150l., he would send me the securities—I declined that, and said I would look over the agreement, and in the mean time he could have his securities ready—I received a letter from him in reply to that, which I have since destroyed; I have destroyed a great number of the letters—he wrote to me urging me to fulfil it—I thought there was nothing to come from it, and I wrote and told him that as the Peruvian Stock, in which I had invested, was so low, I could not give it to him then—after that he called-once or twice at my lodging, at Norwood, with letters—I saw him—the next time I met him by appointment was at the Peckham Rye Station, on 20th October; that was in reference to some letters he had written to me, stating that he had the building, 21, Wellington Street, Strand—I asked him how he had the building, when I saw the board still up to let—he said he did not know how that was; but he had the premises, and there was some conversation, in which he said I had better give him the money, or he would take action in Chancery, an adjudication, or something of the kind, and I should lose all my money—he said he was the man to do it, because he had been a solicitor himself for fifteen years—the result of that interview was that it was agreed I should make an appointment between that day and Monday—I think it must have been the 24th or 25th, both for him to bring his securities and me to bring my cheque—on Monday, the 24th, I wrote appointing to meet him at the building, 21, Wellington Street—when I got there I found him walking outside the building—I asked him to go up stairs—he said he had not the key with him, he had forgotten the key, or some remark of the kind—on my remarking that it was very unfortunate, that no business could be done in the street, he asked me to give him the cheque in the street and he would send me the securities—I told him I had the cheque with me, but it was not made up, upon which he wanted me to go into a public-house to draw it up—I declined doing so, saying that I never went into such places, but that if he liked to come down to Norwood next day I should be at home till 10 o'clock, and after

that I would go to the Crystal Palace Library, where I always went till 12—it was understood that he was to bring the securities with him; it was mentioned—next day I saw him at the Crystal Palace Library—I asked him at once if he had his securities with him, that I was prepared then to give him a cheque—he then produced an old policy of insurance, for 300l., on his own life, six months out of date, and on my remarking that it was out of date he said that I could get it renewed, and that I might deduct 10l. for doing so, out of the cheque—of course I declined—I laughed at him when he told me that, because of course I knew it could not be correct—he then said "How do I know, unless you give me your cheque, that it will be honoured;" and he asked what bank it was drawn upon—I told him the London and County Bank—a proposition was then made that it should be sent to Mr. Lawrence, a solicitor—he proposed that—I asked him if he knew Mr. Lawrence—he said he did—I said I should be most happy to place it in his hands, and I wished I had done so before—he then left me, but on going down stairs I met him coming from one of the refreshment stalls—he came up to me and said "You won't make it two months hence?"—I said "No, we will make it for Friday, the 28th" (this was on Wednesday the 26th), and he said "You will write to Mr. Lawrence and mention about deducting 10l. from the cheque for the insurance"—immediately I got home I wrote to Mr. Lawrence, stating the whole particulars—on the Friday, about 9 o'clock in the morning, the prisoner came to my lodging at Norwood—the servant brought up an envelope with his name written on it—I went down and found him in the room, with his hat on—he asked me if I was going to finish the business with him—I told him I must refer him to Mr. Lawrence—he then asked me if Mr. Lawrence had returned me my cheque—I said he had not—he said "But he will, because he told me he would send you back your cheque, and have nothing to do with you"—I told him I did not believe him—he then said I had altered all the affair to Mr. Lawrence—I said I had not, but I would have no further conversation with him personally, anything else he had to communicate must go to Mr. Larwence—he then said "Well, I have my remedy, and unless you give me a cheque for 8l. now, I will go to the Lambeth Police Court, and have you arrested for forgery in ten minutes"—he said this in the most bullying manner—I then told him to leave the room—he did so—he said nothing more—that same evening I received this letter, marked "I"—I believe it to be in the prisoner's handwriting—(Read: "Lambeth Police Court, Friday, 1 p.m. Sir. The detective officer from Norwood has been here with me for the warrant to arrest you, but the matter has to stand over till to-morrow morning for the production of one of your letters, which I did not happen to have with me. I do not wish to cause unnecessary annoyance to your landlady and her other lodgers by bringing a policeman to the house, so if you think proper to let me know this evening where you will surrender, any time after 11 o'clock to morrow morning, you can spare her that disgrace and unpleasantness. Yours obediently, T. Cannon.")—When I got that letter I treated it with great contempt, because I thought the man must be drunk who wrote it—next day my landlady brought me up this letter ("K"), and asked me to explain it—to my best belief it is also in the prisoner's writing—(Read: "15, Parkstone Road, Peckham Rye, S.E., October 28th, 1870. To the proprietress of 13, Surrey Villas. Madam. I think it right to inform you that I have lately been made the victim of a series of forgeries

committed by a man named Bulkeley, residing at your house, and whom I hope to have in custody in a few hours. Meantime, in furtherance of the ends of justice, I shall esteem it a favour if you will inform me by what reference or introduction he obtained admission to your house. He has been passing and signing his name as Henry Buckly, of 56, Commercial Road, Landport, Hants, but I have learnt that he comes from Portrayne, in May borough, in Ireland, from the police of which place I am expecting further information next post. Yours obediently, Thomas Cannon.")—on the fit leaf of the letter was printed: "Established 20 years, T. Cannon & Co. Pardiamentary Reporters and Shorthand Writers in the Law Courts of London Chester' Liverpool, Manchester, York, Durham, and Newcastle-on-Tyne. Offices of the London ftnd Provincial Reporting Association, 139, Cheapside, London E.C.")—Immediately I got that letter I was considerably annoyed at it—I did not know what the man might do, and I took it up to Mr. Lawrence and gave them both to him, and asked him for his advice, when Mr. Lawrence showed me a letter that he had also received—this (" L") is it; it is the prisoner's writting—(Read: "15, Parkstone Road, Peckham Rye, October 28 1870. Sir,—'Buckley'—I hope to have this party in custody in a few hours, it may save you being subposnsed to Lambeth if you will kindly answer the inquiry in my last letter: who introduced him to you? Yours very obediently Thomas Cannon.")—Mr. Lawrence also handed me another letter, but not the name day—this (produced) was the next letter he showed me—I had signed my name "Buckly" in the first letter I wrote in answer to the, adivertisement—that is the way the name is pronounced, but not the way it spelt—I told the prisoner at our first interview how my name was spelt—in the draft of the agreement it was spelt "Buckly"—I said that was not quite the correct way of spelling it, although it was the way it was pronounced, and I told him the way it was spelt—it was not on that occasion that I altered it in his presence—I have been served with a writ by the prisoner far breach of contract-three were served, one at my banker's, one at the Magistrate's Court, and one at my landlady's—I don't know whether it was for breach of contract—it was for debt, I believe—this letter ("M") was also kmded to me by Mr. is the prisoner's writing "November 4, 1870. Sir. By the advice of Messrs. Cox & Greenwood, I now formally, and for the third and last time, have to request you will furnish me with the name of the gentlemen in their establishment, who, as you told me introduced to you the Mr. Buckley through whose forgeries I have been recently victimised. Yours very Obediently, Thomas Cannon. To H. H Lawrence, Esq.)—The writ is "250l. for money paid by the plaintift to defendant's use, and on account stated"—there is not a word of truth in the statement that the prisoner had paid anything on my account.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. There was no account stated—I deny it totally—my name is "Bulkeley"—I told you that at the Hotel de Provence at our first meeting—this letter, dated 29th September, signed Buckly," is my writing—that was the name I signed at that time—I recollect every word that I said before the Maggistrate filtrate, but I adhere to what I said originally, that at the first interview I told you my name was Bulkeley, and at the interview at the Crystal Palace I scratched out the name in your presence and wrote the name myself—that was a kind of agreement—you always addressed your letters to me "Buckly—I never remarked to you that it was singular you should continue to address me as Buckly—

then you first communicated with me I was at Portsmouth—after that I came to town and went to Norwood, and stayed at the Hotel de Provence two or three days—I went from there to Norwood, and then to 93, Regent Street—I gave that address to the Magistrate, and also to my bankers when I opened an account at the London and County; also Portrayne, Ireland—I did not tell the Magistrate that I came from Cheadle, Staffordshire, and that it was the Buckly property—I said my family came from Cheadle—I adhere to that now—I don't know Mr. Thacker, a solicitor, of Cheadle—my family is a Staffordshire family; they do not reside there now, they used to—I never told you that I belonged to an old Hampshire family living in the Isle of Wight—I will not swear whether or not the policy was sent down to me when I wrote, saying I would give 150l.—(looking at tome letters), I can't tell whether these are the letters you sent to me, but this is the paper they came in—I saw some of them were marked in pencil with certain names on them—I won't swear the policy was not inside, but I can't tell you—what made me know that the policy had expired was this, "On grant of undermentioned insurance premium, 10l. 12s. 6d."—you said I could get it renewed—you did not tell me so till I saw it had expired—you did not say I could deduct it from the 150l.—you said I could deduct it from the 80l.—you told me you had been a solicitor, and you would ruin me in a court of law, adjudication, or something of that kind—I received this letter from you (This was a letter complaining of delay, and stating that if he did not hear from the witness before 11 the next morning he should file a bill in the County Court for specific performance of the contract)—I told you that I was the original allottee of the Peruvian scrip; I think they were issued at 82—I don't recollect at our first interview referring you to Mr. Lawrence as my family solicitor—I don't recollect even mentioning Mr. Lawrence's name to you—I did not say "I think the agreement will do very well, Mr. Lawrence, of Bedford Square, is our family solicitor, I will take it to him to look at, and he will write to you to make an appointment about the money"—it is entirely false, every word of it—you first suggested the name of Mr. Lawrence to me at the Crystal Palace—as far as I recollect that was the first time his name was mentioned—(Mr. Lawrence was my solicitor on one occasion)—it struck me as rather strange; I think I said to you directly, "Do you know Mr. Lawrence"—I did not say before the Magistrate that I did not believe you intended to cheat me—I did believe it thoroughly—I believed you meant to get the money from me—I was not served with a writ before I commenced these proceedings against you; long afterwards—I got Mr. Emanuel to write me a letter—there has only been a writ served, no action was brought—you were in the Court at the time the summons was applied for, and you went out, I suppose, to go to Mr. Emanuel—the date of the summons is 12th October—the application was some days previously—the Magistrate was so engaged that day that he appointed a special day for hearing it—I told the Magistrate I had a great number of letters from you, more or less of a threatening nature—I daresay I said as many as three a day—I think very often I did get three a day—a great number were thrown into the fire without reading—this letter ("N"), dated 12th October, is my writing; it is dated from 56, Commercial Road, Landport—I was at Norwood when I wrote it—I intended to have returned to Landport—I had given up my lodgings there, but I could take them whenever I liked—I had no intention to deceive you, I gave you

an address that would find me—I Erst saw you on 3rd October, at the Hotel de Provence—I can't tell the next time, it may have been four or five days after—I sent you a telegram to meet me at the Peckham Station—I believe this (produced) is the telegram; it is dated 20th October—I think I saw you between the 3rd and the 20th, but I won't swear it—I did not swear the other day that we had a great number of interviews between the 12th and the 19th, when you threatened me; I said I had some interviews—at the interview at the Hotel de Provence, you said if I gave you the cheque for 150l., you would sign the agreement and send me the securities—you did not sign it, it has never been signed—the interview at Norwood was very short indeed—the next interview was at the Peckham Station, walking outside in the street—I did not leave you with the understanding that I would make an appointment to give you 150l., to give you a cheque for 80l.—the next interview was outside 21, Wellington Street, and the next at the Crystal Palace, the next day—we did not sign any document or have any written understanding there; there was nothing, except that I scratched out my name in the agreement and spelt it properly for you—I saw you write at the Crystal Palace, but I can't tell you what it was; it was calculating the difference that you would allow me between the 80l., and the 150l.—when the 80l. was agreed to, you made a calculation as to the difference; that was the time I saw you write—the securities I was to have were a bill of sale on the furniture when it was bought, a policy of insurance on your life, and a promissory note—when I had got all those securities I was ready at first to give you a cheque for 150l.—I had a certain amount at my banker's, and I could place any amount afterwards I liked—in October I had 150l. there at one time; I may have had; there is my pass-book there, I can very easily see—if I bad not I could have placed money in there to meet the cheque—if I had given you the cheque it would have been honoured; if I had not had sufficient I should have taken care that the cheque was honoured—I did not tell you on one occasion that the reason why I could not produce the money was that I had 2000l. in the General Omnibus Company, and that by reason of the tramways the shares had been reduced in value; that is an invention of your own—I said I had an investment in the General Omnibus Company—on the second day before the Magistrate, when the secretary was there with the transfer-book, I said I had not the shares; I did not swear what was untrue—I did not make another excuse for not bringing you the money, by saying that I had been robbed of 600l. by a man named Watson, of 77, Newman Street; it is false, you have not invented that, you founded that upon what I told you, that I had been swindled once by a roan out of 160l., and I should take care I was not swindled again—I said the amount was 180l. because I thought it right to put on the interest, 160l. was the money lent—I said that it took place five years ago—you told me more than once that you had got the club premises—I have not repeatedly asked you to go to Messrs. Debenham & Tewson's; you asked me once to write to them and ask why certain things had not taken place; you never asked me to meet you there—I did not know you were in treaty for the premises, I understood that you had the premises—(The following letters were read at the prisoner's request: "19th October, 1870. To H. Buckley, Esq. Sir. The enclosed is the result of my telling Messrs. Debenham & Co. what you told me, that you had instructed your broker to sell the stock a fortnight ago. I hope you will at once explain to those gentlemen who is responsible for the

default, and telegraph to me an appointment to meet at Mr. Robinson's office, and hand over the money, if you have not already written. Yours obediently, T. Cannon")—(Enclosure from Debenham & Tewson to the prisoner: "80, Cheapside, Sir. This negociation has been very protracted; when may we expect you with the rent, as some considerable time has now elapsed since you told us the stock was sold, and you were coming to complete the matter")—I received that letter on the 20th—my reason for not acknowledging it was because I had sent you a telegram stating that I would meet you at the Peckham Rye Station—I threw many of your letters into the fire, because I thought I was not dealing with a respectable man—I never said so or wrote so to you, but I thought so—you never told me you had learnt from some indirect source that my name was not Buckly at all—I had the draft agreement in my hands, and I asked you if you had your promissory note drawn out and the securities—I don't recollect taking the policy cover from you and saying "I will write down here what I shall have before I give my cheque (looking at the policy cover)—I don't know whether I recollect writing that or not—I won't swear that it is my writing or not, it does not look like it—it is false that you said in the middle of my writing "I believe your name is not Buckly, but Bulkeley"—you did not snatch it out of my hand, stop my writing, and say you would have nothing more to do with a gentleman that had two names, unless in the presence of a witness—I say I do not recollect writing that at all—I won't swear that it is or is not my writing; but I don't think it is—I do not recollect the circumstance—I had a bundle of old papers sent down to me to look at—I did not see amongst them a number of letters from various proprietors and editors of newspapers, only things with letters, upon which you had written, in pencil, "Gladstone," "Lord Derby," and other names—I saw "Lord Cardigan" written on one; but I did not open it—I did not open any of the letters—after that I wrote to you, stating that I would pay you the 150l., on the production of certain securities.

Re-examined. I don't think I had seen Mr. Lawrence the day previous to the prisoner coming to Norwood—I don't think I had seen him since July—I had written to him, and sent him a cheque for 80l.—I banked at the London and County Bank—I had credit there—I am certain that my cheque would have been acknowledged—previously, while I was in the army I banked at Cox & Greenwood's—I transferred my account—the writ about which the prisoner has spoken was served upon me at the Police Court, while I was prosecuting him—in one of his letters he says: "From one of the many sources of information open to our profession, I have learnt that this is not the first time this year you have made an equally positive engagement, and after putting the parties to considerable expense, inconvenience, and delay, backed out of the matter altogether"—that is founded, like most of his statements, upon a certain amount of truth—there is not a word of truth in the statement that I have broken faith with any person on a contract—I say that I have not broken faith with them—when I left Portsmouth I left my address for letters to be forwarded, and they are forwarded to me now—any letters sent there would be forwarded to me—I don't believe I ever said at the Police Court that I had no belief that he intended to defraud me.

SABAH CURETON . I am a widow, residing at 13, Surrey Villas, Norwood—in October last the prosecutor was residing at my house—about 28th

October I received this letter addressed "To the proprietress of 13, Surrey Villas"—I immediately went up, and handed it to Mr. Bulkeley.

Cross-examined by the Prisoner. Mr. Bulkeley stayed with me four weeks—I never noticed how his letters were addressed till you called my attention to it—I am not aware that I saw any other letters besides yours—I have not a lady about fifty years of age lodging at my house; I might have had a lady staying with me about the time Mr. Bulkeley was there—whatever letters came to him I forwarded—I can't recollect when—when I knew he was at 93, Regent Street I forwarded all letters—I can't remember the day he left me.

HENRY HANSLIP LAWRENCE . I am a solicitor, of Bedford Square—I have never been solicitor to the prosecutor's family; I was on one occasion to the prosecutor—I received these two letters from Mr. Cannon, one on 28th October, and the other on 4th November, which have been read; I also received this letter on the morning of 27th October (Read: "Sir. Mr. Buckley tells me that you will by this time have some money to hand to me. I have just called to ask whether that is the case, and shall feel obliged if you will leave me an answer should you be going out again. Yours, T. CANNON.")—The prisoner called on me between the two dates—he referred to the letter which has just been read—I had previously received instructions from Mr. Bulkeley, and had a cheque for 80l. in my custody, to be disposed of according to my instructions—I refuted to part with it to the prisoner—that was previous to 29th October—I don't remember his calling on me again; I never saw him afterwards—he may have called at my office—I told him I had the cheque, but did not think it right to part with it.

Cross-examined. I read you some portions of Mr. Bulkeley's letter, stating some of the things he required; amongst others was the lease of the premises—you did not make any demand to have the 80l.—this is the letter I received from Mr. Bulkeley, marked "Q" (Read: "14, Surrey Villas, Woodland Road, Upper Norwood, S.E. 25th October, 1870. Dear Sir. Would you oblige me by arranging the following affairs. I would lend a Thomas Cannon 80l., for the purpose of forming a new Dramatic Club, on these terms, that he gives me a policy of assurance on his life for 300l., a bill of sale for three months for amount, and a bill of sale on all furniture and other property that may be put on the above-named Club, 21, Wellington Street, Strand; also that the lease of these buildings be deposited with me. But should the whole of these securities not be deposited at your office at 12 o'clock on Friday morning, I shall decline, most positively, to have anything to do with it. For these reasons I wrote to him at the commencement of the present negociations, 29th September, that if he could have all the papers aforesaid in this letter ready for me, I would give him a cheque for the amount, and on my coming to London for that purport, he came without bringing a single document, wanting me to give him the money on his promise of sending them; as this I did not like, I invested the money, meaning to have nothing more to do with it, but for a whole month he has done nothing but pester me with letters and visits again. I said if he would come to me with the papers, I would give him the amount, so he came, bringing with him as security an old Policy of Assurance, six months out of date, and wanted me to give him a cheque, saying I could get it renewed, the policy, and he would send me the remaining papers, but I refused to give him a cheque on

the conditions. I enclose you a cheque for the amount, that you will please to deduct your expenses out of; but as I feel from Mr. Cannon's behaviour that I shall lose this money, I beg of you not to give it him until the whole papers are in your office, and after 12 o'clock on Friday I shall decline the affair; I will come up on Friday, and see you. Your obedient servant, H. Buckley.")—I remember your calling upon me; you did not say you had been referred to me by Mr. Bulkeley, as his family solicitor—I did not so understand you; you said you had been referred to me by Mr. Bulkeley, and you understood I was his family solicitor—you sent in a note by my clerk—I never knew you before—I refused to give the name of the gentleman who introduced Mr. Bulkeley to me, because Mr. Bulkeley had consulted me in the meantime, and I had seen the letters you had written to him, to his landlady, and to myself, and I considered them impertinent—

Q. On the first occasion of seeing me, did you tell me that Mr. Bulkeley was a man not likely to bring business, or anything; that he had been negotiating with a client of yours for some weeks, and then backed out of the bargain? A. I don't think there is a word of truth in it—I never said a word of the kind—I did not go to a deed-box, and take out a parcel of papers—that is founded in truth—when you spoke about Mr. Bulkeley, I referred to the papers to see who he was—I had forgotten the name—I simply took out a paper to refer to.

The prisoner, in a long address, commented upon the evidence, and stated that, intending to establish a Literary and Dramatic Club, he had inserted the advertisement in question, with the bond-fide purpose of obtaining the funds to start it; that his negodation with the prosecutor was broken off in consequence of his discovering that he had deceived him by a false representation of his name and position, and that the present prosecution was only instituted upon his taking measures to bring the prosecutor to account for keeping him so long out of the money he had promised.

THOMAS IMPEY . I am city manager to Messrs. Debenham & Tewson—Messrs. Wilkinson, Sotheby, & Hodge are clients of ours—we had the letting of a part of the premises next the Lyceum theatre—we received your offer for those rooms—it is not our practice to take down a board till agreements are exchanged—we should not consider the transaction completed till the money was paid—you have signed a copy agreement, and we have a legal right to make you pay—that agreement was sent back to us completed on 3rd October, accompanied by a letter dated the 30th September, saying you were coming to pay the money—the office of Wilkinson & Sotheby is at 13, Wellington Street, two doors out of the Strand—I have not seen the premises proposed for the club—this is a fair copy of the agreement.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. As a matter of fact the prisoner was never let into possession of the premises in question.

WILLIAM ROGER FELL . I am a son of the late Captain Fell, of the Indian Navy—I am aware that some weeks back you were negotiating about taking these premises for the New Lyceum Club—you suggested that I should assist you as secretary to the club, not for the payment of any bonus to you—I have had occasion for some years past to go with my brother and mother to the India Office, Whitehall, and I know that you are personally acquainted with a good many gentlemen there—I also know that you are acquainted with a large number of gentlemen who would be likely to become members of the club—I know a young gentleman named Taylor, a

son of a member of the firm of Nicholson & Co., the distillers—I know that you engaged him—I know a young gentleman named Warwick, you engaged his sisters to assist in the refreshment department, on your own behalf, I believe—I know Mr. Stammers, who is connected with the Sacred Harmonic Concerts—you made arrangements with him to assist you—I have frequently seen you talking with gentlemen of the dramatic profession—I know the position of Wilkinson & Sotheby's offices and the club room, they are all pretty close together—I was with you at the Lambeth Police-Court on Tuesday, 25th October—you were taking notes there in the case of 'Barclay v. Champion' for the defendant; Mr. Joel Emanuel was the solicitor in the case—I afterwards went with you to consult Mr. Emanuel upon this matter.

Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner for some time—I have no vocation but that of a private gentleman—I was never in the premises, 21, Wellington Street—the letters that have been produced are in the prisoner's handwriting—I have not seen any of the other persons here who have been engaged—I expected some of them.

WHITING MARSHALL (Policeman). I remember the prisoner coming to Gipsy Hill Station on 28th October—I was directed to go with him to Lambeth Police Court—I went, and he applied to Mr. Perry, the clerk, about a warrant—he said that he had better apply again.

THE JURY found that the prisoner used menaces to get the money, but not with intent to steal.

NOT GUILTY .

Before Mr. Common Serjeant.

93. THOMAS CANNON was again indicted for unlawfully publishing false, scandalous, malicious, and defamatory libels of and concerning Thomas Bulkeley.

The prisoner PLEADED NOT GUILTY, and put in a Plea of Justification.

MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH, with MR. WILDEY WRIGHT, conducted the Prosecution.

The witnesses, Sarah Cureton, Henry Hanslip Lawrence, and Henry Bulkeley gave, in substance, the same evidence as in the last case, and the cross-examination of the defendant and his address to the Jury were of precisely the same character. The libels charged were the letters to Mrs. Cureton and Mr. Lawrence, already set out, and which the defendant submitted were privileged communications.

THOMAS IMPEY (for the defence) repeated his former evidence, and added: "I received this letter from the defendant"—(Read: "September 30th, 1870. Memorandum from Messrs. T. Cannon & Co., publishers, Law and Parliamentary Reporters, 139, Cheapside. 21, Wellington Street. Dear Sir. About 3 o'clock on Monday, I find I must make it, to come to you and pay the quarter's rent. I have 150l. to receive; but cannot get it without the signature of a gentleman who is at the Isle of Wight, and can not be up till 2 o'clock; he writes instead of this morning, as I expected")—I got that letter the next day—Wilkinson & Co. told us they had made inquiries—the rent was to be 150l. a year, for three years, and you to pay the taxes.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. It was a condition precedent to the defendant's obtaining possession of the premises that he was to pay 40l. down—that was part of the agreement—we never did give him possession—he signed the agreement—we look upon it that he has entered

into a contract, and if we thought he was worth powder and shot we should enforce it.

JOHN OSBALDISTON . I am a clerk in the London and County Bank—the prosecutor opened an account with our branch in Hanover Square on 2nd July last—he gave his address 93, Regent Street; no other that I am aware of—possibly he might, but we should only use that one—on 3rd October he had not 150l. to his credit; nor had he quite that at any time in October.

Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. He had transferred his account to us from Cox & Greenwood—on several days in October he had ample to meet a cheque for 80l.—we had no securities of his in October—we had some afterwards.

Prisoner. Q. Did you hear him swear positively that his cheque for 150l. would have been honoured? A. I understood him that arrangements might have been made, that he would provide for it.

GUILTY :— Six Months' Imprisonment.

ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, 9TH JANUARY, 1871.