9th February 1880
Reference Numbert18800209-234
VerdictNot Guilty > no evidence; Guilty > manslaughter
SentenceImprisonment > penal servitude

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234. LEWIS JAMES PAINE (50) and FANNY MATTHEWS (19) were indicted for the willful murder of Annie Jane Fanny Maclean. They were also charged on the Coroner's Inquisiton with the like murder.



MR. BROOKS appeared for Matthews.

No evidence being offered against Matthews, the Jury found her.

NOT GUILTY RUPERTIA WILSON . I am a widow, and lire at 85, Tavistock Crescent, Westbourne Park—Annie Jane Fanny Maclean was my niece; she was the daughter Of Colonel and Mrs. Maclean, and was 33 years of age is August last—Colonel Maclean has been dead some years—Miss Maclean was living with her mother in London, once at 40, Eastbourne Terrace, and latterly in Craven Road—they lived together in London ever since she was born, up to March last—I was in the habit of visiting them, sometimes once a week, sometimes twice a week, constantly—Miss Maclean had a spinal deformity, she could not walk very well, there was something the matter with her hip, and in consequence of the deformity she walked always lame; sometimes she walked with a stick, not latterly, she made use of her umbrella generally speaking instead of a stick—she was very short, I can't say what height she was—she did not leave London with her mother, her mother left London in March, she had taken a house at Broadway, about 12 miles from Worcester, called the Shrubbery, and I went down with her, Miss Maclean stayed with a friend in London—Mrs. Maclean died on 1st April, suddenly, at Broadway, I was with her at the time—she died at the house of a Mr. Allcock, where she had taken apartments until the Shrubbery was ready—her daughter was not with when she was taken ill—she was in London, but she was telegraphed for and came down, and was with her when she died—Mrs. Maclean also left a son, Norman Maclean, he is a doctor—Mrs. Maclean left a will—the son and daughter came into some property, £3,000 between them; after the mother's death Miss Maclean came to my house and lived with me for about a month at my house in London, until 3rd of May—I know the prisoner Paine, I only knew him since Mrs. Maclean's death, when he came to my house—he was known to Mrs. and Miss Maclean before that, but I did not know him—I did not how whether he was married or single—he came to my house to see Miss Maclean, much to my surprise; he called perhaps once a week, sometimes, he might perhaps have called twice in the week, I can't Say exactly how often he called—I was present when he first came to the house, but I left the room immediately—he did not at any time tell me the object of his visits—I did not learn from him what his business was I did not know where he was living—on 8th May I and my niece went down to Broadway, to the Shrubbery—I stayed there a fortnight with her—I did not see while I was there—he did not come to the Shrubbery at all—I returned to London alone-about a month afterwards my niece came to London to stay with me for a short time—Paine came soon after—two or three days after she came up she had occasion to go down into the country for some days to find some deeds and papers of administration, or something, and then she returned to me

in three or four days, I can't say exactly; her brother was with me at that time—during the two or three days before she went into the country Paine called to see her, and after her return he also called—she was only with me two or three days then—after that she went back to the Shrubbery with her brother—at that time I did not know her position with regard to Paine, not until the evening before she left my house—she did not tell me, but she did tell my servant—I heard her say it—her brother had been staying with me, and went down with her to the Shrubbery—her brother left for America at the end of August—Miss Maclean came up to town then, and I saw her—she came to my house for about an hour—she went to live at 11 Alexandra Street, Westbourne Park, 10 or 11 days—Paine was with her then—she afterwards went back to the Shrubbery—I did not see her again till I was called to her at the coffee-house at 128, Seymour Place—that was on a Sunday evening just a fortnight before she died—I was fetched by Mr. Fitzpatrick—I went with him to a bedroom at the first-floor back—my niece was in bed—when I had last seen her before she was in good health—in regard to drink she took what other people did, she drank moderately—one night, when she had been out the whole day with Paine, she came back a little the worse for drink—that was in May—when I went to the coffee-house Mrs. Powell and a nurse named Mrs. Wright were there—my niece was very ill indeed—she did not seem to have the free use of her hands—I spoke to her and she spoke to me—at times she was very collected, but at others she would wander—I stayed with her all night till about 7 o'clock the next morning—Mr. Fitzpatrick remained about half an hour—Mr. Waller was sent for—I believe he is a surgeon—he was sent for at about 1 o'clock, I believe, by Mrs. Powell—he saw her and examined her—he remained about 10 minutes or a quarter of an hour—Mrs. Powell's servant was there, also Mrs. Postlethwaite—I noticed the state of Miss Maclean's night-dress, it was stained with something down the front—it looked dark, as if it was brandy—I saw two tumblers with spirits in them beside her bed—one looked dark like brandy, and the other was lighter, like whisky—I did not smell it—I saw one bottle on the mantelpiece—I examined her feet and hands—she complained of great pain and cold, and would not let any one touch them—her hands were as if they were paralysed—she could not put them to her face—she said "Look at my mouth"—I looked at her mouth—her hands seem convulsed—her mouth was very red and almost raw—she did not get out of bed at all in the night—she did not appear to be able to get out—she did not seem as if she could hold anything in her hand very well, she tried, but could not do so—she had nothing to eat or drink while I was there—she asked for a glass of beer, but just put her lips to it—I left at 7—I had not seen anything of the prisoner before I left—I returned there, I think, about 12 or 1 o'clock—I went back alone—I went to the house, but did not see her—I went to my solicitor, Mr. Taylor, of Field Court, Gray's Inn, to fetch him to see Miss Maclean—she said said she wished to see him particularly—he met me at the coffee-house between 3 and 4 o'clock in the afternoon—I saw Dr. Thomas there—I went into the room with Mr. Taylor—my niece then appeared a little better—I stayed about half an hour on that occasion—Paine came in whilst I was there—I said to him, "Do you call yourself a man to ill-treat a little orphan deformity as she is, and rob her of her money?"—I said, "You are beneath a man to bring her into a coffee-house to

die. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I only wish I was her brother; I would thrash you till you hadn't a piece of flesh to stand on"—he said, "You get out of this. This is my place, and I pay for it"—"You pay for it!"I said; "not with your own money, you don't"—he said, "That's my wife"—"Your wife!"I said; "You had better take care what you say; you've a wife living. Instead of robbing her and bringing her to disgrace, you ought to have been a protector to her at your age"—I implored my niece to think of what she was 'doing, and what anguish it would have caused to her mother if she had' been alive—she said that she would not come with me, and that she, did not want to be interfered with by me, but she seemed to be quite under his influence—I said, "Annie, if I can be of no further use to you I will gay good-bye, sometime, perhaps, you may want me when it will be too late"—I left then—on the previous day she had been very anxious to come with me, but after she had seen Paine she seemed afraid to speak—it was about 5 when I left—that was the last time I saw her alive—I heard of her death afterwards and saw her body—I attended the inquest.

Cross-examined. What I have said is true—I was examined before the Coroner once, and I was called up a second time a fortnight afterwards to contradict a statement—I did not say then a single word of what I have said now; I was not asked to do so—I said that he ordered me out of the room, but that is the only portion of the long story I have told to-day that I told the Coroner—my niece was not able to assist herself in any way—she appeared very much attenuated—I have not said that she was next door to a skeleton—I said that her poor hands and arms had got very much thinner, and her face also—she looked as if she had not had sufficient food, I think—she looked half-starved, and in a very different condition to when I saw her last—she was generally very thin—as my niece, I had entertained a deep affection for her—I made no inquiry about her between then and the time of her death, because I did not wish to be insulted, and my affection for her yielded to that—Mr. Fitzpatrick vent to the police the first night I was there, leaving me in a cab—he went on my account—he is here, I believe—I learned from him that they would not interfere—I sat with her all night, and left at 7 a.m.—before I left I sent for some gin, as she wanted something to drink—she was allowed weak spirits—there were two tumblers there, but castor oil had been put in and she would not take it—I call it brandy from the colour—I did not try to make her take it, but the nurse tried in my presence—I do not know whether it was neat brandy—I saw the nurse put it to her lips but she refused to take it, she said there was castor oil in it—the whisky had castor oil in it too—the nurse also tried her with the whisky and she would not take that either because of the castor oil—I did not mention that before because I was not allowed to speak—I did not tell the jury about sending out for gin, because I was not asked the question—I paid 6d. for the gin—she was craving for something to drink—I did not smell the castor oil, but it looked like it, you could see it swimming at the top, and it looked like brandy at the bottom of the tumbler, and the same with the other, the whisky at the bottom and the oil at the top—Mrs. Knowles is the friend she remained with when her mother went to Broadway, she is not here, she lives at Kilburn—the deceased drank wine, beer, and brandy and water, but I

have not always been with her—she might have taken two glasses of wine with her dinner, but sometime not any, she would take a glass of beer, not more—when she did not take beer she took brandy and water, but she never took brandy neat.

Re-examined. I had not noticed that her habits were in temperate before her mother took the shrubby—after her mother's death, when she had been out with Mr. paine the whole day, she came home in the evening and I noticed that she had had a little too much—when I sent for the gin it was because she expressed a desire for it, she was very thirty—I gave her some mixed with water, she had very little of it.

ERNEST HUMERERT . I am a solicitor at 4, field court, Gray's I am—I am a member of the firm of Taylor and sons, who were solicitor to the deceased's family—on the death of mother she became entitled to half the sum of 1,800l., with 29l. 1s. 3d., interest, some gas shares which realised 450l., two-thirds of the lease of 40, Eastbourne Terrace and an interest in half the furniture—the value of the house was taken at 1,800l.—it was not sold, merely valued—total amount that Annie Maclean had was 900l. in cash for the mortgage, 29l. 1s. 3d., the interest on the gas shares, and 450l., which was the moiety of what those shares realised amounting together to 1,379. 1s. 3d., the—about 310l. was paid for the probate and other expresses in winding up the estate of Mrs. Maclean—the cheques paid out of the balance to miss Maclean were on 1st may 10l. on 5th July 10l.; on 2nd August 10l.; on 27th August 20l.; on 9th september 165l.; on 23rd September 25l.; and 40l. on the same day—on 6th November a 40l., cheque was handed to Mr. pain—those sums amount to 320l.—that reduced her cash balance to 90l.—some of the cheques were that to her by letter, and others were handed to her when she called at the office—they were sometimes handed to her and pain—the last one was payable to her order and was handed to paine along.

DR. NORMAN COLLIER MACLEAN , M.R.C.P. and M.R.C.S. I am not residing at 275, fulham Road—I was educated at wellington college, and left about 1867, when my sister, the deceased, was living with my mother at Eastbourne Terrace—I studied at st. mary's Hospital—I have since lived at various places—my father, Lieutenant-colonel Maclean, died in 1854, and my mother's myself, and my sister formed the family—on 30th August last I went to America, and I returned for the vacation—paine visited my mother's house, but I never saw him there—when I came house I saw him twice—he professed to be a commission agent—I did not know much about him, but my mother objected to his coming to the house because his character was not good—I communed practice for myself and I left my mother's home—after 1876 I lived at several place—in 1879 I had chamber in Barnard's inn—I was then married—my mother died on 1st April—I was there about nine hours before she died—after that on sister went to live with her aunt—she was very amiable and apparently happy, considering the deformity she had—she had the same average abilities as most young ladies possess—about a month after my sister in death I went to my solicitor to get a settlement prepared for my sister in consequence of what some one said—I got it prepared, and afterward handed it to my sister; she said she would not sign it at Broadway it consult my co-executor, Mr. Clark—I afterwards saw it at Broadway in her possession still unexecuted, and so far as I know it never was executed—it was only a draught—in may my wife and I went to the shrubbery,

and I stayed there on and off till 23rd August—Mrs. Bryson my mother-in-law, and Mrs. willison were there—paine was staying there part of the time I was there—before I went to Broadway and while paine was there he told us all that he had been married to my sister since march, and my sister who was present, conformed it—I had no actual reason to disbelieve it—while I was at the shrubbery the question arose whether my sister was married—I had executed a deed by which all her mother a property to which she was not entitled under the will should be hers for a certains monetary consideration; and Mr. Taylor, my mother's solicitor wrote to my, that he understood she was married, and another deed would have to he prepared, after which I saw paine and my sister and told her what Mr. Taylor had said, and if that was the case, there could be no half-confidence between her and her solicitor, that I had heard from her that they were married, but if they were not married—paine was not in the room then but afterwards he heard what had been said, and admitted that they ward not married, but that he was perfectly ready and willing to marry her—I did not know that he was already; I asked him and he said he was not—I left with my wife and did not tell her the state of a hairs—I agreed to sell my share in the house and the state of sister—I arrangement was carried out before I sailed for America on 30th August settle in America—I received two letters in New York from paine, one containing a doctor's certificate respecting my sister—the next information I received was that of the death of my sister, and I then came to England—before my mother took the shrubbery, my sister was living with her in craven Row—I was not in a position to know my habits, but I should say she was not intemperate—my mother complained to me that when she went out she sometimes came back having had more that was good for her—I never saw her what I could say intoxicate—when I was saying at the shrubbery I thought she was taking more stimulant than was good for her, certainly—I spoke to her about it, but she said nothing in paine's presence.

Cross-examined. I have not great experience in female drunkenness, and cannot say whether it is difficult to control—I have been in practice since 1875—I had chambers in Barnard's Inn—soon after the death of Mrs. Maclean my sister came to see me there—she called once with Mr. paine—nothing was said about her being in the family-way—they were not there five did not come to say good-bye—I was staying at the shrubbery when they were there, but I do not remember being called up one night by paine to see my sister, who was in great paine—the size of her stomach was noticeable by anybody—I could not have discovered whether she was in the family-way—I was called up one morning because she had noticed a blue mark on the said of her abdomen, and she was rather anxious about it, and paine asked me to come and look at it—he was present while I made the examination—I formed no impression as to her being in the family-way—I did not examine her to that extent, but I recommended her to have an obstetric physician for that purpose—medical man do not hazard opinions—paine said that she complained of great plain, and in consequence of the her body he wished me to examine her—I do not think I know at that time they were not married; it

depends upon what the date was—I was at the Shrubbery from 12th May, on and off, till 23rd August—if it was anterior to 19th August I did not know that she was married, if it was posterior I did; my impression is that I did not know whether she was married—August 19th is the date I went to Taylor and Sons.

CHRISTINA TERESA SMITH . I am the wife of William Smith, who keeps a lodging-house, 1, Alexander Street, Westbourne Park—on Saturday night, 30th August last, I was sent for to a neighbour's house, where I saw the prisoner and the deceased—they were introduced to me as Mr. and Mrs. Paine—Paine wished to take my rooms—he said he had come up on business, and also to see some doctors—he took the dining-room and the second-floor front bedroom—the next Sunday, the 31st, he and the deceased came in a cab between 1.30 and 2 o'clock—Paine assisted the deceased out, she being a cripple—he did not carry her; he merely gave her the assistance which a gentleman would give to a lady—they went into the dining-room together, and I went there very shortly after—the deceased was half sitting, half lying, in a large arm-chair, fast asleep—her face was very much flushed—I asked Paine how it was she was so face asleep, and he told me that she was prostrate with grief at her brother's having just left for America—I did not then see any bottle in the room—they had dinner soon after—I thing there was a bottle of brandy on the sideboard during some portion of that day—in the evening I has some conversation with Paine about the condition of the deceased—he began it, and the substance of it was that she was pregnant, and not in a good state of health—he made allusion to her being deformed, and told me that she was gone just half her time—I said I thought she ought to have the best advice—they remained at my house about ten days, till Sept. 10—during all that time she was principally in the bedroom; very seldom in the dining-room; but they went out daily—during their stay I conversed with the prisoner frequently about the lady's supposed pregnancy—I asked her in his presence why they did not have a doctor—he continually put it off, saying that he was going to, or that she was not well enough, or not willing that day—he asked me what I thought about the coming event—I said I could not tell—I asked him if he had had good medical advice, and he said that he had, and that cripples had the best of times—he said that Dr. Norman Maclean, her brother, who was a doctor, was very uneasy at the state she was in with her deformity—one day I saw some baby linen lying on a chair—I can't say who brought it—I said to Paine, "You have been buying the baby linen, I see"—he replied, "Yes, I have had to buy it; she's such a funny little thing; she wouldn't trouble about it"—I was only aware after they left of the number of bottles they had; I believe I said at the inquest seven bottles of brandy—every morning the servant used to bring one bottle down, and it was only after they had left that I found out what number had been used—there were seven bottles of brandy, one bottle of whisky, one bottle of gin, one of sherry, two of ginger wine, and eleven of claret—in the bedroom we found three or fount flair bottles, such as you see sold at railway stations, empty—I waited on Mr. Paine on the day he came, as my servant had gone for a holiday, but I did not see more if him when he dined in the house—they both dines in the dining-room when they had dinner at home, but she principally reside in the bedroom—they left on 10th September—Paine

asked me if I could find a servant for her, and I suggested that she should have a proper nurse with her—he said he was going back to the Shrubbery—the servant was very seldom able to get into the bedroom till late in the afternoon—up to that time the door was locked, I believe—the lady ate comparatively nothing.

Cross-examined. I could not say whether she was in the family-way; she being deformed—it was not patent—my servant is not here, she could answer no questions that I can't answer—she went up to empty the slops, and I went up afterwards to make the bed; I or my servant opened the outer door, whichever was the handiest—I cannot say how the bottles got into the house, I suppose Paine brought them, but the claret he wished me to get in for him, it cost 2s. a bottle—I do not know how the seven bottles of brandy were brought in—I was surprised when I saw them empty—Miss Maclean never went out alone, always with the prisoner—I never saw her drunk, but I saw Paine drunk several times; he seldom came home at night without being drunk—I saw very little or the deceased, I daresay there were three days out of the ten that I did not see her; she was seldom out late in the evening or downstairs—I saw her return with him late once or twice, and she then appeared sober, he seemed very attentive to her—I noticed to harshness on his part, but the contrary—they had no dinner parties, there was only one proper dinner, the others were little bits—on that occasion there was a pair of soles, a leg of lamb, and a pudding; Paine told me before that he had invited two ladies, and any servant said two ladies came—there were some callers, one gentleman called one morning, and two ladies came—there were some callers, one gentleman dined there—I never saw any time of potted meat.

Re-examined. Sometimes Paine brought in the little they had, haddock or bloater; I spoke to him daily about the smallness of deceased's appretite, and he said that she would not eat, and had not eaten since she had been in the family-way; my servant's name is Ellen Parry, she ill with ulcerated throat—when Paine came home drunk he was alone.

HERBERT GEORGE GOLDRINGHAM . I am a solicitor at Worcester—on the 16th September last the prisoner called upon me, introducing himself to me as being of the Shrubbery, Broadway; he first said he wanted me to transact a little matter of business of a private nature; that he had formed a connection with a young lady at Broadway, who was reputed to be his wife, but that he really was not married to her, and that she wished to make over to him all her property, and he wished to do the same with regard to his; he then handed to me a document which he said had been sent by some solicitors in London, saying that he thought that was not the kind of document they both required; he asked me to peruse it, I did so, and I told him that it was merely a settlement of property belonging to a Miss Maclean, and that the effect of it would be to vest whatever property Miss Maclean had in the hands of trustees; it was a marriage settlement; I told him that the mouse simple plan to adopt, and the least expensive one, would be for each party to make a short will in favour of the other; to this he assented, and I took down the instructions; he did not say where Miss Maclean was then staying; he wanted to know when the wills would be ready for signature; I said they would be very simple documents, and could be ready by 11 o'clock the following day; and that time was fixed for Paine and Miss Maclean to come to my office—he said she believed herself to be in the family-way and was in a great fright—

next morning Paine came with a lady, who he introduced to me as Miss Maclean—I explained to her the instructions I had received, and the conversation which had taken place on the previous day, and that I had prepared wills in conformity with those instructions—she said "That is exactly what I wished"—I then read over her will to her and his will to him, both being present—these are them (produced)—she approved of her will, and afterwards executed it, and he executed his, I and my clerk attesting—these are the wills—they are the same, except that in his will there is a policy on his life, and in hers there is none—at Paine's request she paid me my charge, and I then returned to him the draft marriages settlement which he had given me the previous day—at that time Miss Maclean was, so far as I could judge, in perfect health, and quite robust; in perfect possession of her faculties—they left together—on 21st September I received a letter from Mr. Paine, dated the 20th—the signature appears the same as that affixed to the affixed to the will. (Read: "Dear Sir,—Miss Maclean wishes you to prepare a simple deed of gift of the leave of the house, 40, Eastbourne Terrace, to me." Signed L. J. Paines.) Wanting further particulars, I wrote this letter to Mr. Paine and seen it to him by pose to Broadway. (This was dated September 22, asking the prisoner to supply him with document for the preparation of the assignment: a letter from Paine in reply, dated the 24th, was also put in, enclosing the deeds.) I then prepared the draft deed, got it engrossed, and wrote to Paine that it was ready for execution—it was an absolute assignment of the house in East-bourn Terrace—on 4th October the deceased and Paine called at the office together—I read it over to her and she executed it—Paine asked me to keep it for the present, and he would let me know what to do with it—on 12th October I received a letter from Paine, dated the 11th and saying "We are in receipt of the lease, &c., of Eastbourne Terrace"—I had explained to him that in order to complete the title he ought to be is possession of the original lease of the ground on which the house was built, and I sent it to the Shrubbery by post, and never saw either Paines or Miss Maclean after that.

Cross-examined. I saw Miss Maclean twice; on the first occasion when she made her will, for about half an hour, and on the second occasion for 20 minutes to half an hour—I noticed that she limped into the room lamely, but I saw no deformity—she did not appear to be all acting under compulsion—she seemed a perfectly free agent—there was not a word, look, to sign from Paine as if he was influencing her—he was exceedingly polite to her in every way, taking her shawl and her gloves, and so on—to the best of my judgment she was not drunk, or I should not have allowed her to sign the document—this is the deed she signed.

ALFRED PAUL WATKINS . I reside at 54, Folgate Street, Woroester, and am a land agent and surveyor, and a wine and spirit merchant—I am agent for the Gresham Life Insurance Office—I know paine he first called upon me on Wednesday, 17th September—no one was with him—it was about 10 a.m.—he said, "I am living with a lady at a place called the Shrubbery, Broadway; we live there as man and wife, but we are not married," that a sum of money would leave her if she married, and he wanted to insure her life—I told him that I could not take a proposal from him unless he could tell me that he had some insurable interest it her life—he said he had been connected with the New York Life Office, but they would not insure female lives—he then said that he would bring

the lady to my office, and that she should make the proposal—I told him that I was leaving Worcester that morning, and if he brought her it must be soon—he called again with Miss Maclean, about 11 o'clock—I filled up a proposal form for the amount stated, 250l.—Mr. Paine and Miss Maclean gave me the information jointly, and Miss Maclean signed it; he gave me as references himself and her brother, Dr. Maclean, who was in America, and he could not send the forms to him—one of the questions was whether she was sober and temperate—he said that she was strictly sober and temperate, and she said the same herself—when he brought her in she seemed excited and flurried a great deal, and he told me she was very much put about and excited by the death of her mother, and her brother's going abroad, and he asked me to give her a little brandy—I gave her about a table-spoonful with cold water in it—he said that she was excited by dressing rather hurriedly to come to my office, having been in bed on the first occasion—he asked me whether it was the custom of the Gresham office to pay immediately after proof of death, or whether we took three months—I told him three months—on the first occasion that he came he said the lady thought she was pregnant, but that he himself did not think so—I made an appointment with our insurance doctor, Dr. Everett, to examine her—on the following day I sent up the proposal to the chief office, and made my own report on the case, and the insurance was declined—they appeared to be on very affecttionate terms—he appeared very kind to her, too much so before a stranger; he called her "diaries" and "darling."

Cross-examined. I did not hear her use any terms to him—he told me that the New York office paid on proof of death—she was perfectly sober.

Tuesday, February 17th, 1880.

DAVID EVERETT . I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons carrying on my profession at Worcester—on 18th September last the prisoner and Miss Maclean called on me—they were strangers to me—Paine said, "Mr. Everett, I have come to you at Mr. Watkins's request to examine this lady, who has made a proposal to the Gresham; I am her friend"—I then proceeded to put to her the usual questions, and received her answers—I examined her—I elicited from her partly the facts of the case, and other facts I arrived at from my own personal observation—I examined the lungs, and as far as I could find they were sound—I examined the heart—with the exception of its being a little feeble, it appeared to me to be sound, but I found that she was very deformed in the pelvis, so much so that if she became pregnant, and went to the full time, in all probability parturition would be attended with fatal, or at any rate most serious results, and in consequence of that condition alone I recommended the office not to take the life, and it was not accepted—she stated, and Paine also stated, that her habits were temperate—I believe the terms she used were that she partook moderately of wine—that was suggested to her by Paine—my impression was that there was no such enlargement of the liver as to be very notable in a person so much deformed, and there was nothing whatever about her appearance to lead me to anticipate any speedy termination to her life.

Cross-examined. She had a delicate appearance—she was not undressed, but I should have formed a judgment if she had been very large, if the abdomen was swollen—I discovered the deformity of the pelvis by passing

my hand under her clothes, at her back and round the pelvis—I believe it was on the right side—the indication of the deformity was the prominence of the spine backwards, and the elevation of the hips on the right side—my attention was not drawn to the liver by any considerable swelling, and when I asked if she had any liver trouble, she said, "No. I have not"—I know a disease called cirrhosis—that is an advanced state of liver disease—I never heard the name of rottenness applied to it—practically, that is the nature of it—it is substantially an extraneous growth, the healthy tissue of the liver has become destroyed by the presence of a new deposit—it is brought on rather quickly—I did not examine the kidneys.

Re-examined. I simply examined the lady for the office, and I never saw her before or since, except one day I think in the street.

JAMES BRICK . I keep the Swan Inn, at Broadway, Worcestershire—on Monday, the 3rd of November last, I sent a waggonette to the Shrubbery—my driver was a man named Kyte—Mr. Paine had ordered it on the previous Saturday—on the Monday morning I went to the house, between 9 and 10 o'clock, and saw the prisoner, who asked me to carry Mrs. Paine out of the bedroom to the carriage, because he was not able—I then went upstairs to the bedroom on the first-floor, and found a lady sitting there dressed, ready for travelling—she appeared to be in a very bed state, I should think, for travelling—she could not speak to me—I took her in my arms, lifted her from the couch, carried her down the stairs, and put her in the waggonette—she could not stand—her face was swollen—Fanny Matthews was standing in the hall dressed, ready for traveling—there was no one else at the house besides myself, Paine, Fanny Matthews, and the driver of the waggonette—after I put the lady into the carriage I went away, leaving it at the door—I had known the lady before at Broadway as Miss Maclean—the Swan Inn from the Shrubbery is about 200 yards—I had not seen the lady out for a month, perhaps, or more.

Cross-examined. The shrubbery is a two-storied house—this (produced) is a photograph of it—I did not hear the deceased speak as I was carrying her downstairs—I did not hear her speak at all, not to any one; that I am perfectly certain of.

By the COURT. Broadway is a village of about 1,700 in habitants, about 21 miles from Worcester—there is only one medical man there, Dr. Beadles—there is no solicitor.

JOSEPH KYTE . I am a fly-driver, and employed by the last witness—on the morning of the 3rd November I took a waggonette to the Shrubbery—I got there about 9 o'clock, and saw Mr. Paine about five minutes after—he came out and asked me to fetch the luggage—I could not manage it—Mr. Paine called Mr. Brick, and he carried Miss Maclean into the waggonette—she appeared very ill—after she was put into the waggonette we waited half an hour, and Miss Maclean remained in the waggonette—during that time Mr. Paine and Fanny Matthews came out once or twice—I did not hear either of them say anything to Miss Maclean—I afterwards drove the three to the railway-station at Evesham, a distance of about six miles—about half way we stopped at the Sandys Arms—Mr. Paine went in there and came out with a half-pint bottle and a glass—it looked like pale brandy—I did not see him do anything with it, I was looking to the horses—he took the glass and bottle back into the

Sundays Arms—we then went on, and stopped opposite the Crown Hotel, Evesham—Mr. Paine got out there, and told me to drive to the station and wait till he came—the signalman, named Hall, came out, and I lifted Miss. Maclean out of the waggonette on to the step, and he carried her in his arms into the waiting-room—that was the last I saw of her—I did not hear her speak.

Cross-examined. I saw the glass taken back, not the bottle—I had a glass of whisky, which Mr. Paine gave me.

EDWARD HALL . I am a signalman at the Evesham Station—I remember her the prisoner coming to the station early in November—I saw the waggonette driven by the last witness—Miss Maclean and Miss Matthews were in the waggonette—I lifted the lady out and carried her into the waiting-room on the down side—she appeared to be intoxicated—she could not stand—I noticed that when I was taking her out of the wagonette—she tried to stand and could not—she went down on her kness—I put her on a bench in the waiting-room—at that time the prisoner was not there—he came about 15 minutes later—Fanny Matthews was there—she told me I was to label the luggage to Paddington—when the prisoner came he told me to carry Miss Maclean across from the down waiting-room to the up platform—a porter named Taylor assisted me to carry her to a third-class carriage—she looked intoxicated—there was a half-pint bottle with what appeared to be brandy in it in the waggonette—it was full—I handed it from the waggonette to the lady's maid, Matthews.

Cross-examined. I cannot tell whether the bottle had brandy, or brandy and water, or sherry in it—I did not notice the smell of her breath—I was close to her—this was about 20 minutes past 11—they were there about half an hour—I had seen her three or four times before; I don't think I ever saw her with Paine before; she was always deformed; she could walk very slowly; she could walk across our platform and along it; she walked with difficulty—I had heard that she was in the habit of drinking; I had never seen her intoxicated before this—I had heard she was in the habit of drinking.

GEORGE TAYLOR . I am porter at the Evesham Station—I assisted the last witness to carry a lady from the waiting-room to the carriage—she looked weak—the face was puffed up and bloated out—she was not capable of walking.

FANNY MATTHEWS . My father lives at Broadway—he is a gardener—before 11th September last year I had been a domestic servant in London—I left my service at that time and went back to my father—he was not exactly working for Mr. Paine; he had been laying the garden, getting it ready for the time Mrs. Maclean was to come there—in consequence of something my father told me, I went to the Shrubbery to seek a situation there; it was on Saturday, 13th September, I went first about 10 o'clock in the morning—the Shrubbery is at the bottom of the village—there is a house adjoining it, it is what is called a semi-detached house—I saw Mr. Paine first, he asked me into the kitchen, and called Mrs. Paine downstairs to me—I had seen her before in Broadway, but not to know anything about her—the result was that I was engaged as servant, and I went in about two hours afterwards to stay for good—there was no other servant—Mr. and Mrs. Paine and myself were the occupants of the house—I remained there until we left for London on 3rd November—Mr.

and Mrs. Paine slept on the first floor, I slept in a room over theirs—I supposed that they were married—they had their meals very irregularly—I prepared the breakfast—Mr. Paine used to come down to breakfast, Mrs. Paine stayed upstairs, she has been down two or three times, that is all—she was very uncertain as to getting up; she was scarcely ever dressed; she used partly to dress herself and stay in her bedroom very much; she laid in bed a great deal—dinner was anytime—I saw so little of her at first that I scarcely knew whether she was well or ill—I did not go into her bedroom during the day—Paine tidied the room the first week, emptied the basins and so on—I only went into her bedroom on the Thursday, the day Mrs. Biddle called from Blockely—I went in after dinner; Miss Maclean was not in bed then, she came down to dinner—I don't know whether she had anything to drink the first week, it had been ordered in, but it was taken upstairs into the bedroom, an I never saw it afterwards; it was liquor, different sorts, I could not say what; it was spirits, in bottles—I am speaking of the first week—I could not say how many bottle their were, I don't remember—as they were brought in I put them on the kitchen table, and Paine took them upstairs into the bedroom—when bottle were empty, sometimes paine has brought them out and put them on the landing window and I took them away, and sometimes he brought them down himself—on the first Monday I was there, the 15th, Mr. and Mrs. Paine went to Worcester and returned on Wednesday evening about 7 o'clock—when they went Paine locked up every room in the house except my bedroom and the kitchen, and took the keys with him—on the first Sunday week after I was there Mrs. Paine made a statement to me—we had a fowl for dinner that day, and I asked Paine if I might take Miss Maclean's dinner up—I always called her Mrs. Paine—he said "No I will take it up when I have had my own," and when he had had his own he took some up with some sherry in a glass, and when I cleared dinner away I noticed that he brought Miss Maclean's dinner down untouched—I said "How is it that Mrs. Paine cannot eat her dinner? what can I get for her? What does she want?" and he said "Oh! drink, of course, as per usual"—he then I said was to clean myself and go out, and I then asked him if I might go up and make her bed first?—he said "No; you go out; I will attend to that"—I said it was not a right thing for a gentleman like him to be emptying basins and making beds—however, he said he would do it—on the same day, after I had cleaned myself to go out he came into the kitchen and asked me if I had heard any one say that they were not married—I said "No sir"—he said "Well, to prove we are, wait a moment and I will fetch a certificate"—he went upstairs and came back with a piece of paper in his hand—there was on it "Lewis Paine and Annie Mclean, married the 24th day of March"—he said "If any one should say we are not, you can say we are"—I went out about 4 o'clock and stayed out till about 9 o'clock—he said he was going to lock up all the doors and go to bed, and I was to take the back kitchen door key so that I could let myself in—when I came back I went to Miss Maclean's room—she was in bed—Paine was not there—she was caring—she was undressed in bed—she seemed very much distressed—I had some conversation with her—she asked me to get her a glass of milk—I got her the milk and she drank it—I did not notice her mouth—Paine came in after a little time—he said to Miss Maclean, "Well, how are you now,

dearie?—they spoke affectionately to each other—I made he bed and left for the night—I went into the room next morning, Monday, the 22nd—she was in bed—at my request she came down and had breakfast with Paine—I cannot remember whether she took any breakfast—she went upstairs afterwards—during the day Paine said to me that he wished that poor little devil could get about better—I asked him what was the matter with her—he said, "Don't you know she's pregnant?"I said "No, sir"—he said, "You look surprised;" and added, "Oh yes, she is; she is five or six months gone"—I then left the kitchen—the next morning she came down to breakfast, but I do not remember whether she ever did afterwards—I was more in the room after that—they were affectionate in appearance and in talk—Paine seemed to have influence ever her sometimes—I have seen Paine give her spirits—she has asked for food, and Paine has got up and given her liquors, spirits—he has given her at different times whisky, and gin, and brandy—he used to give it her in the glass belonging to the water bottle, from half to three parts full of nest spirits—Miss Maclean said she could not take it—she would say, "Oh, Lewis, I cannot take it"—because it burnt her mouth—I have taken the glass out of his hand and put it on the table, and Paine has left the room—on other occasions he has said, "Do as I tell you; take it; it will do you good"—she would take it then—she has shown me her mouth—it was very much inflamed and raw, and under her tongue were some little blisters which she called ulcers—they were white in colour—Paine has given her spirits more than once while we were at the Shrubbery—I have seen him do it two or three times—there were spirits in the room, in the wardrope, on the first shelf above the well—she could get to them by means of a chair; she could move across the room—there were bottles and glasses near the bed—a great deal of liquor came to the place—it was mostly spirit, but there was also sherry—the bottle were usually taken up to the bedroom—a jar of sherry was kept in the cellar, and a jar of gin in a little cupboard under the kitchen dresser and there was a jar of whisky in the housekeeper's room—I once carried down 16 empty bottles in one lot—they had had spirits in them; that was when I had been there between three or four weeks—I have also taken them down one or two at a time—Paine himself drank a great deal—the first three or four weeks I was there he was scarcely was sober—afterwards he was less frequently intoxicated—Miss Maclean said she was found of oysters—I have heard Her ask Paine for oysters, and he has passed it off to something else—has asked Paine for various kinds of food, and he would leave the room, or talk of something else—he used to give her spirits, and say that that was her polite way of asking for them—sometimes she took them with water—sometimes she has taken them willingly, and sometimes against her will—she appeared to be entirely under his influence when she took the spirits—he had, great influence over her—I remember Paine going to Worcester on one occasion—he took Miss Maclean with him—it was about a fortnight after the first visit—Paine told me he took a box of plate with him—I had not seen the plate in the house before—they went on a Tuesday and came back on the following Monday—Miss Maclean was quite intoxicated when she came back—Paine lifted her out of the conveyance, and stood her on the gravel—he then came into the house and left her—he was a great deal the worse for liquor—when I went out Miss Maclean staggered backWards,

and fell on to the ground—I ultimately carried her into the dining-room, and Pain took here upstairs—after that she kept her room, but was not always in bed—about a week after that Paine woke me up one night, and asked me to fetch the doctor—Miss Maclean was ill—I fetched Dr. Beadles, of Broadway—I then saw Miss Maclean; she appeared to Have been drinking—Paine gave her spirits after this, but I cannot Remember whether more then once—on the 13th of October we all went To a "bull-roast" at Stratford-on-Avon—Paine got into trouble there, and was locked up—he had drawn a revolver and presented it at somebody—he was bailed out—I frequently told Paine that Miss Maclean ought not to have so much drink—he said that it was her money, and if she liked to spend it so foolishly she could—Pain went away to London on Thursday, the 16th of October—Mrs. Porter and I attended to Miss Maclean in the meantime—I was always in the house—Miss Maclean did Not ask me for much drink during that time—she had very little indeed, and That was very weak—it was so weak it was so weak that she said it was enough to makes Her sick—she got better till the Sunday, when she began to fret a good deal—Pain came back the Wednesday following—I told him she had been much better while he was away, and that she had had less to drink and more to eat—he talked of taking her to London for medical advice—he said when she got to London she could have as much as she liked and be d——d to her—he was sober when he said that—he told me that she had been craving for something to drink—we started for London on Monday, the 3rd of September—Dr. Beadles had come a second time Before then—on the morning we left, Miss Maclean took a bath, and had Some coffee and an egg for breakfast—she seemed low in spirits; she had Something the matter with her feet, and could not walk—I don't know What it was; it was nothing to be seen; she had to be helped—Paine took With him a half-pint bottle of brandy from the Swan at Broadway—we reached Paddington about four o'clock that afternoon—Miss Maclean was helped out of the carriage into a cab—amongst other stations the train stopped at Oxford—a glass of some spirit was got, of which I and Miss Maclean partook—after leaving Paddington we called at a public-house in Pread Street—Pain fetched Miss Maclean some spirits from the puplice-house—we then drove to 128, Seymour Place, Marylebone—Paine fetched the landlord of the coffee-house out—the landlord carried Miss Maclean upstairs into ta room—Miss Maclean did not seem to me to be The worse for liquor—she was quite sensible, and was talking tome all The way—Paine did not stay many minutes—Miss Maclean did not want To go to bed, and sat in an arm-chair by the fire—Paine came back about Eight o'clock in the evening—he had nothing with that I can remember—he took his hat and lay down on the bed—he was the Worse for liquor, but not entirely drunk—he said to Miss Maclean that He was awfully "dickey," and without Miss Maclean saying anything at all to him, he called her a drunken little b——and a d——little devil—he said, "Do you think I am going to stay here to-night? Not if I know it"—he got off the bed and and was coming found the table to go towards Miss Maclean—he got past me when I got up out of the chair and said, "For God's sake, Mr. Pain, do hold your tongue."—he pushed me on One said and said, "Oh Lewis, do give you too many"—I left the room

Then, and went down to the front door—a few minutes afterwards Paine Came down—he something under his coat—I was speaking to Mr. Powell, and I asked Paine not to go away—he said he was not going to Sleep there if he knowed it—after he had gone I went back to Miss Maclean, and gave her a bath—Mrs. Powell came in, and Miss Maclean asked her for something to drink—she said she wanted a little drop of gin-and-water, which she took—she had nothing more that night—I slept on the floor—Paine came the next morning a little after 8—He did not stay long, but went out and came back about 10 o'clock—he asked me to go out with him, in the presence of Miss Maclean—When we got out he said it was to buy me a jacket—he gave me a sovereign—he selected a jacket, for which I gave 15s., and gave him back the 5s.—we were not away more than an hour and a half, as long as ever it was and then we went back—he bought some bread and cheese, which we had at a public-house, with a glass of ale each—when we got back Miss Maclean had a little drop of weak rum-and-water—about 3 o'clock in the afternoon Paine, who had gone away, came back—he washed and shaved, and then went out to the Museum Tavern—he returned about 6 o'clock—Miss Maclean had another little drop of rum-and-water then—Paine had brought it in in the morning, about half a pint—that evening he called me out of the room, and said he had taken lodgings and wished me to leave—I said I could not leave Miss Maclean there by herself—he said, "I am going out now, and I insist upon your leaving—I am going out before you, and I will get somebody to look after her"—he said I was to come to 31, Nutford Place—I did go there, and we stayed there as man and wife—he gave me ring, a common one—he afterwards exchange it for another, about a fortnight after—he Gave me a gold one—the next morning I went back to Mrs. Powell's—She did not tax me with having stayed at Nutford Place—she asked me Where I had been, and I said that that was no business of hers—we had Words, and I ultimately left the house—I never went back again or saw Miss Maclean again—that was on the 5th of November—after I left I stayed at Nutfored Place till the following Wednesday—after that I went to Broadway with Paine—we went first to Evesham, and stayed, when we returned to London—we came back to the Sussex Hotel, and stayed there till the Wednesday following, when we went to Brighton and stayed there a week—that was after Miss Maclean had died—I came up to give my evidence at the Coroner's inquest, after which we went back to Brighton again, to Titchfield Terrace—at these various places I and Paine passed as man and wife—I was informed of Miss Maclean's death on the morning following—we were then staying at the Sussex Hotel—Paine told me very little about Miss Maclean—I asked Him how she was, and he used to tell me—that was all that I knew—he did not say anything about her death that I remember—two days after Miss Maclean's death he said, "Fanny, if you will only trust me, and believe what I say, you shall be Mrs. Pain. Two-thirds of the property at the Shrubbery would belong to me; the other was Norman Maclean's—the second night we were at Nutford Place I said I was not willing to stay with him—I said it was not a thing for me To stay there with a married man—he said "For all you know Miss Maclean is not my wife"—he said "Now if you will keep your temper I

will tell you the truth"—he said, "After the death of Mrs. Maclean, Norman Maclean sent for me, and asked me if I would go down to Broadway and live with Miss Maclean as her supposed husband, as she was supposed to be pregnant"—and he added that Norman Maclean had given him 600l.—he said that the certificate of marriage he had shown me had been drawn out by Norman Maclean—the morning we left Nutford Place away—that was the plate left at home for their use—i saw by a the plate away—that was the plate left at home for their use—I saw by a ticket that it had been pledged for 8l.—he did not tell me what he had done with the first lot of plate—I remember going to a Mr. Lloyd's house on the Sunday before Miss Maclean died—Mr. Lloyd was a friend of mine a plumber near Primrose Hill—I went there after my sister—there was some conversation about Miss Maclean—Paine was with me—my sister asked where she was and Paine refused to tell—he gave me a look not to tell—he also pulled out the same revolver that had been taken from him at Stratford and presented it at me—it was loaded in seven chambers—I know that, because he afterwards unloaded it in the presence of Mr. Lloyd—he told me afterwards that he presented it at me because he was afraid I was going to say something about Miss Maclean's drinking—he was perfectly sober at the time—I remember going to the inquest with Paine on Thursday, the 26th November—I said to him, "Mr. Paine, I shall have the question put before me, 'Who ordered all these spirits?'"—he said "Say you did at Mrs. Paine's request, and that will clear me."—I said, "I will; I will not stand the blame of that as I am not guilty of"—I did make a statement before the Coroner—by being urged on by Paine all along I said I would say that he and me ordered them—I did say so, but I did not order them—we had been living at Titchfield Terrace before the inquest, but not as man and wife—my sister was there—Paine came back there after the inquest, and when I got back I found him there before me—a lady named Mrs. Louisa Paine appeared at the inquest—he said to me, "Fancy that Look being there"—I said, "Yes, fancy you owning that she is your wife"—he said she was not his wife, but he was obliged to own that she was, as he was afraid they would charge him with bigamy—I had been in Court when he owned she was his wife—we went away to Brighton on the Friday morning, and stayed till the Wednesday morning—on the 8th of December we went to the Coroner's office to get some clothes of mine—Paine would not go without me—there was a portmanteau there, which was given to him—he said that it was not my things that he wanted the portmanteau so much for as the ticket for the plate, which was hidden between the lining and the leather of the portmanteau—Paine made a statement before the Coroner about the bottles in the wardrobe—he told me to say that I accidentally found them unknown to him, and that he knew nothing about them—he said that would be in his favour—I said I should not—I was arrested on the 16th of December—Paine was arrested at the same time—I have been at Newgate till yesterday, when I was discharged.

Cross-examined. This business about the revolver occurred on the 16th November, I believe it was—the day before she died—the prisoner had not said anything to me about my giving evidence—it surprised me a good deal his drawing out the revolver and pointing it at me—I had no notion what it was for—we had been on affectionate terms—he had not

drawn a revolver upon me before—I was not present when he used one at Stratford, but I heard that he was taken into custody—I found Hiss Maclean by the Town Hall, and waited with her—I heard that Paine had to get bail—I never knew that any of Miss Maclean's plate had been pawned to pay the fine, till I saw the tickets—I did not know that he meant me to commit perjury—I do not know what perjury is exactly—I dare say there is harm in it—I don't know that taking a false oath is committing perjury, not when I was compelled to do it by other people—supposing other people ask me to tell a falsehood on oath, I am not aware that that would be asking me to commit perjury—I did not know that I was committing perjury in giving false evidence before the Coroner, it was done in entire ignorance—it is impossible to say when Paine spoke to me for the first time about my evidence—he spoke to me frequently—it was between the time when he used the revolver and the time we returned from Brighton—he spoke to me first about it at Brighton—we were there about a week after he produced the revolver—I did not know that there was to be an inquest till the day he attended Miss Maclean's funeral, as supposed, and he returned and told me there was to be an inquest—I did not think there was any harm in it—I was brought up at the Roman Catholic School, Broadway—I was there 14 or 15 years—I learned there that it is sinful to tell lies, but what was I to do when I was compelled to do it?—I did not think it was sinful—I told some lies before the Coroner, but not a lot—I knew that I was doing it—I was on my oath—I did not think it was sinful—I was only examined once, and then committed to Newgate—I knew what I was there for when I heard the charge read—I have told a different story now, because I wish to tell the truth,' and nothing but the truth, and relieve my conscience, without any reference to my fate—I did not make a statement with a view of being called here as a witness—I did not know that I should be called—the Roman Catholic chaplain of the gaol Tinted me, but I did not make any statement to him—I first made my present statement to my father and Mr. Lloyd of my own free will—that young gentleman (Mr. Batchelor) came to me about my evidence, but before that I wrote to the Solicitor to the Treasury about it—so far as I can remember, Mr. Lloyd brought me the address of the Solicitor to the Treasury—I have been talking to Lloyd since I have been out of Court—I did not tell him what I was going to say, and he did not know—I have not had my statement read over to me since it was given, or seen a copy of it—it was got by one of my friends, I don't know whether it was Lloyd or my sister—Lloyd and I have talked over the statement, but I never said anything to him that was in my statement—one day when he came to me at the cell he said he had a copy of my statement, but not with him—last night I slept with my sister in St. George's Board—Lloyd was not there—no other persons were sleeping with us—I saw Lloyd last night—I went with my friends to West Square, and saw him—all that was said about my statement was to speak correctly, and not too fast, and answer the questions put to me—they did not tell me my statement would acquit me, they never knew nor did I—I do not know whether they ever saw my statement—I never saw anything of my statement after it went out of the prison. (Lloyd was here tent out of Court)—neither the whole nor part of my statement was read to me last night, nor did anybody repeat it—I said that I did not know because I did not want to tell a lie, I wanted to

stay and consider—I have been in Lloyd's company this morning, he is very great friend of mine—he is a plumber and house decorator and such as that—I am quite sure I saw nothing of my statement last night, nor do I know where it was—I did not ask about it—I never mentioned it I am sure—I did not believe that Paine was cruelly ill-treating Miss Maclean—I could see that he was giving her improper quantities of liquor, and I thought it was doing her harm—I did not know whether he had a motives or not. (Parts of the witness's statement to the Treasury were here read by Mr. Serjeant Ballantine, in which the witness had stated that the deceased complained to her that Paine had been bullying her because she did not pi up and attend to her duties, and of his pouring liquor down her throat.)—there were other occasions when she told me that he was behaving very cruelly to her, but I do not know whether he was or not—I did see him cramming liquors down her throat, but I did not know whether he was doing it wilfully or not—I did not know but what they were married—I always behaved with perfect kindness to her, there never was a word of unkindness passed between her and me during the whole time I was with her—I always had great respect for her; she did not treat me as if I was a servant, she treated me as a friend always—on 3rd November, the day they arrived at the coffee-house, I remained there—I will be on my oath that Mrs. Powell never asked me who the lady was or whether she was Paine's wife—I say that because she says I told her they were married in a county church in Worcester, but I never did, for I never knew where they were married—I did not say "She is Mrs. Paine, she was married to Mr. Paine at the church near our village"—I cannot remember whether Mrs. Powell said so at the inquest—I told you that I did not say so before you asked me, because I had a copy of Mrs. Powell's statement brought to me by a detective, I do not know his name—I have not been talking to him outside to-day, I have never seen him—he brought it into the prison—that was after I made the statement to the Treasury—he brought me several statements, I do not know his reason—I just opened them and took a look at them—I did not tell Mrs. Powell that the deceased had been drinking—I was pulling off her stockings—I was not using great violence in doing so, I was doing it quite gently—Mrs. Powell did not say that I ought to pull them off gently, nor did I say that she was a nasty dirty beast, that was the furthest from my thoughts—I read the whole of that in Mrs. Powell's statement—Mrs. Powell never once complained to me of my not taking her up sufficient food—what I am saying is perfectly true—Mrs. Powell has sworn to a lie, and it is wicked in her, and God will reward her for it—I learned that God would reward a person for telling a lie after I made the false statements, that learned me a lesson; indeed it has—I am 19 years old.

Wednesday, February 18th, 1880.

FANNY MATTHEWS (Cross-examination continued). I have seen Mr. Lloyd since I was under examination yesterday—I have been in the same hone with him—he said nothing about these matters, nor did I say anything to him about it—all that he said to me was that he was subpœnaed as a witness—he did not say anything about the way in which I gave my evidence, nor did I ask his opinion upon any part of it—he did not say for what purpose he was to be called—I did not say a single word about what I had been asked—I mean to tell the Jury that I had no conversation with him about my evidence—I was not with him more than five minutes

in the house where we went in and Had something to drink, the King's Head I think, and then, in company with my father and sister, we Went to St. Paul's Cathedral—when we came Out I left Lloyd, and went to some friends of mine, named Emns, at 6, West Street, West Square—I cannot say at what time I got to West Square, but it was before 8 o'clock—my friends occupy the first floor in the house—Lloyd lives at Primrose Hill—he was not at West Street last night or this morning—I came down here this morning with my father—I was not Walking with. Lloyd this morning to my knowledge, nor was I with him alone—I have seen him down in the waiting-room—I will not swear that I was net walking with him this morning—I have spoken to him this morning—we came across from the public-house together—I do not know if we were alone—I will not swear I have not been talking about this case—he has not been advising me what to say—that is the truth—I have spoken to him—he simply asked where I stayed last night—I went to St. Paul's last evening, and left him in a public-house with my sister and another friend—my father may have talked about my evidence, but I will not swear whether it was in the presence of Lloyd—we were walking through the streets, and not all together—we were in separate parties, and all of us, including Lloyd, were discussing this case—when I made an answer yesterday I did not hear Lloyd, who was standing in the Court, call out "No" to something I said—I heard him say he was not a witness—I said in my evidence that Miss Maclean treated me as a friend rather than a servant—I believed her at the time to be married to the prisoner—I have heard that Mrs. Powell says I was found in bed with the prisoner at the Shrubbery—that was at the time when Miss Maclean was treating me as a friend—I said before the Coroner that Paine and I supplied the deceased's victuals—I have given her food—some days she seemed better and some days worse—it is a fact that she was worse after going to Stratford—I do not remember saying that that was in consequence of Paine being locked up—I do not remember saying "the deceased took a great deal of drink, and would have it"—I know no more than what Paine said—I said "It was chiefly gin she took; it was kept in the bedroom"—when I said, "She would have spirits," I can only say what Paine told me—I have heard her ask for a little spirits—I said that she would have spirits because Paine told me to say so—I knew that I was swearing to a falsehood—if I did tell Mrs. Porter that the deceased would have spirits it was in the deceased's presence; I said it to Miss Maclean—I do not know whether I said that it was refuted by me and Paine—I said by the order of Mr. Samson, "Mr. Paine showed the greatest kindness to the deceased;" he did sometimes appear to treat her kindly but not always—I meant to convey what was false for the sake of him, knowing it to be false—I do not remember saying, "She never drank neat spirits;" it is not true; she did drink neat spirits—she was not constantly craving for spirits, both in the absence of Mr. Paine and in his presence—what I mean to say is that she has been forced to take neat spirits in my presence—Paine has poured them out and insisted and said, "Will you do as I tell you and take those"—he has forced it down her throat—before the Coroner I said, "I never saw him give her raw spirits," that was a lie, and I knew it to be a lie when I told it—I was forced to tell it—now I have been telling you all the truth from conscientious motives—everything I have said to-day is true, I have not

told a falsehood intentionally—there is nothing I wish to correct in it—it was about a fortnight after I first entered the prison that my statement was taken—I changed my evidence before the Coroner because I wished to speak the truth—I did not believe it would enable me to escape—I only wished to tell the truth—I saw Lloyd in the gaol several times before I made the statement—I believe it was Lloyd who recommended me to write to the Treasury, but it may have been my sister—I did not see Lloyd alone, as a warder was present, and she heard every word that was said—she was close enough to hear—it was not in a cell—we were not whispering together to my knowledge—I will not swear I did not whisper—Lloyd told me what I was to do was to speak the truth; he did not sty 1 was to lay it all on Paine—we talked the matter over together—I do not know whether his advice was to communicate with the Treasury, and throw the load off my shoulders and put it all on Paine—I do not remember when asked, "Was there much drinking going on?"saying, "Yes; but Paine did all he could to prevent it. She would have drink, but her chief liquor was gin. She sent out for it in bottles," Or "She could not be prevented"—I will not swear I did not say she was a "dirty little devil"—do not press it as I will not swear whether I did or not.

Re-examined. Shortly before we went to London on November 3rd Miss Maclean was not able to wash and dress herself—I had to do all for her—there was no one to send out for gin or other liquor except me—I was in the habit of giving Miss Maclean a bath—her habits were very offend five—I have known Lloyd since May—he is a friend of my sister's—he lives at 5, Angel Bow, near Primrose Hill, with Mrs. Lloyd and one child, and is a builder and decorator—I have been in the habit of going there with my sister—my father was in the Coroner's Court when the Jury found a verdict against me, and he was much distressed—he had come up from the country—Mr. Sampson, a solicitor, appeared for Paine and myself in that Court—my father spoke to me about this matter before I was arrested—I was taken to Newgate, and at that time I had no one to represent me, but afterwards I was told that Mr. Brookes, a barrister, was acting for me—I wrote the following letters: "Newgate, December 20, 1879. Sir,—I am fully prepared to make my statement, and it is my desire to confess the whole truth of what I know from the first day I entered Miss Maclean's and Mr. Paine's service to the day I left him." "Dec. 31, 1879. Sir,—Will you kindly call on me any day at your earliest convenience, as I have something more to say to you"—and I afterwards made a further statement—a gentleman came down and took it—I had no idea that I was to be called as a witness—I did not know that I was about to be acquitted until the case was opened—when I left the Court last night I was with my father, my sister, and three others—Mrs. Ems and her niece, Minnie Wrightson, and Mrs. Bill—they came from Broadway—I do not remember whether I went into two public-houses—Lloyd came in, but he went out directly with my father—my father and mother stayed at a lodging-house—I met Lloyd this morning with my sister as I came across to the Court with my father from the public-house opposite straight into Court—if I walked with him it was only across the road, but I don't remember it—I have told the truth—10 the best of my knowledge I have. (The witness's evidence before the Corover was here read.) Parts of that are not true—I don't know if that is the revolver he pointed at me—Miss Maclean once said, when Paine had been

bullying her about not getting up, how could she get up when he crammed her with spirits?—she seemed much distressed—there was an alteration in her manner when Paine came in—she heard him coming—she looked at him and at me, stopped crying, and looked in a good humour and spoke to him.

By MR. SERJEANT BALLANTINE. When I first went there Miss Maclean had a sort of skin disease on her hands—they peeled all over the back—before I took the situation at the Shrubbery I lived with Mrs. Kirkham, 18, Willis Road, Kentish Town.

by the COURT. Most of the spirits came from Baylis, a grocer, of Broadway—the others came from Mr. Watkins, at Worcester—the largest quantity I have ordered is two bottles, but Paine fetched some—Paine first took liberties with me after the Stratford-on-Avon business; I mean when he was locked up—that happened in the bedroom over the kitchen—there was no intimacy between us in the Shrubbery—that is a spare bedroom—Miss Maclean was in bed in her own room just opposite—it was between 3 and 4 a.m.—Miss Maclean had asked me to sleep there while Mr. Paine was in London, because my bedroom was not fit to sleep in—he slept in Norman's room, the opposite room, over the dining-room—he did not sleep with Miss Maclean after he returned, he said she was so dirty—there are three rooms on that floor—he went to London on 16th October and returned a week alter—I did not know that he was coming into my room—he got into my bed—he remained scarcely five minutes—that was the first liberty—the next was between then and when we came to London—I had been staying up part of the night with Miss Maclean, and was lying down on the bed in my clothes when he came in—it was the same room and about the same time of night, and it also happened there again—I did not know for certain that we were going to London till the Friday, and we came up on the Monday—Paine said on the Friday that he wanted to come London to bring Miss Maclean for medical advice, and that he had business to do—no intimacy occurred between me and Paine till after we came to London.

WILLIAM LLOYD . I am a bricklayer, of Angus Road, Primrose Hill—I have known Matthews eight months; her sister Mary had been to my house more than once; Fanny Matthews came to my house on Sunday, November 16, with Paine; her sister was staying with us; Matthews, in Paine's presence, said that he was her master; I had not previously known him; they stayed a quarter of an hour, and he went out with Mary while tea was getting ready; they came back; Paine threw himself on my bed, and complained of pains in his head; he stayed there till tea was ready, when he got up and took some with us—during tea Paine drew a revolver and presented it at Fanny Matthews; he did not say anything; I told him to put it away; Mrs. Lloyd and Mary shrieked; Fanny said, "If I had known you had that thing I would not have come out with you"—the chambers were loaded; I saw a bullet shine; he took them out and put the barrel in his coat pocket, and the chamber in his breast pocket—I believe this is the pistol, and I believe he told me there were seven barrels—he did not tell me where he was going when he left; he said he thought he was going to take Mary away to nurse his wife—I did not see any more of him till the inquest, when a verdict was given against him and Fanny Matthews—her father went with me and visited her in Newgate—the warder was present—I got a statement of Matthews's evidence from

the Treasury—I was acting for her father—I did not at first rot the statement—I got a letter written and sent it to her father, who signed it and it was sent from Worcester to the Treasury, and then we got the evidence; this is the letter (produced)—I did that partly on my own account—I got a further statement from Newgate of the witnesses—I in. structed Mr. Brooks to appear for her—I was acting as her friend—I did not advise her to throw the blame on Paine—I told her to tell the truth—I did not know until Monday that she was to be acquitted.

Cross-examined. When I saw her in Newgate the first time she had not sent her statement to the Treasury—she did so by my advice, with the purpose of her telling the truth and clearing herself—I explained to her the position she was in as the accomplice of Paine, and that it was that which put her in danger—her object would be to clear herself from that imputation—she told me she was acting under Paine's control—we did not go lengthily into the matter—I told her to tell all, good or bad—I told her that if she showed she acted under Paine's control it would pat her in a better position—I had the statements of the witnesses, but had only read that of Mr. Norman Maclean—I was at the inquest, but did not hear Mrs. Powell give her evidence—I saw Matthews six or seven times in Newgate—the female warder must have heard what I said—I could not tell whether Paine was drunk or sober when he presented the revolver at Matthews—I have not heard Fanny Matthews's evidence this morning; I have been in the further Court—we were not together last night—when we went out of this Court I left her, and did not see her any more till this morning—that is the truth—I saw her this morning at the bottom of the Court here ready to come in, not in the Court, at the bottom of the stairs—I first saw her outside the Court in the road and went up to her, but I don't believe I spoke to her till she got inside the doors of the Court, into the hall—she was with her sister and father.

Re-examined. I was in front of this building in the Old Bailey—I suppose it was 5 or 10 minutes to 10, and when I saw Fanny, Mary, who was with me, joined her, and I went to a public-house opposite, to have a glass of stout—I remember now that Fanny was in there; we were all in that public-house together—I believe we came out together and stood at the bottom of the hall—yesterday afternoon, when the Court broke up, a lady named Emns was with Fanny, and, I believe, her niece and her mother and myself and her sister and father, and one or two more friends, who are strangers to me—I never saw any more of them, I was kept up here to make a bit of a statement, and when I went down I missed the best part of them, and I learned that Fanny's mother and one or two of them had gone to St. Paul's—I did not go outside the Court at all till after I made the statement, and then I went out and joined them at the bottom of Ludgate Hill—we stayed about five minutes in the street, and went to St. Paul's to meet the mother and other friends—we went into St. Paul's—I don't remember going into any other place with Fanny Matthews, but I went to a public-house at the top of Newgate Street with a friend, and had a glass of ale—Fanny was not with us then, she was outside the public-house with her father and others—I then went to the station to look for Fanny and her father but could not find them, and I left their tickets there at 4.30 to pass them to Gower Street—I a subpoena yesterday to attend as a witness.

GEORGE SHEPHERD . I am a member of the Royal College of Surgeons,

practising at Worcester—Paine called on me on 16th September last; that was the first time I had seen him—he asked me to call on his wife at the Exchange public-house, Worcester, where they were staying, to ascertain if she was pregnant, and on the following morning I went and examined her in bed—I found that she was not pregnant—she was much out of health generally—she was suffering from a flatulent distention of the abdomen—she had tenderness over the stomach and liver and pain in the back—her complexion was muddy and her tongue was foul—I afterwards saw Paine in another room—he told me that she had been intemperate, that she had taken stimulants freely, and he asked me to impress upon her that she was injuring her constitution, and I did so—I went back and spoke to her—I saw her again next day, the 18th; I think bus and Paine were together; I did not examine her again—very little passed on that occasion—I found her exactly in the same condition—I afterwards received a letter from Paine—I have not got it—this is my reply, dated the 19th September; I sent it by post, I think to the Shrubbery. (Read: "Dear Sir,—I have carefully examined the water which I received this evening, and am quite sure that it is natural and healthy. I believe your wife 's kidneys are free from disease. From the examination I made the other day I am also certain that pregnancy does not exist. To relieve the pain in the back I suggest that she leaves as all stimulants for a time, keep to the bed or sofa, take a little cooling and slight aperients medicine. I would also recommend her to have, for a night or two, a warm hip bath. I think this will relieve her pain, and very likely bring on the monthly courses. After the bath you may apply a bulla-Donna plaister. You have not sent me your New York Insurance paper, which I am desirous of seeing before' filling up the medical report. I enclose a prescription; please to have it made up at a good druggist's.") Paine had said that he was insured in the New York Company, and that he wished to increase his insurance, but that it would be necessary for him to be re-examined—I had examined him for that purpose—after the examination I made of the lady I formed the opinion that she had indulged too freely in stimulants—I believe the liver was congested—I did not detect any enlargement of it—in her condition it would certainly not be a proper thing for her to take raw spirits.

Cross-examined. I should not recommend raw spirits to anybody—if a person is addicted to drink, it is most difficult to restrain them—I have found it so in my practice—I don't know that it is more so with females—the lady was deformed—I don't think that would interfere with any certain conclusion—I did not observe any blue spot on her side—I did not notice any eczema on her hands—my impression is that her skin was clear and clean—eczema might be the result of long habits of drinking—it is so with some people; it is not invariable—I thought her symptoms showed that her liver was congested, as her other organs were—there was total loss of appetite—she did not appear at all emaciated or badly fed; rather otherwise, I think—her tongue was white and coated, not at all blistered—by taking spirits and abstaining from food she might have her tongue ulcerated—Paine said in his letter that there was no improvement in her symptoms—when I cautioned her as to the danger of continuing spirits she said very little—she said, "Very well," that was all—she did not give me the least reason to think that, being addicted to intemperate habits, anybody induced her to continue them—she did not deny that she was so

addicted—she never suggested that anybody persuaded her—there was nothing in Paine's conduct to lead me to think that he was a cruel or a harsh husband, or anything in her manner that induced me to think she was afraid of him—I should think the healthy weight of the liver of a woman of her size would be about five or six pounds, rather under than not—I should think it would be under 45 ounces—"Quain's Anatomy" is a book of authority.

FERDINAND BEADLES . I am a member of the Royal College of Surgeons, residing at Broadway—I knew the deceased and also her mother—about 20th or 21st September I was called to the Shrubbery to see Miss Maclean—I can't fix the exact date—the girl Matthews fetched me about 2 o'clock in the morning; I got up at once and went to the Shrubbery, where I saw Miss Maclean in bed—I had no conversation with Paine before I saw her—she was in a very excited state—I thought that perhaps it was due to stimulants—I did not notice anything else in her condition—I prescribed for her—I had conversation with Paine about her, and he was in the room—he said he thought she had taken stimulants—I can't recollect his exact words—I told him that stimulants should be avoided—I saw her again, next day I think; she was then better; I think I also saw her the next day, she was then convalescent—about a month later, I think about 21st October, I was fetched by the girl Matthews about 7 o'clock in the evening—when I got to the Shrubbery I found the deceased in bed, in a state of great excitement; she complained of pain in the abdomen, and also of being occasionally faint—I then also supposed it was due to stimulants—I prescribed for her—Paine was not there on that occasion—I saw her again the next evening but one, the 23rd; I did not see Paine then—she was still under excitement—I prescribed for her—I did not attend her after that—on that occasion Mrs. Porter was nursing here and I gave her directions with regard to her treatment—I ordered her a little weak brandy-and-water if she felt faintness coming on—I believe that was the last time I saw her—on the following morning, the 24th, about 9 or 10to'clock, Paine called on me—I told him that I should prefer her consulting a London obstetric physician, as she imagined herself to be pregnant, and as she was so greatly deformed; that she would have friends in London, and I thought it better that she should be removed to where her friends were and be surrounded by her friends—I understood from him that he would remove her to London—I declined making any examination of her—I saw Paine some time afterwards; he called one evening at my house and said, "I have taken her to comfortable lodgings in London,: and two doctors are attending her, and I have asked them to give a statement of the disease she is suffering from, that it may be sent to her brother in America"—to did not give me the names of the medical men—from what I saw of the condition of the lady I did not think she was in any danger, not in immediate danger at any rate—I supposed her to be Mrs. Paine—I had attended her for an eruption on the face, eczemas perhaps six weeks or a month before the time I was called in in September—I had also attended her for an extraordinary twitching of the muscles of the mouth and neck; that was during the time she had the skin eruption—I thought that might be due to a nervous feeling, she had been bitten by a little dog.

Cross-examined. Eczema may arise from a good many causes—I should hardly say it would result from habits of intemperance—I did not state before the Coroner that Paine told me he had called in two doctors—I did

not examine her heart—a person suffering from fatty degeneration of the heart may die at any moment—her tongue was foul on the 21st or 22nd September—furred—I did not think the pulse feeble; it was rather fast—it may be fast and feeble—the tongue was certainly not in a state of ulceration—I observed no blisters; she made no such complaint—I don't think I mentioned to Miss Maclean the dangerous results of indulging in alcohol—I felt some delicacy about it—I agree with Mr. Shepherd that when a woman has once become addicted to drinking it is most difficult to break her of it—I should not think she would require any forcing to take liquor; if any one said so I should disbelieve it.

Re-examined. I think if a woman took half a tumbler of raw brandy it would cause pain—it might make the mouth raw; it might produce small ulcers or blisters—I did not look underneath her tongue—I told Paine that I thought she ought not to have stimulants—I can 't remember toy remark that he made upon that.

ANN PORTER . I reside at the Broadway, Worcester, and am the wife of Charles Porter—I knew Miss Maclean and her mother—I knew the prisoner first in June last—I was called into the Shrubbery on Saturday, 18th October, and I went there every evening up to the following Thursday—during that time Miss Maclean was ill in bed, and complained of a pain in her side and her chest—I assisted in the attendance upon her, and called in Dr. Beadles—I never saw Mr. Paine till the Wednesday evening, he being away; I then gave him Dr. Beadle's orders, and said I thought it advisable to send for him, as she was in a very low and weak state—I said I had given her a little medicine which Dr. Beadles had ordered, and some weak brandy-and-water, and he said, "That shall be seen to"—that was all that passed then—the next evening I went to see the deceased, and Paine came into the room while I was there—she had been crying very much, and I asked her what was the matter—she said he had been very cross with her all day—she asked for something to drink—Paine said "I suppose you want some more brandy?"—she said "No, I do not"—he said "She has drunk a bottle of brandy since I came home last night"—she did not speak at all in reply—I said to Mr. Paine "You should not have given it her; you have exceeded Dr. Beadle's orders altogether"—he said "It is her own money, and let her have it," and left the room—that was between 8 and 9 in the evening—I was in the room about half an hour—I saw no spirits except a little drop, about a wineglassful, which Paine showed me at the bottom of a three-half-pint bottle which he took out of the top part of the wardrobe—after he left the room I helped to get her into bed, she having been on the couch, and then I went home—she could not then stand without support, nor could she do so on either of the previous days that I was there—she asked me to go again, and I went on the following Friday, but was not admitted—I saw Fanny Matthews—I never saw Miss Maclean again.

Cross-examined. I slept there on Tuesday night, the 18th, and left at 4 or 5 a.m., and returned at 8 or 9, and stayed an hour or two—on Monday and Tuesday night I was there all night—Fanny Matthews was also in charge of her, and had to give her anything she asked for—I went there on Saturday night, and Paine did not come until Wednesday evening—I never saw her the worse for drink—she had pains in her chest, and she was fretting a good deal about Paine being away squandering and wasting her property—I never heard her ask for liquor, more

than weak gin-and-water—it was supplied to her weak, and she never complained that it was not strong enough—she did not in the least give me the impression of having been a drunkard, and I never heard that she was not a sober person, but I heard Fanny Matthews say that Paine should not dose her as he had done—I asked her what she meant by "dose her"—she said, giving her the spirits so strong as he did—I have not spoken to Fanny Matthews this morning, nor has she spoken to me—I spoke to her on the day she was released from prison—I did not remind her of that conversation—Fanny Matthews gave the deceased weak gin-and-water the same as I did, if she asked for it, which was every hour or so—I did not give it to her, or see it given to her, three or four times an hour—Mr. Paine said on the Thursday night that she had drunk a whole bottle of brandy from the night before, from the night he came, from Wednesday night to Thursday night—he said that in her presence (I was at home on the Wednesday night)—I afterwards said to her "Why do you take the brandy? I would not take it," and then she said "He makes me drink it"—during the time I was with her she showed no inclination for raw spirits, and she never had any—I did not know of any raw brandy being there—I believe she was a perfectly sober woman, and I believe be now, notwithstanding what Matthews told me—I did not know Mist Maclean till April last.

RICHARD STEPHEN TAYLOR, JUN . I am one of the firm of Taylor and Sons, Solicitors, of Gray's Inn—on Monday, November 10, Mrs. Wilson called on me, and I made arrangements to go to 128, Seymour Place, where Miss Maclean then was—I arrived at about 3 p.m.—I went up into the room where the deceased was, with Mrs. Wilson—I had known Miss Maclean for many years professionally—she was in bed—she appeared to be exceedingly weak, so weak that she could scarcely hold her handkerchief in her hand—I went to make her will, but she was not in a fit state and I came away without her doing so—the day following her death I saw her, and placed myself in communication with the Coroner.

Cross-examined. Mrs. Wilson told me that Miss Maclean wished to make her will, but when I saw her she was utterly unfit to give any directions—she was under the delusion that Paine was lying in the bed with her—she said, "Poor fellow! he had gone out early; he is lying there and has gone to sleep"—she was quite unconscious of what she said—she was possessed of a very small annuity from the East India Company—she was very weak, but her mind was perfectly clear—she was suffering under the extraordinary delusion that Paine was in bed by her side, therefore she was not fit to make a will—she was the very reverse of appearing to be in terror of him.

By the COURT Paine was not in the room or in the house, I know, because I met him on my way home—I had known the lady all her life—I never heard a word about her taking to drink till after her mothers death, I always thought she was sober—my firm had been for many years the family solicitors before my time—I had never acted for her personally—I never saw Paine till he came with Miss Maclean one day in August to sign the transfer of a mortgage—Paine then said they were going to be married soon, and discussed the terms of the marriage settlement—we had some trouble and correspondence through not knowing whether she was married or not—the terms of the marriage settlement were discussed—I never prepared the settlement—I think Paine sent it to us in draft.

EDWARD POWELL I keep a coffee-house at 128, Seymour Place, Marylebone—I have lived there twelve mouths last August, with my wife—in November last we had a servant named Ann Slaughter—in March or April last Paine came to my house with his wife, the one in Quebec Street, and two children—they stayed five days—J did not know him before—I saw him twice between that time and the November following—on those occasions he came alone and had a bedroom—at the end of October he sent me to take care of a large wooden box, like an ordinary travelling one—on Monday, 3rd November, I received this letter: "Dear Sir,—Will you kindly send the heavy box I sent to you to No. 9, Great Quebec Street, with the enclosed letter; also get a bedroom ready for to-morrow night, Monday, and oblige yours truly, Lewis James Paine." A letter was enclosed addressed to Mrs. Paine, 9, Great Quebec Street, and I sent the box and the letter there at 10 or 11 a.m.—on the same day, about five o'clock, a cab came to my door, and I saw the prisoner, Fanny Matthews, and a lady in it—Paine asked me if I had received his letter that morning—I said, "Yes"—he said, "Have you a bedroom?" and I said, "Yes"—he said, "I have had a little trouble lately, and I hire with me an invalid lady who is entrusted to my care, with money: it will pay us well, as there is money in it; you won't have her in your house long; she is very ill; I think she is dying now"—he asked if I would get her carried upstairs—I then went to the cab—the lady appeared very ill, and said, "Oh, dear, "Or something—I took her in my arms—it seemed to hurt her to move her—I carried her up to the bedroom, the back room on the first floor—I laid her in an arm-chair—I can't remember whether she said anything—Fanny Matthews had come up, and the servant was lighting the fire, or had just lighted it—I then left the room—my wife was at home—about ten minutes after I left the room I saw Paine going away—he said, "I have brought her up to get a certificate for her"—he did not tell me where he was going, or when he would return—the next day I saw him at 9 or 10 in the morning—he came downstairs and asked me to change a cheque, giving me one of his own on the Union Bank for 4l.—I gave him 3l., and he told me to keep the 1l. balance on account—he said, "I want the money to go out to buy Matthews a jacket, she has been so kind to her mistress"—Matthews was, I think, then upstairs—shortly after Paine went out with some one—I don't know who it was—I and my wife then went to Miss Maclean in the bedroom—that was about eleven in the morning—she was in bed—I don't remember seeing any one with her—I noticed two tumblers on the table near the right-hand of the bed—some spirits appeared to be in them, and my impression was that it was either brandy and whisky or brandy and rum—in one glass there was brandy and in the other rum, the colours being different—each tumbler was more than half full—I put them both on the mantelpiece—I and my wife spoke to Miss Maclean, and she replied—she appeared to be very distressed—I was not in the room more than five or ten minutes—she spoke to me in a rather wandering way—I did not see her again that day, but I think I saw Paine in the afternoon—he went away on Tuesday, the 11th, to Worcester, as he told me, and came back on the Saturday evening, when I had some conversation with him after he had been upstairs—I said to him that Miss Maclean had been asking for something to drink—he said, "Oh, let her have all she wants; it is a sin to prolong such a life as that"—upon that he left the house—this conversation

occurred about 7 in the evening—I did not make any reply when he made that observation—he did not tell me what he went to Worcester for—I saw Miss Maclean on several occasions while he was away—she remained in bed and was very ill—I do not remember seeing her up—I was in the bedroom once when Paine was there—I think it was after his return from Worcester—Dr. Thorman and my wife were also present—I had only looked in, and meant to go out, when Paine stopped me—he said, "I want you to hear this; I want to get at her"—he then poured something out of a bottle into a tumbler; it appeared to be spirits, and said, "Now, Annie deary, I want you to take this"—I don't remember what she said in reply, but she took it very reluctantly—Paine then said to Dr. Thorman, "I want you to hear this. Now, Annie deary, what did Norman give you for his share of the house in Eastbourne Terrace?"—she answered directly, "Six hundred pounds"—Paine said to her, "You are an artful little devil"—that is all I remember—I don't remember what sort of a bottle it was that he pointed the stuff out of; I did not take particular notice of it—I do not remember how much was poured into the tumbler—Miss Maclean during that time was sitting in a chair—I was with her about an hour before she died, on Monday, 17th, at 9 in the evening—I had seen her on the Sunday, when she seemed more herself—she did not then appear to wander so much in her mind—I sat with her below she died—she then seemed to be rather anxious about her end—Dr. Thorman had been attending her—he was called in on Thursday, the 6th, and he came daily from that time—I did not know him before—Mr. Waller was our doctor, and I recommended Mr. Paine to get him before Dr. Thorman came, Mr. Waller having attended me during a fever—this was on the Wednesday—I told Paine that I would fetch him—I asked him whether he was not going to get a doctor, and he said, "She has seen several doctors"—that was on Wednesday or Thursday morning—when I offered to fetch Mr. Waller he said he would get one himself, and soma time in the afernoon he came with Dr. Thorman—I called in Mr. Waller about 9 o'clock in the evening of the same day—I did it at the suggestion of my wife—Mr. Waller saw Miss Maclean that evening, and I believe he spoke to her, but he declined to attend her as another medical man was attending—he was called in again on Sunday night or Monday morning at 1 o'clock—I saw Paine about a quarter of an hour or 10 minutes before the deceased died—two females were with him; one of them he introduced to me as his daughter—I don't remember his saying anything to me about the other—they were in the bedroom—I should think each of them was nearly forty years of age—I heard the lady whom Paine introduced as his daughter ask if there was not a doctor attending Mis Maclean, and he said, "Yes, two"—about that time I left the room—I saw the ladies shortly after on the doorstep—I then went up to the bedroom again; and Miss Maclean did not live 10 minutes after—I saw Paine with the ladies, and he went with them, and in less than 10 minutes afterwards Miss Maclean was dead—I was paid 3l. 10s. altogether; part of it, 2l. 10s., being for damage to the room—there were nurses employed who sat up with the lady at night—I charge ordinary persons 2s. 6d. or 3s. per night for this room.

Cross-examined. There has been no money question between me and Paine since this lady died, that I remember—I made a claim—I asked

Mr. Paine in the street for it; I met him one day accidentally—I asked him for what was due to me—I asked him to pay my bill, I did not ask him for any particular sum—he had had one bill—I should have been satisfied at the moment if I had had that; I thought it was better to have some than none—I don't remember the amount I gave him first, he knows it—it may have been about 3l.—the other bill was 10l. 4s. 10d., that included all—I don't exactly remember what he said when I asked him for it in the street—he said I should have it by-and-by, something to that effect—I did not apply to him again for it—I saw him shortly afterwards and he told me I was to apply to Mr. Taylor, of Field Court, for it—I did apply—I did not get it then, I have got it from Dr. Maclean, that was perhaps a month or six weeks before I gave my evidence before the Coroner—I mean the inquest was perhaps a month before—Mr. Humbert had told me he would see Br. Maclean about it, and probably he would pay me—I did see Dr. Maclean—I am quite sure I had given my evidence before that—it would be six or seven weeks after I had given my evidence at the inquest that I received the money from Dr. Maclean—I am not quite sure as to the date, it was about three weeks ago—I have perhaps said some things to-day that I did not say at the inquest—I can't remember I and my wife having a row with Paine in the inquest room about the money—I won't say we had not—I don't remember; that I swear—I said before the Coroner "Paine asked the deceased what she gave Norman for his share in the house"—that is true—I may not have said before the Coroner that Paine repeated the words twice, "I want you to hear this"—when I say that the deceased took the spirits reluctantly, I mean she did not wish to take it, she offered some objection to taking it—I don't remember anything she said—I know by what I saw that she did not want to take it—I may not have stated that before to-day—I am not thoroughly acquainted with my evidence before the Coroner, not all of it—I have not studied it—I have not read it—I read it at the time but not since—I omitted that, because I was never asked—I saw him force the spirits on her that once—I heard it from the deceased's own lips—I think it is all in my wife's evidence, something to that effect—she was examined before me—my house is a perfectly respectable one.

Re-examined. My wife may have been examined two or three times at the inquest—I was not under examination more than five or ten minutes—the Coroner asked me questions, and I answered them, and Mr. Pridham examined me—Dr. Maclean called at my house one Sunday two or three weeks back, and paid my bill—that was some weeks after the inquest.

By the COURT. I am not quite certain whether the words Paine said to the deceased were, "What did Norman give you, "Or "What did you give Norman" for his share in the house—I gave it right in my evidence before the Coroner.

JANE POWELL . I am the wife of Edward Powell—I remember Paine coming to our coffee-house, 128, Seymour Place, last April or May, with his wife and two little daughters—he stayed a few days—I had never seen them before—between then and November Paine came to the house twice—the prisoner's wife was about 80 or 32 years of age—the children were, one 7 or 8, and the other 4—I remember a very heavy box coming either on the Friday or Saturday prior to the 3rd of November, addressed

to Mr. Paine, "care of Mr. Powell"—it was three feet long and 18 inches high, and was taken away by my husband in accordance with the in structions of a letter which came on the Monday morning, asking that it might be forwarded to 9, Great Quebec Street—she also get a bedroom ready, and between 4 and 5 Paine arrived in a cab with Matthaws and Miss Maclean—I had never seen the two women before—Paine came into the shop and asked for my husband—he said, Had I got another room ready?—I said, "No, I am quite full"—he said that he had an invalid lady entrusted to his care, with money, and a maid to look alter her. "She is very ill and likely to die. I will not leave her in your house many days," Or words to that effect—he asked my husband to can you her upstairs—he carried her like a baby, and placed her in an arm-chair before the fire in the first floor back room—she groaned very much—I said, "You appear very ill; would you like something after travelling?"—there was a great smell with her of spirits—she said she would like a cup of tea or a hot glass of whisky-and-water—I told Paine I had no whisky, and asked him if I was to get some—he said, "No, she does not want anything, if she has anything it must be milk-and-water"—I said that I should get a cup of tea—he said, "No, she does not want say. thing; you know, Annie, you won't drink it"—I then left the room and sent the servant up with a glass half or three parts full of milk—before that Paine came down as the cab was still at the door—he said he had brought her up to get a certificate for her—he left her, and I did not know he had returned until on going upstairs I heard high words in the room—I went in and saw the lady in her chair, and Matthews in another char crying—Paine was there also—I did not go in—I said, "I just wanted to see if you wanted anything on the fire"—Paine said sharply, "No; we don't want anything," and I withdrew—he went out again, and later on I was fetched up to see the deceased by Fanny Matthews—it was wet time after 10—the deceased was lying on her face on the floor, apparently in a fit—she had only her chemise and one stocking on; no other clothes—I gave my servant 2 1/2 d., and sent her for half-a-quartern of gin—I mixed a little with sugar and hot water, and went on my knees on the floor and lifted up her head and brought her round—we then lifted her into bed—there was no night-dress for her to put on, because Fanny said that Mr; Paine had the keys—there were two boxes and two portman teas, but they were all looked—having put her into bed I left her and looked in again about 11, but did not speak—Fanny Matthews was lying on the bed in her clothes alongside of the deceased, and I thought she was asleep—I lifted the deceased into bed because she was helpless from weakness, not from intoxication—on the next day, Tuesday, 4th November, about 9 o'clock, I popped out of the closet and saw Paine on the stairs with his arm round Fanny Matthews's neck, whispering something—he said that he had been to sleep at his sister's and had been taken very bad—I left them on the stairs—Paine came down a few minutes after and asked my husband to change him a cheque for 4l.—my husband only had 3l. by him, and Paine said that would do—he was going out to buy Fanny a jacket, as she had been so kind to her mistress, and as he passed me he said, "Don't you think she deserve it?"—I said, "If she has been good to her mistress."—they went out together about 10 o'clock and deceased was left alone—after this my husband and I went up into the deceased's room—as far as I knew she had not had any breakfast that

morning—I found her lying in bed playing with her fingers—there were two tumblers of spirits in the room, one of brandy and the other I believe was rum or whisky—they were half-pint tumblers and rather better than three-parts full, and were on a table touching her elbow—my husband removed the glasses—there were two or three grapes in a plate—in consequence of what deceased said I took her up a small basin of gruel, with a measured tea-spoonful of brandy in it—she ate the gruel—I went up again at twelve o'clock—neither Fame nor Matthews had returned—I took her up some stewed rabbit which was part of the hours dinner—Paine had brought in a lot of rabbits and hares, and had given me one of each, saying that he must give me one as I had had so much trouble—the deceased ate it and enjoyed it—about 3 o'clock Matthews came back—I did not see Paine that, evening till about 10 o'clock—he was then standing—at the door as I came in from the oil-shop—he said, "I am going now, Mrs. Powell, Fanny will look after her ail neat"—I said; "Very well, sir"—Fanny came running down, and he said to her, "I am going to order them things, can you go and fetch them?"—Fanny said, "What things?" and he said; "Them things I am going to order?" and he drew her to him, and pulled her dress and gave a nod—she said, "I will go and put on my things now"—Paine then left with a bag or a portmanteau in bis hand—I went into the shop through the dining rooms and met Matthews in the passage—she was dressed in her outdoor clothes and her hat and she followed him—my servant and I went after her and I saw her jam Paine at the corner of Nutford Place, and they went into No. 31 together—they neither of them came back that night—a nurse named Mary Jones was in the house, and she volunteered to sit up with the deceased as I had a young baby—Paine had given no instructions for calling her in—soon after 10 o'clock I went up to the deceased with my husband and Mary Jones—there were two half-pint tumblers more that three parts full of spirits by her bed, and a small bunch of grapes—one of brandy, and I believe the other was whisky—it was very strong—I could not say whether there was any water with it—there was a bottle more than half full of whisky on the mantelpiece—I had not taken it there, or the brandy or the tumblers—my husband put the other tumblers on the mantelshelf and whether my servant thro wed them away I don't know—these were not the same—Fanny Matthews fetched the tumblers when she fetched a corkscrew—I had a conversation with the deceased, and then left her for the night with Mary Jones—the next morning Fanny Matthews came in alone at about 9.45—I had a conversation with her, and then went up to deceased's room with her—Matthews stayed there about half an hour and then left—that was the last time she west Oyer in my house—Paine had not come in when she left—the deceased had not a halfpenny—she sent me to her pocket—Paine came about 12 o'clock—he saw Mrs. Jones, and said to me, "If you don't send that red-nosed old—out of the room I will move my client away. I wont have her here, she knows too much for me"—then I ran upstairs—Paine had gone before me—I said, "You said you were going to leave Fanny Matthews"—he replied; "Didn't she stay?"—I said, "No, she went away directly after you"—I said I would not have allowed the lady to have slept alone in my house in that condition without somebody with her—I don't think he made any reply—the deceased did net join in the conversation with Paine—Paine afterwards came down-to the kitchen—my,

husband asked him why he did not send for a doctor, and he said he would insist on his doing so—my husband recommended Dr. Waller but Paine said he would bring in a doctor of his own—he afterwards went out—he came back in the evening to fetch something, but only stayed a few minutes—Mrs. Jones stayed with the deceased again that night—I had told Paine that I did not know any one but Mrs. Jones, and he would have to let her be with her—he said, She must come in when I'm gone, then"—on Thursday, the 6th, Dr. Thorman came—Paine came in with some gentleman, but I don't know who it was—I saw Dr. Thorman about 6 o'clock in the evening, when he examined the deceased—Paine said, "I have brought a doctor; he is a stranger to me"—Thorman examined the lady as she lay in bed, and then Paine pulled a bottle of rum out of his pocket, and poured about half a tumbler out, and said, "I want to show you her weakness"—he offered it to the deceased, saying, "Come, Annie, dear, I have got a drop of good rum"—she said, "I don't want it, Lewis, I don't want it"—he said, "You artful little devil, you would take it if they were not here"—she took some of it then—she had two good drinks of it—Thorman laughed at it—I remember Thorman telling Paine that she was not pregnant—Paine and the doctor had some drink together in the bedroom—I don't know whether it was brandy or rum—they left together about 7 p.m.—I was not satisfied, so I went down to my husband, and we sent for Dr. Waller, who had attended our family—Dr. Waller came, and went up into the deceased's room—I stayed with the deceased till 12, and my servant, Annie Slaughter, stayed with her for the rest of the night—she could not sit up and she afterwards lost the use of her hands—I remember Paine coming on Friday, between 9 and 10—the deceased was in bed—she could not turn in bed, let alone get out—I told him that I had sent for Dr. Waller, as she was very ill—he said that he supposed Dr. Waller would give him a certificate—I asked him if Dr. Waller should attend her, and he said, No; there was no occasion; he had his own doctor, and that was sufficient—Paine came again in the evening with Dr. Thorman—my servant and I had placed the deceased in an armchair in front of the fire, in a blanket, while I put on clean linen in the bed—Paine began to pull the deceased about, and said, "Oh, she looks very nice, she's all right"—he was putting his hand over her forehead—I said, "Don't, please, Mr. Paine; she is very ill"—he said, "She is all right"—he then sent me down for a corkscrew and some glasses—when I came up he poured out some whisky from a three-half-pint bottle he had brought in with him—he poured some out in each glass—I was going to retire out of the room as my baby was crying, and he said, "Wait a minute, I want you to stop and hear this"—he said, "Come, Annie, dear; I have got a drop of good whisky here, it came from "such and such a place, I forget where—he held it for her to take, and she took it after a while, alter a look that Mr. Paine gave her—she would not take it at first—there was about half a tumblerful of neat whisky—it was uncorked out of the bottle—she drank it all—when he stopped us going out of the room he said, "Waits minute, I want to get at her"—after she took the whisky he said, "come, Annie, I want you to tell me what you gave your brother Norman for the house in Eastbourne Terrace, for his share"—she said, "600l. Mr. Paine answered, "Not 1,600l.?"—she said "No, I tell you 600l"—she spoke distinctly—he said to the doctor, "There, she knows everything,

you see she is all right"—he said to her, "You artful little devil"—I left the room for a minute or two, and when I came back again there were two women there—they were strangers to me—the doctor had left—one of them, an elderly woman, had been doing some washing for Paine, and he asked the other one if she would sit with Mrs. Paine a bit—she said, "No," she could not stand the smell of the sick-room—Paine said "She is a little lady as was kept by a friend of mine," referring to the washerwoman's daughter—I told him the deceased did not want a person like that to sit with her; she wanted a proper nurse—Paine and the younger woman left the room—I had to go away for a few moments, and when I came back the washerwoman was in the act of pouring out some whisky into a tumbler—she was giving it to the deceased when I took it from her—she was the worse for drink when her daughter came back, and they went away together—my servant, Annie Slaughter, sat up with the deceased that night, but Mary Wright argues that the did—on Saturday Paine came again—on Sunday night, the 9th., Mrs. Wilson came—Paine came in about 12 o'clock that day—he only stayed a few minutes—Mr. Fitzpatrick, a clergyman, the tenant of the Eastbourne house, came in the evening, and Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Postlethwaite between 12 and 1 o'clock—I was just going to bed when they rang the bell—Paine came again at about 9 o'clock on Monday and stayed a short time—and again on Tuesday about 9 o'clock—we were sitting in the little parlour having our breakfast—my husband and I and a policeman's wife, Mrs. Bondon, who had been nursing during the day, were there—he said "I am taking her away to Brighton now"—I said, "Why, man, she'll die in the cab; that will be a pretty set out"—he said he would not have that happen for the world—he then asked me if I would, say anything to Fanny Matthews if he brought her back, as she was of great service to him—I don't think I made him any answer—he then said he would go down to Brighton himself, and take Fanny Matthews with him—he added that he would leave the deceased at my house, and would send me a telegram to say the little lady had arrived at Brighton all right—he said, "You can show the telegram to them troublesome friends when they come"—I said, "Why, and this lady in our house dying!"—he said, "She is all right; you can send to me if anything happens"—I said we would do no such thing, and refused to do so—Paine went upstairs for a minute or two, and I followed him to the deceased's room—on Wednesday, the 12th, Paine came in again about 10, and told me he was going down to Broadway by the 2 o'clock train, and would be back next day—I saw him again on Saturday evening, the 15th, and had a conversation with him in the deceased's room—Mrs. Tyson, the nurse, was there—he said he had left Fanny down at Broadway, and had got her a very nice place with the Taylors—I told him the deceased had got quite clear in her mind and quite sensitive, and he said, "Oh, has she?"—he went on telling the deceased where Fanny Matthews was—she asked about her little dog—he said that it was in the care of Matthews's father—previous to that her mind had been wandering at times, and she would talk different things, and her face was blown out, but she had come to her natural look, and her complexion was quite clear—her mouth was very raw; she would not bear a spoon being put in; she said it hurt her tongue and the roof of her mouth—on 15th November I told Paine that her mind was clearer—that was the fact, her mind was quite clear—she never wandered in them

few days, and she had come quite nice-looking in her face, it came quite as it should be, I should think—while the prisoner was away, from the morning of the 12th to Saturday night, the 15th, she had no neat spirits, only weak brandy-and-water, and anything she fancied in the way of nourishment: the middle of a joint, with gravy in it, minced up, or a little bit of a chop—I had to feed her with it like a baby, as she had lest the use of her hands—she had a good many oysters the first week—she liked them, and she had meat between, but very little, and the last week she had a little cornflour food, but she would take very little, because she said the spoon hurt her mouth—on Sunday, 16th November, the day before she died, Paine came about 12 o'clock—he went up a minute or or two before me—I asked him whether he had taken her brooch and earrings, which were on the glass—they were black ones—he said No; what would he do with them?—I said, "They were there on Friday on the glass, I am certain; and as you have taken everything else you might have taken them"—ho flung the window open, and said, "I wish the devil would take her away, as she has been a great trouble to me; I can do no good," and off he went, and I do not think he spoke to the deceased—he did not come back that day—on Monday, the 17th, the day she died, he came about 10 o'clock and brought a young woman with him—I went up to deceased's room, and he said, "I have brought this young woman up from Worcestershire, so she will be a witness"—I said, "A witness for what?"—but he did not answer me—he said, "She can help nurse, and it need not make any difference to our arrangements"—they went away leaving the nurse thaw; they returned about 6 o'clock in the evening—Mr. Thorman also came—Paine then said, "I have brought this young woman up from Worcester. She is a friend of the chemist down there"—I said Mrs. Paine had told me in the morning that the girl was Fanny Matthews's Biter, that they were a bad lot, and that she did not want to have anything to do with them—he made no answer—the doctor was very much alarmed About has because she seemed to be sinking so, and very much convulsed at times—the doctor said that we need not be alarmed, or words to that effect, and that she was likely to live 20 years yet—he had been sitting beside the bed for some time when he said that—I don't know whether he had had any whisky that evening—this was about 6 o'clock, and she died about 9 o'clock—my husband and my servant were with her when she died—I had sent my husband to talk to her about her soul, as she had been a good deal concerned that day—he was with her an hour before she died—I don't knot how long before that Paine had left the house—he went for some beef-tea and came in again about 6 o'clock with two ladies whom I do not know—she was quite conscious to the last, and had been praying very earnestly several times before she died—between Thursday, the 6th, and her death Dr. Thorman came every day, and sometimes twice, but he never prescribed or ordered anything: for her.

Cross-examined. My evidence was taken for the purpose of this trial three weeks since or a little more at the Treasury—I did not receive and her death Dr. Thorman came every day, and sometimes twice, but he never prescribed or ordered anything: for her.

Cross-examined. My evidence was taken for the purpose of this trial three weeks since or a little more at the Treasury—I did not receive a copy of my deposition—I have not seen it or had it read to me since my examination—there may have been some things added to-day to what I said before the Coroner and some things I have forgotten—I did not keep back anything intentionally—my husband and I were not very angry Paine did not pay our bill of 10l., we never quarrelled with him about

it or said anything rude or unkind to him about it—I applied to the Deputy-Coroner to know who was to pay our bill, and he said "Jack Mr. Paine"—I asked him who was to pay the bill—he said "You must ask those who have caused the bother," and afterwards he said "You must apply to Taylor"—the Coroner did not tell me that I must not he squabbling there about money—I was examined before the Coroner only twice—he did not tell me he would not have an altercation in his Court—I did not get the money from Paine—Paine did not state Mote the Coroner that he gave me a rabbit and a hare, nor did I scream out that it was a lie—that was in the newspapers, but I did not—it was Mrs. Jones, the nurse, who sat behind me in the Court, that said it was a his—I do not remember whether I mentioned before the Coroner that I saw Paine with his arm round Fanny Matthews's nook—I have stated to-day that Paine ordered Mrs. Jones out of the room on the Wednesday, and that she left—I did not state before the Coroner that that occurred on the Thursday, but she stayed till Thursday—I saw two glasses in the room, one containing brandy and the other whisky—on Tuesday morning, between 10 and 11, and again at night, a little after 10 o'clock—my husband removed them to the mantelpiece—I do not know who removed them from the room, but I did not see them in the afternoon these at night were brandy and whisky—I smelt them—I did not taste either—my husband was present in the evening when I saw the two glasses—I do not remember whether I said a word before the Coroner about Paine's ordering Mrs. Jones out of the room, and calling her a "red-nosed——"—I was perfectly well aware of the terms on which Paine was with "the girl Matthews, after watching them to Nutford Place on Tuesday night—when he talked of taking her down to Brighton I knew that he was a married man, and I said that if I knew her father's address I would write to him, but I made no observation to him, as it was of no use—on the night of 3rd November Matthews said the deceased had been drinking for five or six weeks, and ate nothing—on that day I found the deceased lying on the floor, and asked Matthews who she was; she said "She is Paine; she was married to Paine at the church in our village"—she was pulling off her stockings very roughly indeed—she said that she had been drinking, and called nor a nasty dirty beast, and said it was her own fault—I asked her once why she did not give her something to eat—I did not tell her that I had been feeding her while she was out—she said, "Bless you, she has been like that for five weeks"—I said, "You don't try her," and she snapped up the little bit of steak in her hand as much as to say, "I don't want any of your interfering," and went upstairs—when I said to her "I thought you wore this lady's servant," she replied, "Indeed I am not"—I said that I would not have such goings on in my house; meaning the lady being neglected and bar going out to sleep with Paine—she told me not to fret myself; they were not going to stay—I said, "If you are going to have care of the lady I will put a detective on your track"—I know that fanny Matthews said my statement was a lie, but I say that her's was and it is, and that is the truth—we keep an sating-house, but Paine never said that the lady was to have anything she wanted, both to eat and drink—he never ordered anything—I gave the lady food and drink, but I had no orders from say body—I did supply her with everything she wanted—the first time I saw Dr. Norman Maclean was when we came out from before the Grand Jury

about a month ago—I had no talk with him about the case—we had given our evidence to the Treasury a fortnight before—Paine brought the lady on November 3rd, and I saw him on the 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th—I saw him up to the Thursday following every day, and then he went down to Worcester on the Wednesday, and was away till Saturday night—that was the Saturday before her death—she ceased to wander a few days before she died—she was wandering up to the time when Paine went away—I can't say whether her face was then still in a bloated condition—on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday she was all right—her face became natural before her death—each day her mind seemed to be getting clearer—Paine gave her spirits in my presence on Thursday and Friday, the 6th and 7th, in the presence of the doctor—those are the only days I ever saw him give her spirits—on each of these days I saw him bring in a bottle, but on no other day—Fanny Matthews was hardly ever in—the deceased appeared very much swollen in the body—I don't think Paine was ever alone with her after his return from Worcester—a great change took place before death—I noticed it on the Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—she began to be better in her mind on Friday, but she was more sinking in appearance on that day, and on Saturday and Sunday—she complained of pain in her right side and in her feet, and gradually sank—Dr. Thorman saw her every day—I am quite serious in stating that Dr. Thorman said she might live twenty years; those were his words—I don't know what made him say that.

Re-examined. I have forgotten to state that on the Saturday week before the deceased died I told Paine that the doctor said she was to hare no more drink, as she had been very much convulsed in the night, and after that he did not give her any more in my presence—Dr. Maclean paid me 10l. odd, including washing, nurses, and everything.

ANNIE SLAUGHTER . In November last year I lived at Mr. Powell's—I was the only servant—I remember Paine, Fanny Matthews, and the deceased lady coming there on Monday, the 3rd No? ember—I went into the bedroom that evening—the deceased was supplied with some milk—the next morning Fanny Matthews and Paine went out together—he told me as he passed me on the stairs that Fanny had been a good girl to her mistress, and he was going to take her out to buy her a jacket—he also said I might go into the room and see to the fire, that he would not be long, and that the deceased lady would not want anything besides what she had got on the table by the side of her—while Fanny and Paine were out I went into the room—the deceased was in bed, and there were two tumblers with spirits in them on a table close to the bed—I think one glass was three-parts full and the other full—one glass looked like brandy and the other like rum—I spoke to Mr. Powell about it—the lady was awake—there were some grapes lying on the table—in the evening, while I was at work, Fanny Matthew came to me and made a communication to me—a little after she went out and I followed her with Mrs. Powell, and saw her go into 31, Nutford Place with Paine—I don't remember seeing anything of Miss Maclean on the Wednesday when Fanny went away, Mrs. Powell attended to her—on Thursday I heard Paine say to Mr. and Mrs. Powell that he did not like Mrs. Jones being in the room, and that if she did not leave he would—he said she had grossly insulted him by saying this case was like the Penge mystery—Mrs. Jones left the next day—on Thursday and Friday night

I sat up with Miss Maclean—she was very ill—she could not feed herself and I gave her some food, which Mrs. Powell supplied for her, and a little weak brandy-and-water—I did not see any more spirits near the bed—on Sunday I took Miss Maclean some beef-tea—Paine asked me 01 that day whether Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Fitzpatrick, who had been then before, had called again—I said, "No"—in the week before Miss Maclean died I asked Mr. Paine if he had taken a brooch and earrings away, as they could not be found—he said, "I wish the devil would take her away, and I could not find her"—on the Sunday night before she died I stayed with the deceased, who was very ill, and I called Mr. and Mrs. Powell up to see her—the next day I did not go into the room till the evening—Paine came in with two ladies—he said one was his daughter—he did not say who the other was, but she said there was something very wrong the matter with the deceased—Paine replied that she had had doctors, and they all said the same thing about her—she died shortly after that, about 10 minutes past 9—I had my work to attend to—there were nurses there who attended to her besides Mrs. Powell; there was Mrs. Jones, Miss Wright, Mrs. Bowden, and Mrs. Tyson—they all, at different times, stayed with her.

Cross-examined. I don't remember on what day the conversation occurred about the earrings—I and Paine were in the room—Mrs. Powell came in directly after, after he had expressed this wish about the devil, and I dare say I told her of it—the brooch and earrings were found under the dressing-table, having apparently fallen down—the deceased had everything she wanted to eat—I attended to her all I could, and so did Mrs. Powell and the nurses—she had every attention paid to her—Paine went away on the Wednesday and came back on Saturday—she seemed a little better while he was away—as far as I know, she had no drink given her, only a little weak brandy-and-water—some castor-oil was taken up, but I can't remember when—I don't know whether it was on the day that Mrs. Wilson came.

MARY JONES . I am living now at 17, Exclusion Square as cook—on Tuesday, the 4th November, I happened to be at Mrs. Powell's, and I remained up that night with the deceased—she was very ill—I gave her some gruel, nothing else—on Wednesday morning I saw Paine—he came up into the room—I took up some jugged hare for Miss Maclean, and he told me she did not want any, and I must take it down—I told him if we did not feed the lady it would be like the Penge affair—he said nothing more—I then left the jugged hare on the table, and went downstairs—I don't know whether the hare was eaten by the deceased—she told me not.

Cross-examined. I don't know whether I am the lady whose nose was spoken of so disrespectfully by the prisoner—when Mrs. Powell told me that he said he would kick me out of the house, I said I should like to make it hot for him—I said that I would make a Penge affair of him—I did not mean that I would like to hang him—I should only have told him what I thought of him—I would have expressed my opinion of him.

ROSE WEIGHT . I am the wife of Frederick Wright, a railway porter, of 19, Little Carlisle Street, Lisson Grove—I am a charwoman, and have been in the habit of working for Mrs. Powell—I had been working there from the 3rd—I saw the deceased on the 4th, but on the 7th I attended on her, and stayed till the following Saturday—she was very ill—I was with

her on the night of Saturday, the 8th, and the whole of Sunday, the 9th—Paine came into the room about midday on Sunday—he sail to me "What sort of a night has the lady had; has she been asking for any. body in the night?"—I told him that she had—he asked me who she had been asking for—I told him that she had wished very much to set a person of the name of Ellen—he swore, and said "D——the old b——she's the one that taught her to drink; above all people don't let Ellen come into the room, or near her"—I told Paine the lady was hungry, and he told me to give her a thumb-piece—I did not know what he meant by that—the lady asked him herself to fetch her something, as she wag hungry—he went away, and in about a couple of hours he came back with some brandy in a black bottle—I suppose it held half a pint—he than said "I've got something that I know she'll like"—he asked me for a tumbler—I gave him one, and he poured out some brandy into the tumbler, making it about three parts full; he then leant over the bedside to the lady, and she said "Lewis, I don't want it"—he said, "You must take it," and he put his hand under her shoulders, held her head up in the bed, and made her drink it, shoved it down, made her take it—after she took it she said it burned her mouth—she then called me to her, and said she was in great pain—Paine was then standing with his elbow on the mantelpiece—I said to him "Sir, what is it that you have given her?"—he said "It's British brandy, would you like to taste it?"—I said "No, sir; I'm a teetotaler"—he said brandy was good for teetotalta—he gave me some—it burned my mouth, and he told me to spit it out in the fire, and I did so—he made her take all the brandy in the tumbler there was none back in the glass—all that was in the bottle was emptied into the tumbler—the tumbler was about three-parts full—I never saw any more of it after—alter taking it she seemed in very great pain, her eyes were red, and she seemed like a baby, nearly in fits—I rubbed her stomach—she did not ask for anything for several hours after—Paine left in about a quarter of an hour—later the same morning Paine and Mr. and Mrs. Powell came into the room, and I heard them talking about a nightgown, something to law the lady out on.

Cross-examined. When I took the brandy I had been a teetotaller about three weeks—spirits affect my head—I am quite sure my head was not affected that morning—Paine put his arm round her to hold her up, be as he could give it to her—he kept on till the glass was empty—he put the glass to her lips, and did not take it away till he had forced it all down her throat—she was quite unwilling—I told him it was not right to give it to her, but as it was his wife I thought he had a right to do as he liked—it was not my business to interfere—I am married, to my sorrow—he said it would do her good—he did not use violence; it would have been of no use; she could not resist—I thought it was very cruel—I thought it was very brutal—I am not still a teetotaller, I take a drop now and then, when I can afford it—I first told this story of Paine's forcing the brandy down the lady's throat directly I knew it—I told it to Mrs. Wilson when I saw her—it was a little black bottle holding about half a pint—I do not know what a railway bottle is—she was in bed—a little of the brandy ran down outside both sides on her nightgown.

By the COURT. I know that her stomach swelled up, because she asked me to rub it, and I put down the clothes, and turned up her nightgown to do it—that was directly after she told me she was in pain—I felt it was swollen—I stated so at the inquest.

Friday, February 20th.

ANNIE BOWDEW . I lived at 16, Hay's Place, but I have removed—I am the wife of Alfred Bowden, a constable, Metropolitan police—on Monday, November 10th, I called in at Powell's coffee-house about 9 a.m.—Mrs. Powell spoke to me about an invalid lady upstairs—I attended! her afterwards—I first went up between 10 and 11 on the Monday morning, and stayed there all day till between 10 and 11 p.m.—she seemed to "be very well in health, except that she had lost the use of her hands and legs—I saw Paine in the morning before going up, and afterwards in the bedroom in the daytime—I was there when he came into the room with Dr. Thorman—while Mr. Paine was present the doctor said I was to give her very weak brandy and water and plenty of food, and whatever she wished for—Mr. Paine followed the doctor downstairs—Paine came in again in the evening—I don't think he spoke to me—he asked the deceased how she felt—she said she felt very well—in the evening she asked me for some weak brandy and water, and Paine said that he would give it to her—he turned his back to me, and poured a small glass of neat brandy out of a bottle, lifted her head up, and gave it to her—some of it went down her throat and some on her nightdress—he then rinsed the glass and told me I was to give her the brandy and water stronger—it was not strong enough—I told him that Dr. Thorman said she was to have it weak—he said, "Never mind what the doctor says; do as I tell you"—I was there when Mrs. Wilson came, and Dr. Thorman came while she was there—this was on the same Monday evening—Mrs. Wilson came about four or five o'clock—Mr. Taylor was with her, and Mr. Paine came in after a little while—Mrs. Wilson asked Mr. Paine if he was not ashamed of himself to take a poor little deformed orphan away from her home and ruin her, and also to rob her of her money—he said, "She is my wife"—Mrs. Wilson said, "She is not your wife"—Miss Maclean said, "We were married at Gloucester"—Paine then said to Mrs. Wilson, "Who sent for you? these are my apartments, you go out, and don't enter them again till you are sent for"—Mrs. Wilson turned to Miss Maclean, and asked if there was anything she could do for her—Miss Maclean said, "No, no"—Mrs. Wilson said, "Very well, then, I will wish you good-bye; perhaps you will be glad of me when it is too late," and then she and Mr. Taylor left—Dr. Thorman was there, but I do not remember that he said anything—there had been a little conversation between him and Mrs. Wilson before Mr. Paine came in—after they left, Paine told me that if Mrs. Wilson came again I was not to admit her into the room; all that were to go into the room were Mr. and Mrs. Powell, Dr. Thorman, Paine himself, and myself; and if any one else came I was to shut the door in their face—he said, "I have brought her up here away from all her friends and relations, thinking that none of them would ever find her out, and now to think that b——d——has come"—I think that was all that passed—Dr. Thorman had left; he left a minute or two after Mrs. Wilson—after the conversation with me Paine spoke to Miss Maclean, hut I did not hear what he said, and then he left—I think he came back at about 9 o'clock that night—I saw him in the room—he said, "Well, Annie dearie, how are you now?"—she said, "I am very well, thank you, Lewis"—he turned round then and took, something out of a box, and went away—he did not return that night while I was there—I remained until half-past 10 o'clock—during the day I had

attended to Miss Maclean—in the morning she had two oysters, and a little bread-and-butter; at dinner-time she had a little mutton; and at night some stewed rabbit—I got these things from Mrs. Powell—I gave her to drink some weak brandy-and-water and a cup of cocoa—next morning, Tuesday the 11th, I returned about 9 o'clock—Paine was downstairs having a cup of coffee—Mr. and Mrs. Powell were there—Paine said to Mrs. Powell, "I am going to take the little lady down to Brighton"—Mrs. Powell said, "Why, man, she would die on the road"—then he said, "I'll tell you what I will do, I will go down to Brighton and take apartments for Fanny and myself, and send you a telegram to say that the little lady and I have arrived all right, and then you can show it to her troublesome friends when they call"—Mrs. Powell said, "I will do no such thing"—Paine then went upstairs, and Mrs. Powell followed him—Paine came down in about five minutes, and then I went up—Dr. Thorman then came up; I was in the room—I afterwards saw Mr. Paine downstairs with the doctor in the morning—Dr. Thorman told me in his presence I was to go on giving her weak brandy and water, and let her have whatever she wished for to eat—the doctor then walked down the shop, and Paine said to me, "She wants nothing of that, all she wants is brandy" (the doctor was then out of hearing) "and you must give it her stronger"—I said, "You know what the doctor said, that she was not to have it so strong"—he said, "If you do not do as I tell you I must remove the patient away"—I turned round and went upstairs—that was between 10 and 11—I saw him again in the afternoon—he came up into the bedroom, and asked Miss Maclean how she was—she said she felt very well, and she asked me to give her a little brandy and water—Paine poured out a wineglass of brandy from a quartern flat bottle which was on the dressing-table before he came into the room, and crave it to her—he put his hand under her head and lifted her up—she said, "I don't want that," but he said, "You must take it," and then he poured it down her throat—there was a tumbler on the table with a little weak brandy-and-water in it, and he poured more brandy into it, and said, "Give her that; that is how she likes it"—I had mixed that in the tumbler, it was about half full, and he nearly filled it—he emptied all that was in the bottle—the bottle was nearly full—there was nearly a quartern in it—when he poured the brandy down, her hands hung down useless—after he had filled up the tumbler he left the room when he left the room, I emptied most of it, and filled the glass up with water—the deceased then seemed to be suffering from the effects of brandy—she was rambling in her talk—Mr. Paine came about 9 that night—he gave her a small wineglass of neat brandy from the bottle the dressing-table—he raised her head as before—she swallowed some and some ran down her night dress—I left that night at 11.15—during that day I had given her oysters and mutton—I saw her once or twice during the week, when I called to see how she was—I did not attend to her then—Mrs. Tyson was attending upon her—she seemed pretty well in her mind.

Cross-examined. Since the inquest I have several times seen Mrs. Powell, Rosa Wright, Annie Slaughter, Mary Jones, and Louisa Tyson they were all at the inquest—I have not been living with Mrs. Powell—I don't know that I have seen them all together, but I have seen. them and have had conversations with them about this matter—I told the Coroner about Paine telling me to give the brandy strong—I knew that

what was in the bottle was neat brandy—I did not taste it, but Mrs. Powell told me it was brandy; she supplied it—I first mentioned the story about the little woman being taken to Brighton at the Treasury—when I talk of Paine pouring the brandy down her throat, force was not required, as she had not the use of her hands—I saw Mrs. Powell leave the Court yesterday, but did not speak to her—I bought a paper this morning, but I have not had time to read it, I do not know what she said—I was in atten dance when Mrs. Wilson came—I don't think she was abusive—I think Mr. Taylor was outside the door when Mrs. Wilson was talking to Paine—I only know of one tumbler containing brandy-and-water when I came in the morning between 9 and 10—I do not know of one containing castoroil—I never saw any castor-oil—I only know of the one containing brandy-and-water—if there had been two tumblers with brandy and castor-oil I should have seen them—whatever she asked for she had.

By the COURT. The first bottle was emptied into the tumbler; the brandy that was put into the wineglass later in the day had been supplied again.

LOUISA TYSON . I had apartments at Mrs. Powell's—I am a laundress—I was living there when Miss Maclean was in the house—I assisted in nursing her—I began to do so on the evening of Tuesday, November 11—I sat up all night with her, and continued to nurse her up to the following Sunday morning—I saw her again on the Monday, when she died—on the first night she took weak brandy-and-water, and something to eat—Paine was not then there—on the Wednesday morning I gave her some food—she was not able to feed herself, as she had no use in her hands—I fed her with a spoon—on that morning Paine came in between 10 and 11 o'clock—he spoke to her and asked her how she was—she said about the same—he said he was going to the Broadway and asked me if it would be safe to leave her—I said I did not think she was so near death as that—he said he should not be back till 6 the next evening, and asked if it would be safe to leave her all that time; then I made that reply—Miss Maclean was there but she made no remark—he went away, and told her he was going to Broadway, and she asked him what for, and he said, "To see to the house at Broadway"—she said, "Lewis, I think that is all right"—he said, well, he had some business there, and would not be back till next day; but he came back the same day—he only stayed a few minutes—she asked him for something to drink, he said he was going out for some brandy, but he did not bring any brandy with him—did not see him again till Saturday—that was the 15th—I attended her night and day, and gave her what she required—Dr. Thorman came on the Wednesday morning, and ordered weak brandy-and-water—she did not take much—she was satisfied with anything to drink, and did not require raw spirits—Paine came about 8 or 9 o'clock on the Saturday—I was in the room, and Mr. and Mrs. Powell came up—Paine went and spoke to her, and said he had just come from Broadway, and that he had left her little dog there—she turned away her head—he told me, when I was going to give her some brandy-and-water which was on the table in a tumbler, that it was not strong enough; and he went to take the bottle to put some more brandy in, but there was not any—he told me to go down to Mrs. Powell to get some more—he, I, and the deceased were then together in the room—I did not go then, because I thought the brandy-and-water quite strong enough—he said she could

take more neat brandy than I could brandy-and-water—he said she could take an ounce of laudanum when I could not take a quarter of an ounce—he said nothing about food—he told me before going to Broadway that I was not to let any one see her—he did not stop more than half an hour on the Saturday evening—I stopped all night, and he came in again on the Sunday morning—nothing happened then—I went away for the day and returned at 11 on Monday morning—he asked me if I thought she was dying, and I said yea, I did—the deceased was not then conscious—she was much worse then than on Saturday and Sunday morning—he said it was a sin to prolong such a life—I don't think, any one else was then in the room—he asked me if I would sit up with her that night—I said I could not, and that I did not think she. would require anybody—I said so because I believed she would be dead before night—the doctor came and Paine was present, and the doctor said she was very bad—he went out and returned about half-past twelve, and brought with him a young woman—he said she was the daughter of a friend of his in Broadway, and that he had brought her as a witness—Dr. Thorman had asked me to stay with her that day—later on I went downstairs, and before going I said to Mr. Paine, "If she wants anything to drink, you can give her same of this"—it was weak brandy-and-water—he replied, "I will give her nothing, and then nobody can say anything"—he went out to get some extract of beef, and he said he would send it in by the young woman—it did not come—in the afternoon Dr. Thorman came in again—I had, with his permission, put a poultice on the chest of the deceased, which relieved her breathing very much, and the doctor said she was better—Paine came back between 6 and 7 in the evening—she seemed much better then—Dr. Thorman was there, and said to Paine he did not think much of her at 1 o'clock, but he thought she would rally now—Paine had the young woman with him and did not stay very long—I left about 8 o'clock, before Miss Maclean died.

Cross-examined. I was examined before Dr. Hardwick, the Coroner—I then used the expression "The deceased craved for drink"—so she did—I meant any kind of drink—I did not mean to convey that she craved for spirits, she would take anything, lemonade or milk, or weak brandy and water, or anything else, she was satisfied with it—I have not been a nurse before—she missed Mr. Paine very much, and spoke of him very affectionately—I was examined at the Treasury, but I cannot say by whom—there was a detective named Morgan there at the time, and Mrs. Powell was sitting there part of the time—there was no Magistrate there that I know of.

THE REV. NICHOLAS RICHARD FITZPATRICK . I am curate of St. James, Paddington—I live at 40, Eastbourne Terrace, Paddington—I have resided there for two years—up to April last year I paid the rent to Mr. Maclean, the mother of the deceased—I next sent a cheque to the executor—on the 1st October I received a letter purporting to come from Annie Maclean—it was signed by her, but not written by her the prisoner brought me another note on Thursday, October 16th, and I saw him on the following morning—he was a stranger to me—he told me that Mrs. Maclean had died without a will, and that they were going to take out letters of administration—I gave him a cheque for 32l. 10s. for the quarter's rent due in. September—it was drawn in the prisoner's favour—he gave me the receipt produced, which I filled in and he signed—I

think the signature to the receipt and the endorsement on the back of the cheque are in the same handwriting—on Sunday night, or early on Monday morning, after midnight, I went to 128, Seymour Place—Mrs. powell and a lodger in her house came for me during the time of. our evening service, about 8 p.m.—I had first to find out the relation, Mrs. Wilson, who knew nothing about it—I accompanied Mrs. Wilson to Mr. Powell's—afterwards we went up into the deceased's bedroom—her face then was very highly coloured, and at times was very strongly convulsed—I did not notice anything particular as to the size of her face—I spoke to the deceased—her mind seemed variable and strange—I remained in the room less than half an hour, and then I left—Paine came the following night at my house, but I did not speak to him.

ANNIE BOWDEN (Re-examined). I was there on Monday, 10th, and Tuesday, 11th—Miss Maclean seemed all right in her mind till the Monday evening, when the doctor came—she then began wandering—she thought Paine was on the bed beside her—she used to call out to him as if he were there, and she was trying to wake him up—that occurred also on the Tuesday—her face was bloated, and she had two convulsive, fits on the Tuesday—on the Monday her face was very ranch bloated, and very red.

Cross-examined. I paid her every attention I was able, and gave her all she wanted—there was nothing on the part of the Powells to prevent her having all the food she required—Mrs. Powell told me to coma down and fetch her food—as far as I know, she had every attention paid her.

LOUISA TYSON (Re-examined). Miss Maclean rambled up to within a few days of her death, not on Sunday and Monday; she was quite in her right mind on Sunday and Monday—I should say her mind was clear then, as far as I observed—her face was very ranch, swollen and red on the Tuesday, and it remained so up to within two or three days before her death; then the swelling went down, and, her face became ranch clearer and more natural.

DR. NORMAN MACLEAN (Re-examined). After Mrs. Maclean's death did not send for Paine and ask him if he would go to Broadway and live with my sister as her supposed husband—I did not say, "If you will do that I will give you 600l"—I never gave him a penny piece in my life, or said so—I did not bring him a marriage-certificate, or what purported to be a marriage-certificate, between him and my sister—there is not a word of truth in that statement.

Cross-examined. It is an utter lie—I am the only relative, except Mrs. Wilson, of the deceased—I received a medical certificate while I was in America; it was as follows: "I hereby certify tint I am at present attending Miss Maclean, who has been suffering from mental and physical derangement and liver disease; she is mow improving, and I trust will soon be convalescent—(signed) T. Thomas, F.R.C.S., &c., November 12,.

By the COURT. At the end of April or beginning of May I went about a settlement to Mr. Pridham, my solicitor, in verulam Buildings—a document was drawn by counsel—I spoke to the prisoner about that document while he was at Broadway; at the end of August, I believe. but I cannot give the date—I desired that the settlement should. be executed at once, as I knew they were not married—he said he should wish the settlement to be executed—the draft was sent to Mr. Taylor, his

solicitor—this (produced) is part of it, but there was another part—there was one for the houses and another for the money, and I do not see the last here—I cannot give the date when I caused the settlement to be prepared—I had not at that time spoken to the prisoner about his relationship to my sister—I saw this document at Broadway—I did not speak to the prisoner about it, as I then thought they were married it was worthless—I first learnt from the prisoner anything about his marriage to my sister upon the occasion of my visit to Broadway—I think that was in May—I paid Powell's bill under the advice of my solicitor.

SAMUEL BAYLIS . I am a grocer at Broadway, and an agent for Messrs. Gilbey, the wine and spirit merchants—I remember Mrs. Maclean coming to live at Broadway—I remember her death, and Miss Maclean coming to live at the Shubbery—afterwards Paine came, and they lived as man and wife—I supplied them with wines and spirits—after a time I debited Mr. Paine with the wines and spirits—I supplied Mrs. Maclean from 31st March to the 2nd April; then Miss Maclean from 16th May to the 28th August, 1879; and then Mr. Paine from the 11th September to the 29th October. (The witness read from his book entries of the wines and spirits supplied, in the name of Miss Maclean, from 16th May to 27th August 72 bottles, and in the name of Paine from 11th September to 29th October 26 bottles.)

Cross-examined. Different parties ordered these bottles—Miss Maclean called occasionally, perhaps once in a fortnight or three weeks, when they were down—she has ordered sherry, whisky, and brandy—to the best of my belief Paine was away from home from the 15th October down to the 22nd—Mr. Paine ordered 4 bottles on the 23rd—Matthews used to come for spirits, but not frequently—a great many of the bottles were fetched by Mr. Paine himself—he put them in his pocket and took them away.

JESSIE LOUISA BENNETT . I am the wife of William Henry Bennett, who keeps the Exchange Inn at Worcester—I know the prisoner—he came to us first on the 21st July last year—he stayed there one night, and took away a quart of whisky—I remember his coming again the 15th September with Miss Maclean, whom he introduced to me as Mrs. Paine—he stayed two or three days and left on 5th October.

Cross-examined. They appeared to be very happy and very land to each other—she appeared to be very fond of him—I did not notice any immoderate drinking habits in either of them while I saw them.

WILLIAM SPELLMAN . I am a clerk in the Union Bank, Chancery Lane branch—the cheque for 165l. produced, dated 9th Sept., signed by Taylor and Sons, was in favour of Miss Maclean—it was cashed by the prisoner over the counter that same day, who put on deposit 160l., and I gave him 5l. in cash—the deposit was in his own name—next day he opened a current account and added 15l. to the 160l.—it was an ordinary drawing account, a copy of which I produce—his pass-book runs down to December 10th.

WILLIAM JAMES BBNGEB . I am manager to Mr. Attenborough, pawn broker, 68, Oxford Street—I know the prisoner, and have know him about ten years—he deposited some plate with me in October last, of which this document is the agreement—he told me on the 16th he had got into a difficulty in the country, and was under remand, he was afraid he should have to pay a heavy fine, and not having got money enough, that he

should want to borrow some 30l. or 40l. on some plate—he had not the plate with him—he bought a ring for 7l. 15s., and paid for it by a cheque on his bankers—I saw him the next day but one—he brought a box containing plate; he brought it in a cab—I offered to lend him 35l. on it—he said at first a friend had lent him the plate to borrow money on, but in an ivory card-case in the box there were two cards; "Mrs. Lewis Paine, The Shrubbery, Broadway, Worcestershire," was printed on one, and on the other Mr. Paine's name, with the same address—I then said, "Is this plate your wife's?" and he said "Yes"—the value of the plate, 188oz. of silver, was double the amount of the loan, but he did not ask for more—the articles of plate had a crest upon each of them, and they have been seen and identified by Mrs. Wilson.

WILLIAM MOORE . I am assistant to Mr. Chapman, pawnbroker, 19, Stafford Street, Marylebone Road—the prisoner came to our shop on the 12th November with a box containing silver and linen, and obtained a loan of 8l.—the value of the property was 11l.

MRS. WILSON (Recalled). I have identified the silver spoken to by the two last witnesses as having been the property of my sister and left to Miss Maclean.

CHRISTOPHER PYKE . I am landlord of the Sussex Hotel, London Street, Paddington—the prisoner and Fanny Matthews lodged there as man and wife from 15th to 19th November, and their box of linen was taken possession of by the Coroner's officer.

THOMAS WILLIAM CURTIS . I am the Coroner's officer to Br. Hardwick—on Monday, the 24th November, I went to the Sussex Hotel, where I found a tin box—I took possession of it—there was a portmanteau in the box—I produced the box and contents at the inquest.

Cross-examined. The boxes were all open when I found them—the things in the room were in a confused state—I handed the box and contents to the Coroner, after which I believe they were handed to the Treasury—I gave them to the Coroner, and did not have them back again—then they were handed to the Treasury.

By the COURT. I parted with the papers to the Coroner's clerk, Mr. Schroeder, and I did not have possession of them again—Mr. Schroeder had the custody of them—amongst them were letters signed by Miss Maclean, and a pass book—there was note paper with a signature at the bottom—I cannot recollect if anything was over the signature—there must have been three or four or half a dozen sheets so signed—I saw printed forms like those—I took them first to the Coroner's office, Fulham Place, Paddington—the clerk and myself carried them to the inquest, where they were placed on the table for the Coroner to examine—the clerk then took them back in the box to the Coroner's office after the inquest.

WALTER SCHBOEDER . I live at Hampstead, and have offices at Fulham Place, Paddington—I received a box which was brought by the Coroner's officer, Curtis; it contained letters, but I only looked at it superficially—on the second day of the inquest the box was carried there, and after the inquest was over I took them in a cab to the office—they were taken to the inquest on each occasion; December 16 was the last day, and I then handed the box and papers to Sergeant Morgan—I was present at the inquest each day, and took the notes all through and made up the depositions—I got these two documents, which are fastened with tape to the

depositions, from the tin box—there were several documents in the box all of which I forwarded to the Treasury—there was a will, and I believe this is it, and there was another will and some blank forms of marriage certificates, exactly like these, and some papers with signatures like these (produced)—I was present when the prisoner was examined before the Coroner; I read the evidence to him after the verdict and he signed it—I took down what he said in Court—he was represented by a learned Counsel, Mr. A. Metcalfe, and then by a solicitor, Mr. Samson.

Cross-examined. I took down the notes of the evidence given by the prisoner—there was no confusion, the Coroner did not call order several times, but once or twice there was applause—I saw no row going on between the prisoner and Mrs. Powell—this is the first I have heard of it—the prisoner may have been excited, but he generally had a smile—he was not intoxicated—I have some recollection of some one calling out, "It's a lie." (The prisoner's deposition before the Coroner was here read)—Mr. Pridham appeared for Dr. Norman Maclean.

By MR. POLAND. This letter was written by Paine (This was dated March 6th, 1872, from the prisoner to R. Fuller, Esq;., 4, Field Court)—Paine was cautioned by the Coroner when he gave his evidence, and Fanny Matthews was cautioned—the Coroner told Paine that it might be his duty to commit him; and he was asked whether he would be sworn, or make a statement, and he elected to be sworn; the Coroner advised him to consult his solicitor before he made the statement.

Saturday, February 21.

JOHN WALLEB , M.R.C.S. I live at 10, Upper Dorset Street, Bryanstone Square—on Thursday, 6th November, about 10 p.m., Mr. Powell called on me—I had attended his family—I went with him to his house—we got there about 10.10—I saw a lady in a bedroom on the first-floor—she was in a helpless state—my opinion was that it was from the effects of drink—Mrs. Powell and her servant came up immediately—I mean the chronic effects of drink: the effects of long-continued drinking—her pulse was very feeble, showing that the heart was very feeble in its action—beyond her being very weak I did not 6ee anything else the matter with her—I examined her stomach, in consequence of what Mrs. Powell said, and found it very large, and the liver very hard and enlarged—it felt very prominent—the stomach and bowels were very much distended with flatulence and gas—she seemed a little dull of comprehension, but, after pressing, she would answer questions—she seemed drowsy and dull to talk to—her face looked like that of a person who had been drinking, or was waking up out of sleep—there was nothing particular about it, it was not swollen—it was as if she had just woke up after drinking—I stayed with her a quarter of an hour or 20 minutes—I learned that some medical man had been attending her—I told Mrs. Powell that I considered the state she was in was due to the influence of drink, and told her to give her a little weak spirit and water, and a milk diet—I then left—I called again the next morning, and heard that another doctor was in attendance, so I did not go up—on Sunday, the 9th November, Mr. Powell called again about midnight, and I went with him to the coffee-house, and up into the room—the lady was still in bed—I found Mrs. Wilson there, and two or three other persons—the lady was a little better—her stomach was not so distended—she seemed the same as to her strength, and she seemed

blighter on the whole—I was called in to say whether she was in a fit state to make her will, and I examined her as to her state of mind—I think she might have been in a fit state from what she said—I asked her if she was married—she said "Yes"—she was not fit to be removed from the room to another house—I was with her a quarter of an hour or 20 minutes—I saw her again about the 12th or 13th November—I called to inquire how she was—I went into the room—she appeared to be brighter in her mind, and better a little in herself—I did not examine as to her general state—I merely walked in, and said "How do you do?" and asked how she was—I saw she had a nurse there—from the condition in which she was, I think raw spirits would not be fit for her—I believe the congestion of her liver had been going on for some time, and drinking raw spirits would be injurious if continued for a long time—she died on 17th November; and I believe if she had been in the habit of drinking raw spirits from the beginning of October, a small quantity, even a wineglass a day of raw spirits, would have accelerated her death—I did not consider her in immediate danger for a day or two, or two or three days—she might have lived for several weeks, but I thought there was a doubt as to her recovery—she required the greatest care and attention.

Cross-examined. Mr. Forman is a neighbour of mine within three or four minutes' walk—I was called in casually—I should not continue to attend another doctor's patient—I did not communicate with Mr. Forman—I did not interfere with his treatment—I was not personally acquainted with him—I did give directions to Mrs. Powell the first night—I do not bow who started the notion of making a will, but Powell wanted to know whether she could do so, and whether they could move her, or what could be done—if she had died at that time, having made a will, I should have been prepared to give evidence that she was quite competent to do so—I have seen a good many drunken patients in all stages—drunkenness kills gradually, but sometimes it terminates suddenly by apoplexy—some livers would require longer than others to bring them into a state of cirrhoses, but I should think a year of habitual drinking would do it—I am acquainted with the text books on this disease—some cases come on much quicker than others—I do not think the liver could be brought into that state much under a year—I cannot say whether it would take two years' habitual drinking—there is nothing in a liver in that state to produce sudden collapse—it is what we call a drunkard's liver—it would not produce sudden death—people linger a considerable time and the brain gets affected, and ultimately there is a shrinking of the brain—the substance is not softened, it shrinks and fluid is thrown off—the technical term is effusion on the brain—that may be gradual—drunken patients are difficult to restrain—I have known them recover themselves of their own accord without being kept under restraint, but then they turn teetotallers—unless they do determine to correct it, it is almost impossible to recover them—if a person had been drinking for eighteen months she would be extremely difficult to restrain—although persons may try themselves and determine to do so, if they have been under the effects of liquor for a great length of time it is necessary gradually to reduce the stimulants: it is dangerous to stop them all at once, there would be a collapse—a person who had been an habitual drunkard to a large extent and had left off drinking altogether for six or eight days would, if she had a diseased heart, he very likely to collapse and die—I did not know then that this

lady was suffering from fatty degeneration of the heart—I have heard that that was the result of the post-mortem—that is a very serious disease and one from which a person may die at any moment, independent of other diseases—I did not notice the loss of use of her hands.

By the COURT. What I mean to say is, that a person suffering from fatty degeneration of the heart may die at any moment, independently of other disease—I should expect it to be sudden, and if they had been addicted to drink and had left it off for seven or eight days, there might be collapse, and death would ensue—I should give such a person weak spirits and water and ammonia—I should not think it right or prudent at all to administer raw spirits—I do not say that a small wineglass of raw spirits just on one occasion would be dangerous if a person was in a fainting condition of the heart, but I should not give the spirits if there was not that fainting condition—where there is no fainting condition it would be proper to administer a little brandy occasionally, if there was a very feeble pulse—brandy is a general remedy that everybody flies to.

FREDERICK WILLIAM SPURGIN , M.R.C.S. I am Divisional Surgeon to the Police—I made the post-mortem examination of the deceased on 20th November—she was a woman of diminutive stature, with curvature of the spine, and one leg in consequence shorter than the other—the skin presented a waxy pearl-like appearance—the abdomen was very much distended and a little discharge was issuing from the vagina—post-mortem changes were beginning, and the body presented a greenish aspect in some parts—internally I found the vessels of the dura-mater and brain were congested, filled with blood, and some fluid was effused over the surface of the brain, and the meshes of the arachnoids under the membrane—there was none in the ventricles—the brain itself was natural—the right lung was healthy—the left lung in its upper and middle part was somewhat congested—both lungs were somewhat adherent to the chest walls—the heart was a small, weak organ—the ventricles and cavities were empty—the bowels were healthy—the heart presented a pale appearance, and to the naked eye there was somewhat the appearance of fatty degeneration—I subsequently examined it microscopically, and found evidence of commencing fatty degeneration, which had not advanced to a mature stage—the liver was enlarged—its weight was 60 ounces, which is excessive for a female—the average weight of a healthy liver of a female is 45 ounces, and this was about 15 ounces in excess—I should suppose it rather below 45 ounces than above in this case—it was flattened out somewhat by the curvature of the spine, and so presented a somewhat unnatural appearance, and to the naked eye the appearance which is connected with a fatty liver and commencing cirrhosis indicating that the disease had been progressive—I should think that such a condition had existed a year or two progressively—a disease like that would progress in some persons more rapidly than in others—I have no doubt that its progress would depend upon the character of the life—it is not possible to predict the duration of time which a disease of that kind has been in progressing—microscopically the liver presented markedly the characteristics of fatty infiltration—the kidneys and uterine organs were healthy—the intestines were considerably distended with wind, and contained a little billiard matter, but otherwise were empty throughout, with the exception of the colon—the stomach contained about half a wine glass full of a brownish fluid—the stomach itself was healthy—the inference I draw from the

condition of the heart and liver is that she had been a drinker—I have no doubt that the administration of raw spirits in small glasses to a person in that condition would accelerate death—if a person had been habitually a drinker I should expect them to crave for raw spirits—I gave evidence before the Coroner that the cause of death was syncope, from failure of the heart's action while suffering from liver disease.

Cross-examined. As soon as a cell forms, degeneration of the heart has taken place to a certain extent—the disease has then established itself in a portion of the heart—the evidences I saw under the microscope were only a commencement, because the fat cells were few and far between—there were fat cells—degeneration had commenced, but it might go a great deal further if nothing happened to hasten the catastrophe—with care the person might last for a considerable period—it is very difficult to diagnose disease of the heart—there are other causes of weak heart besides fatty degeneration, which no ordinary person would guess in its earlier stage—the ventricles were empty, showing that the death had been sudden—the stomach was healthy, with the exception of a patch of redness 2 or 3 inches in size—that would not indicate anything—if the administration of raw spirits, sometimes two-thirds of a large tumbler, and at other times a wineglass, had continued up to a short interval before death, I should expect to find the stomach inflamed—I should expect the gut to be in an inflamed state, but more especially the stomach—the spirits go down the ordinary canal into the Stomach, and then are carried through the liver, and the reception of a large quantity would cause the stomach to be inflamed—ulceration of the mouth would arise from many causes besides drink—if raw spirits had been poured into the woman's stomach shortly before death, I should expect the stomach to exhibit an infamed appearance—by shortly before death I mean within a day or two; but if it had been a month before, I believe the stomach would have recovered from the possible effects of it—the fact of finding the valves of the heart healthy induced me to come to the conclusion that her death was attributed to a feeble heart rather than to alveolar disease—there was no alveolar disease—in my opinion the valves of the heart had nothing to do with her death—that is merely a circumstance which does not help us at all—I should say that the disease of the liver had been increasing for a year or two, but I should not like to say that it was impossible under a year, it is so entirely dependent upon surrounding circumstances—the liver in some cases might become enlarged much more rapidly than in others—if Dr. Norman Maclean saw a blue spot on the deceased's stomach early in July, it would probably be from an enlarged vein; but it is possible there might be a spot independently of that—if there were enlarged veins on the abdomen during life, I should draw the inference that the liver was congested—I examined her body thoroughly externally—there were no signs whatever of violence—it was fairly nourished—I drew the inference from that that the body had deteriorated to an extent, but she was not emaciated; I am not in a position to go further—it is usual in certain circumstances for the medical man who attends a patient to be present at the post-mortem, but he was not, and I knew nothing whatever of the circumstances.

Re-examined. Finding the body fairly nourished, I came to the conclusion that she had a reasonable amount of food—if she had taken a very little food I might still expect to see fat on the body, it might be stored

up irrespective of nutritive food—it would be quite possible for her not to have taken much food for a considerable time before her death and yet for her body to be fairly nourished—if the taking of raw spirits had continued uninterrupted to within a day or two of her death, I should have expected to find inflammation of the stomach; but supposing she had been drinking considerable quantities, and then ceased, say for a week before her death, and only took weak spirits and water, I should not expect to see any inflammation—if she had ceased to drink raw spirits for four days or a week before her death I think the mucous membrane of the stomach might have recovered itself, and I should not expect to find any trace of inflammation, and the stomach might not have presented an unhealthy appearance—from the appearances I saw on the postmortem, the immediate cause of death was the enfeebled heart, or syncope—that is, from some cause or other, the heart ceased to act, and the patient died—from what I could judge on the post-mortem, and from the evidence, the syncope of the heart was due to the diseased condition of the liver—that is, the cirrhosis of the liver—the effect of cirrhosis is to contract the liver and diminish its size—this liver was larger than usual—that is what we frequently find soon after the disease has set in—the ultimate effect of cirrhosis is the contraction of the liver, but the earlier effect is otherwise; it is somewhat enlarged, and in cirrhosis its structure is altered; and as the disease goes on the structure becomes more and more altered, and it results at length in contraction—an excessive induldence in alcohol is nearly always, I believe, the cause of cirrhosis—excessive drinking produces a nervous collapse, and degenerates the whole of the tissues, and the collapse of the nerves affects the muscles—it would be likely to produce syncope of the heart if it was accompanied by organic disease in consequence, such as cirrhosis of the liver—I did not see Dr. Forman at all.

By MR. SERJEANT BALLANTINE. When I say syncope of the heart 1 mean the result of a disease existing in the heart—the fatty degeneration of the heart causes syncope, and that was the immediate cause of death—it was the result of fatty degeneration in this particular case-fatty degeneration of the heart can be associated with the enlargement and cirrhosis of the liver, and frequently is—you may get fatty degeneration of the heart without any disease of the liver—you may have the fatty degeneration of the heart without the liver having anything to do with—it may cause death without the liver operating in any way to assist it, but usually where there is fatty degeneration the other organs are also affected—I have never met with any case in which a person with fatty degeneration of the heart had all the other organs healthy—I should not like to say whether the person might not die of fatty degeneration such as I discovered and yet the liver be a healthy organ, that is beyond my experience—in my experience it is extremely difficult to restrain anybody who has been once a drinker—I never met with a case of a man or woman yet where I could alter it when they have once assumed the habit, that is, after they had once given way to it chronically.

THOMAS THORMAN . I a member of the Royal College of Surgeons—in November last I was living at 31, Nutford Place, I was staying there in apartments—I carried on my practice there—my name was not on the door—I first became acquainted with Paine on Thursday morning, 6th November, he was staying at the same house, I did not know it till that

morning—I did not know that he was staying there with Matthews—he came that morning to consult me about the lady who was at the coffee-house—he said she was passing under the name of Mrs. Paine, or in other words, as his wife—he did not tell me then what her real name was, afterwards he did, when I wrote the certificate that went to his brother: that was on the 12th—I am not quite sure whether he told me that her brother was Dr. Norman Maclean, then in America—I knew that I was writing the certificate for the brother's use—he did not tell me that Miss Maclean was the daughter of Colonel Maclean—he gave the brother's name as Norman Maclean—I don't remember whether he gave the prefix "doctor" or not—I did not inquire—in the course of my attendance on the lady I did not make any inquiries from Paine as to who her friends were, nor from her—I saw her first on the afternoon of that same day, the 6th—she was then in bed—she appeared to be very ill; indeed, she presented to me the appearance of a person who had evidently been having, vulgarly speaking, a long bout of drinking; she presented the appearance of a drunkard: medical men know that state under the term of alcoholism; her face was bloated, swollen, dusky in appearance, the pupils of the eyes were contracted, the conpunitive, or white parts of the eyes, were very much congested—she seemed quite powerless—her mind was not at all clear, she rambled during the time I was there, that is, she did not seem to be at all sensible of what was going on around, in a kind of stupor—my instructions were that she should cease to have spirits in any quantity, but that she should have weak brandy-and-water—it would be very bad for her to drink much raw spirits, either raw or diluted—raw. spirits would be more prejudicial to the patient than diluted—in my view the proper course of treatment was gradually to cease taking stimulants—I certainly did not think it would be wise to cease altogether, but to take weak brandy-and-water—i gave those instructions to Paine, and expected them to be carried out—I thought, under the circumstances, that the patient might rally, supposing my instructions were carried out—if my instructions were not carried out, I considered that life would be materially shortened—I think that in the condition she then was it would have been very dangerous to administer much stimulant, either raw or in any form—I thought that the patient did not require any medicine, she only required to leave off stimulants—I could tell that the liver was enlarged and congested—the symptoms were excessive hardness of the structure itself—a congested liver is not necessarily a result of excessive drinking, still it is more commonly due to that cause, and often leads to cirrhosis—cirrhosis may be described as a destructive inflammation of the tissue of the liver, and the ultimate result is that the liver becomes empty and puckered up, contracted—that is a very common result of excessive drinking—I did not, from what I saw of this lady, suspect cirrhosis—I attended her daily until her death, from the 6th to the 17th—on Wednesday, the 12th, I gave this certificate, "I hereby certify that I am at present attending Miss Annie Maclean, also known as Mrs. Lewis Paine, who has been suffering from mental and physical derangement, the latter referable to congestion of the liver; she is now improving, and I think will soon be convalescent"—I was induced to believe there was mental derangement, as Paine had told me about the adventure at Stratford-on-Avon, about the discovery of a pistol; according to his statement that worried her a good deal, and then her brother

going away—I found that she did at times wander in her talk, imagined people were in the room when they were not, and so on; the physical derangement I have already described—I had not the slightest doubt in my own mind that it was a case of alcoholism—at the time I signed that certificate she was better; she was progressing, so far as I could judge under the circumstances, satisfactorily, hence the certificate—I saw her on the Thursday, Friday, and Saturday; her mind grew very much clearer—I was not present when she died, I was there a few minutes afterwards—I gave a certificate of the cause of death—the primary cause of death was congestion of the liver; the secondary cause was disease of the heart terminating in fatal syncope; the certificate is in the form of primary, secondary, and tertiary—the immediate cause of death was fatty degenetion of the heart—by syncope I mean that the heart became so enfeebled that it ceased to act; syncope is simply the result of a feeble heart—the primary cause was congestion of the liver; I don't mean to say that that set up the syncope; in my view the lady died thus early from excessive drinking; that would produce congestion of the liver, and probably cause the state of the heart I have described—the first effect of excessive drinking is collapse of the nervous system, that operates on the muscles and so enfeebles the heart; the sooner a drunken person leaves off stimulants the better; not suddenly, gradually, and then altogether.

Cross-examined. I was not present at the post-mortem—I came to the conclusion that there was a feeble heart during my attendance upon her—I gave my certificate before the post-mortem—I heard when I came back 10 minutes afterwards that she was dead, and I assumed from that that the feeble heart ended in syncope—I had previously ascertained the existence of congestion of the liver—the death might have been occasioned by the state of the heart independently in any way whatever of the operation of the liver—either of those symptoms might have killed her—supposing cirrhosis killed a person it would be a very lingering death—I had not known Mr. Paine before the Thursday morning—he heard that I was a medical man and spoke to me—he gave me the history of the case—he said that he had brought a lady to town to have medical advice—he was pleased to find that there was a medical man in the house—he said the lady was passing as Mrs. Paine—she was under the impression that she was pregnant, he wished me to see her to satisfy her on that point, at the same time telling me that she had been for a length of time addicted to habits of intemperance—we then arranged that I should meet him in the afternoon at 128, Seymour Place—on our arrival I found the lady in bed, and in the presence of Mrs. Powell and himself made the required examination—I found that pregnancy did not exist—the appearances were owing to the enlarged condition of the liver, which was rendered more apparent from the pressure caused by the curvature of the spine—I did not prescribe medicinally—I instructed Paine that the stimulants were to be reduced, and that she was to have plenty of light food—I saw her every day from that time to the day of her death—it appeared to me there were occasions when my directions had not been carried out—I spoke to Paine about it, but I cannot remember what be answered—she appeared to me to be improving; in fact, on the Sunday following there was a very marked improvement—I judged that my instructions had not been carried out from her wandering in her speech more than I thought correct—I saw spirits given to her upon the first

occasion only—I think it was rum which Paine gave her then, mixed with water—he took it from a flat bottle in his, pocket—having poured out the rum, if rum it was, he turned round to me and said, "Now, doctor, I will show you her weakness," upon which she replied, "Lewis, I don't want it"—he then said, "You artful little devil; you would take it if he were not here," meaning myself—when he used that expression, it did not seem as if it were in unkindness, it seemed more as if it were in joke than anything—there was no repulsion on her part towards him—I saw her frequently alone—she never made any complaint, and always spoke of Paine in the kindest way—I am not aware that Paine ever gave her any stimulant after that day—I did not ask her any questions, I was guided by her general appearance—I remember Friday, the 7th of November—I deny that he uncorked a bottle of whisky while I was there—I never saw him uncork any whisky—it is not true that he gave the deceased some, and that I took some too; there is not a word of truth in it—I remember on the morning of the 17th, saying that she would live for twenty years yet—I will explain that—on that morning I found her very bad—her face was dusky and she was complaining of shortness of breath, which I ascertained to arise from congestion of the left lung—for this I ordered a linseed-meal and mustard poultice, and administered to her spoonfuls of hot diluted brandy—at this time Powell came into the room and said audibly, "Anybody can see she is dying"—I said, "No; she is not dying in the sense that you understand dying"—when I called in the evening she had considerably rallied—observation was made again that she was dying, and I, with a view to calm and reassure the patient, said that she might live for twenty years, or as long as any of us—that was not my real view or impression, but was simply given with a view to cheer the patient—I did not expect her to die so suddenly; but still, I was not surprised—she might have rallied and lived for months, perhaps even years—if spirits had been given five days before death inflammation would have been quite distinctly visible—her tongue was always what we call clean, by which I mean not covered with fur;—it was not ulcerated or raw at any time—I know of her having beef tea, I gave her some myself—after my instructions I have seen tumblers, probably containing a third or so of diluted brandy—I ordered no castor oil, nor did I see any—I have been in practice about eighteen years—I prescribed no medicine at all—if any spirits were administered according to my directions they were in water.

Re-examined. The administration of raw spirits would produce inflammation of the stomach—if the patient had been accustomed to take considerable quantities of spirits, it would only intensify the effects—if the administration ceased, I should still expect to find the stomach inflamed at the end of a week or 10 days—assuming that raw spirits had been taken for weeks previously, it would have taken weeks to have recovered from it—the history of her case, as I understood from Paine, was that she had been drinking in excess up to the time I saw her—excessive drinking would produce inflammation of the stomach—I should have expected that the post-mortem examination would have revealed those appearances; even if my instructions had been obeyed, especially in a constitution such as hers, where the power of recovery was so singularly small—it was a very strong stomach—I think a strong stomach would inflame as readily as a weak one, in fact more readily—as a rule, in all cases of persons dying from excessive drinking, I should expect to find the

stomach inflamed—I have invariably found it so in my experience—it is almost a sign positive—catarrh of the stomach is one of the results of inflammation, and invariably associated with drink—large quantities alcohol would excite catarrh of the stomach—persons suffering from prostration by fever can take large quantities of alcohol, live on it, in fact you may say, entirely for a period without exciting catarrh, without setting up inflammation—a person very much debilitated could not take I arge quantities of spirit—a debilitated person, in all probability would haw catarrh set up from raw spirits, or, in fact, if spirits were diluted to any extent; still, it would be more likely to occur in a healthy person—I remember the prisoner saying, "Now I will show you her weakness"—I am not quite clear as to what he gave her; I think it was rum, with a little water; I won't be quite sure; it was my first appearance on the scene, consequently I was taken by surprise—I thought it rather strange—it was not at all necessary for me to be convinced of her weakness—I think she took a sip of it after he made use of that expression—I don't think she took it all; I can't be certain about that; I won't be quite sure—the rum was taken out of a small flat bottle, as far as I recollect; but the transaction altogether was so quick, and I being a stranger, I had not time to notice; he took it out of his pocket—I think the cork was simply removed by finger and thumb—I am not sure whether it was a glass stopper—I have no recollection of a cork being drawn—I think I can say that I am quite positive about it, and that I never had any of the spirits with Paine.

By the JURY. I could not see the motive of giving the rum to the patient; the action altogether was so rapid—when I say it was rum, I neither applied my nose to it nor did I taste it—I think Paine said it was rum, I am not quite sure—I thought it was a wrong thing on his part, most decidedly—the action was so rapid that I was quite unprepared to protest against it—I knew perfectly the state the patient was in, from the history of the case—I had not seen her before; that was on the very day I paid my first visit.

THOMAS BOND . I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, assistant-surgeon to the Westminster Hospital, and lecturer on forensic medicine at that institution—I have seen a great many cases of excessive drinking—it causes exhaustion of the nervous system, and, following upon that, paralysis of the muscles—it also frequently produces cirrhosis of the liver—I have, by the instructions of the Solicitor to the Treasury, been in Court during this inquiry—I have heard the general history of the case—in my view, Dr. Spurg in has correctly diagnosed the cause of death—I think that death was caused by syncope of the heart, produced by the fatty degeneration which has been described, and also by the nervous exhaustion—it is my opinion that it was a case of "alcoholism"—I think it was dangerous to administer large quantities of spirits to the deceased, either raw or diluted, in the condition in which she was described to be—I have heard that the stomach did not exhibit any sign of inflammation—that evidence rather surprises me—the effect of raw spirits would tend to produce inflammation of the stomach—if it were chronic inflammation the effects would remain a considerable time—if it was acute congestion it might disappear in a few days.

Cross-examined. This case, if anything at all, was one of chronic drinking, and therefore I should expect inflammation—when persons have

taken to drinking it is very difficult to restrain them—I have found the greatest ingenuity on the part of those persons in killing themselves—I do not use the them "dipsomaniacs "much, I should generally call them habitual drinkers—my experience is that they do not like raw spirits; they like to be constantly taking weak spirits—I do not think the administration of weakened spirits would be the proper treatment—I always stop it altogether—it is the practice of many medical men to stop it gradually; I entertain a different opinion—from the history of this case I would not call it a sudden death—the lady had been sinking for some time—I have often seen a rallying before death—the ventricles of the heart being empty shows that she died from sudden syncope, but a person may be at the point of death for a good many days and then die suddenly; it is a question of degree.

Re-examined. Considering the condition in which Miss Maclean was on the 6th and afterwards up to the time of her death, I do not think she would have had a craving for raw spirits—my experience of many patients dying from spirits is that at the last they detest raw spirits—they require stimulant, they still ask for it—my view is that it is better to cut off alcohol altogether—I know that other persons think differently—I resort to other stimulants of a different character not containing alcohol—carbonate of ammonia is one, nuxvomica is another, and beef-tea is another.

JAMES BUCKINGHAM (Police-Inspector E). After the verdict of the Coroner's Jury on the 16th December I arrested the prisoner—I found certain papers upon him, and amongst others Attenborough's deposit note of the plate.

EDWIN LEWIS FOBS (Examined by MR. SERJEANT BALLANTINE). I reside at Broadway, Worcestershire, and am a chemist and druggist—I knew the deceased—she was in the habit of coming to the shop to buy things for toilet purposes—she never bought any laudanum or alcohol there—I never supplied her with anything of the Kind—Mr. Paine called on or about the 29th of September, and said Mrs. Paine was in a desponding state of mind, and if she applied for anything of a poisonous nature I was not to supply it without a written order from him—I knew Dr. Maclean while he was living at the Broadway—laudanum or opiates had been supplied to the house, to the doctor.

By MR. POLAND. I had known the deceased about 12 months—I saw her about a month before Paine called—she went about the village in the ordinary way, and appeared very well—she was a customer of ours—there is no other chemist and druggist at Broadway—Paine said she was in a low, desponding state of mind, but did Bat say what that arose from—I did not see her after he called—she was introduced to me by Paine as Mrs. Paine about June, and I knew that they were living together as Mr. and Mrs. Paine—Paine called for some mixture on the 28th—I am not sure whether the order I have mentioned was given on the 28th or 29th—it was on one of those days—I do not know whether aha ever had any laudanum.

RUPERTIA WILSON (Re-examined by MR. SERJEANT BALLANTINE). There is a tradesman, named Randall who has done some work for my sister in her house, but not for many years; I only know him by his removing the furniture from 40, Eastbourne Terrace to Craven Road—when I went on the visit I have spoken of, nothing was said about a will, only Miss

Maclean wished her will made; she wished me to fetch her solicitor, also to prevent Paine getting any more money out of the bank.

By MR. POLAND. She said she was very anxious for me to go to Mr. Taylor to prevent Paine getting any more money of hers out of the bank "Thank God," she said, "I have a little left"—I said I could not go at that time, as it was between 2 and 3 in the morning—she said, "Telegraph to him; "I said I could not, there were no telegraph offices open, but I would go the first thing in the morning and fetch him—"Do, she said "mind you do, now do," she said imploringly; "now do mind you do I want him to make my will"—she was very anxious about a box of plate—this occurred during the night; she had repeated conversations—I was then going to wish her good-bye—she said, "Don't go, don't leave me;" she took hold of my hands as well as she could, and said, "You shan't go"—she had not the proper use of her hands, but she seemed to have a better use of them after I had been with her a little time—all I know of Randall is that he removed my sister's furniture, and during the removal a watch and chain was lost belonging to my sister.

By MR. SERJEANT BALLANTINE. I can't say who stole it—I don't mean to charge him or any one with stealing it—I mean to say it was stolen, who stole it I can't say—my niece was a little wandering in her mini when I saw her—she was very collected at times, and then she wandered again.

By MR. POLAND. To the best of my belief these documents (produced) are in my sister's writing.

MRS. POWELL (Re-examined). I don't know whether Randall was the man who was employed by the prisoner to bury Miss Maclean.

EDWARD POWELL (Re-examined). I can't tell whether Randall was the undertaker employed by the prisoner—I saw him at the inquest—I did not see him paid for the funeral there.

LLOYD (Re-examined). I slept at home last Wednesday night.

PAINE— GUILTY of Manslaughter .— Penal Servitude for Life.

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