DANIEL M'NAUGHTEN, Killing > murder, 27th February 1843.

Reference Number: t18430227-874
Offence: Killing > murder
Verdict: Not Guilty > non compos mentis
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874. DANIEL M'NAUGHTEN was indicted for the wilful murder of Edward Drummond:—he was also charged, on the Coroner's Inquisition, with the like offence.

THE SOLICITOR-GENERAL with MESSRS. ADOLPHUS, WADDINGTON and GURNEY conducted the Prosecution.

JAMES SILVER (police-constable A 63.) On Friday, the 20th of Jan., I was on duty in the neighbourhood of Charing-cross—about ten minutes before four o'clock in the afternoon I was on the right hand side, coming from Whitehall, near Mr. Gould, the fishmonger's—I heard the report of a pistol on the opposite side, which attracted my attention—I saw a gentleman reeling, with his left hand under his left side—I saw his coat on fire—he was near Mr. Tatham, the gunsmith's, on the opposite side of the street to where I was—I also saw the prisoner returning a pistol into his left breast with his right hand—I should say he was four yards, as near as I can speak, from the gentleman who was reeling, behind him—I next saw him draw another pistol from his right breast, with his left hand, and place it in his right hand, I instantly ran across to him—when I got to him he had just presented the pistol at the same gentleman who I had seen stagger—he had got the pistol up, and presented it—I seized his right arm, and closing in with him with my left, we struggled very hard, until the pistol went off on the pavement—I put my foot under him, tripped him up, and the pistol was discharged on the pavement—he struggled violently—when I seized his right arm he endeavoured to force it up again, and finding he could not, endeavoured to turn with me, and I prevented that—I did not throw him down—I nearly fell myself—I kicked his foot up—I took the longest pistol from his right hand, and the other one from his breast—I took him immediately to the station on the way, near Whitehall—he said either he, or she, I cannot say which, should not break his peace of mind any longer—that was all he said, as I was taking him along—when I arrived at the station I searched him, and found ten percussion caps on him, two 5l. Bank of England notes, and a receipt for 750l. of the Glasgow and Shipping Bank, four sovereigns, four half-crowns, one shilling, a fourpenny-piece, and one penny in copper, a knife, a key, and a small card—I did not ask the gentleman, in the prisoner's presence, where he livedd—the prisoner gave his name and address, "Daniel M'Naughten, 7, Poplar-row, Newington"—the gentleman I saw reeling was Mr. Edward Drummond—I had known him some time, in consequence of being on duty so often in that part, having seen him so often come out of Sir Robert Peel's and the Privy Council Office, likewise having seen him so often—I have seen coming from

Sir Robert Peel's house frequently—I have been more than five year on that beat—he was in the habit of coming backwards and forwards from Sir Robert Peel's house and the Privy Council Office—I produce the different articles found on the prisoner—this is the ball which was extracted—I received that from Colonel Drummond, the brother of Mr. Edward Drummond.

Cross-examined by MR. COCKBURN. Q. Can you tell me what time elapsed between the time you heard the shot and seeing him raise the second pistol?

A. A very short time indeed, I should say a few seconds—the moment that occurred I sprang from the pavement—I was on the opposite side of the road—if I had not been very quick he would have discharged it—he had his hand up to discharge it when I seized him, not when I first saw him—after I pinioned him he tried to force his arm up, but I stopped him—I had no assistance—Weston came after he was secured.

BENJAMIN WESTON . I am an office-porter. On Friday, the 20th of Jan., about five minutes before four o'clock in the afternoon, I was in the neighbourhood of Charing-cross, and heard a report of fire-arms—on looking round, I saw a gentleman staggering, with his left band on his left loin, pointing to the prisoner, who was about three paces behind him when I first saw him—he drew back a pace or two, put his right hand into his left breast, and drew a pistol, placed the barrel in his left hand, cocked it, and turned round to the same gentleman that I saw reeling, and was taking his aim at him—instantly the officer, Silver, sprang on him, pinioned his arms, struck him on the right arm, and in the scuffle the pistol was discharged.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. This was the second pistol, was it? A. Yes—he was deliberate in taking the pistol from his breast, cocking it, and putting it into his left hand, but he was very quick about it—I was about eighteen paces from him—there was nobody between him and me at the time—I saw him deliberately put the pistol out of his right hand into his left, so as to enable him to cock it—I did not hear the nick of the pistol when he cocked it, but I could tell by the motion—it seemed a cool, deliberate act, as far as I could judge of it.

RICHARD JACKSON . I am a surgeon and apothecary, and live in Charles-street, Hay market. I was acquainted with Mr. Edward Drummond from his infancy—I was sent for on the 20th of Jan., in the afternoon, down to Charing-cross, and found him in the private room of Mr. Drummond's banking-house—he had been wounded at that time—he said he had been shot in the back—I satisfied myself that he had been wounded, but did not examine the wound—I recommended his removal to his own house, in Grosvenor-street, as soon as convenient—Mr. Drummond ordered his carriage, and I went with him in it—Mr. Guthrie and Mr. Bransby Cooper, and myself, attended him—the ball was extracted within an hour after he was shot, by Mr. Guthrie—he died on the Wednesday morning following.

GEORGE JAMES GUTHRIE , Esq. I am a surgeon. On the 20th of Jan. I was called to attend Mr. Edward Drummond—I saw him at five o'clock in the evening—Miss Drummond came in a carriage to my door, and took me to the house—Mr. Bransby Cooper was there at the time—he had examined the wound before I arrived, and as I had perfect reliance on his anatomical and surgical knowledge, I did not proceed to examine it in the way he had done, but we both together examined a little further, and, on ascertaining the manner he was wounded, we at once turned to the spot where we thought it likely the ball would be, whether it had gone round or through his body, and there we found it almost in a moment—the wound being behind, the ball was nearly corresponding in front—it laid within half an inch, Mr. Drummond being very fat—the ball was extracted from the front, with a common lancet, not in the

usual way—I continued to attend him down to the time of his death—the examination after death was made in a great measure under my direction—his death was occasioned by the wound—the nature of the wound was such, that I believe it utterly impossible a person could recover from—the ball had gone through the body directly, but not quite straight—it had wounded the diaphragm, which wound never heals—it always remains an open wound—in my judgment, it was certainly a mortal wound—I have never seen such a wound recover from a pistol or musket ball—a man might recover from such a wound from a spear, lance, or sword.

BRANSBY COOPER, ESQ . I attended the Late Mr. Drummond, with Mr. Guthrie—we extracted the pistol-ball together—I believe I took the ball from the wound—I believe this to be the mark I made on it the day following—I perfectly agree with Mr. Guthrie as to the nature of the wound—I have no doubt that was the cause of Mr. Drummond's death.

GEORGE WALTER SHAW (police-constable A 10.) On the 20th of Jan. I searched the lodging, No. 7, Poplar-row—the third floor back room—I found a powder-flask, five balls, and a pistol-key—they havo been in my possession ever since.

Cross-examined by MR. BODKIN. Q. Where did you find them? A. In the table-drawer—there was no lock on it.

JOHN MATTHEW TIERNEY . I am inspector of police. I went to the policestation, Gardner's-lane, on Friday, the 20th of Jan.—I got there about twenty minutes past four o'clock—I saw the prisoner—I had no conversation with him at that time—I had a conversation with him that afternoon—I was in charge of the station from about five till eleven—I visited the prisoner about four or five times in the course of the evening—when I first entered the cell, I gave him a caution to say nothing to me that might pass between us to criminate himself, as it would he used in evidence against him—he then said either on that occasion, or a subsequent caution, for I cautioned him two or three times in the course of the evening—he said I acted very fairly towards him, that fair-play was the English character—I then asked him where he came from—he said, from Glasgow—he had been from there about three months—he remained seven days in Liverpool, then came up to London, and there remained up to that time—he said he was in business for himself as a turner, at Glasgow, and gave that business up, and was going into another line, but was prevented—I then said he had a good share of money—he said he had, that he wrought hard for it, that he generally did the work of three ordinary men, daily—I told him I had been in Glasgow three or four months before that, that I brought up a prisoner named Ellis, from there, who was charged for the Staffordshire riots—I said I forgot the name of the vessel I went over in from Liverpool, but thought it was the British Queen—he said it must have been the Princess Royal—I then recollected that that roust have been the name of the vessel—I asked him if he knew a Mr. Richardson, who was superintendent of the Gorbals police—he said he did not, intimately, bat that he was accounted a more clever man than Miller, alluding to another superintendent—I asked him if that was the vessel he came over in—he said no, it was the "Fire King"—I asked him if there was a railway from Glasgow to Edinburgh—he said there was, as well as I recollect—he said they were thirty or thirty-four miles asunder, and told me the fares of the different classes, the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd—I think he said 6s. was the 2nd class fare, as well as I can recollect—one thing I forgot before the Magistrate, which I will mention here—I told him, as I was going to Glasgow, I went on shore at Greenock—I went by railway from Greenock to Glasgow, that I went through Paisley, and described the situation of the

town to him—I asked him if he had everbeen at Paisley—he replied he had—I remarked to him that it was a great place for plaid-shawls—he said it was—they were nearly all weavers, and a great many out of employment—I then asked him if he would take some food—he said he would, some coffee, which was supplied to him—in the course of conversation, I asked him whether the name of Drummond was a Scotch name—he said it was—it was the family-name of the Earl of Perth, but the title died away—this conversation was the substance of the four or live visits I made to the cell during that evening—I cannot recollect every thing—I called at the station at a quarter before eight next morning—we always leave the station at half-past nine—I went and asked him if he had had his breakfast—he said he had, and asked me what o'clock it was—I told him a quarter past nine—it had just struck—he asked me if I would allow him to have some water to wash with—I consented, and sent the constable, who was locked up with him during the night for some water, and when the constable left the cell, I remarked to him, "I suppose you will assign some reason this morning to the Magistrate for the act you have committed?"—he said he would, a short one—I said, "For that matter, you might have stated anything you chose last night after the caution I have given you"—he then said he was the object of a persecution by the Tories, or Tory persecution, or something of that sort—that they followed him from place to place with their persecution—he seemed inclined to go on—I said, (merely to turn the conversation, I did not want to hear the confession,) "I suppose you are aware of the gentleman you have shot at?"—he said, "It is Sir Robert Peel, is not it?"—I said, for the moment, "No," and then retracted, and said, "We don't exactly know who it is yet, but recollect the caution I gave you last night, not to say anything that might be used in evidence against you"—he replied, "But you won't use this against me?"—I said, "I will make no promise, I gave you a caution"—I then left the cell—I took him up to Bow-street.

Cross-examined by MR. COCKBURN. Q. Is it part of your duty to visit the prisoner in his cell? A. Yes—if I put interrogatories to the prisoners under my care as long as I do not interfere with the case in point I do not see any harm in it—I was not directed by any one to put questions to this man—when I visited him I had my uniform on—I cautioned him more than once not to say anything that might criminate himself—my object was because I did not wish to hear anything from him that might criminate himself—I put the question to him because I wanted to get some information relative to the man himself, his former life, not to make use of in the course of any investigation that might take place—I had no intention of bringing this forward as evidence, until he mentioned the name of Sir Robert Peel—I do not say that if he had conveyed information to me, which immediately referred to the act he had done, that I should have suppressed it—if he said anything to me relating to the case voluntarily, I should have made use of it.

Q. What was your motive in wanting to get information relative to his past life? A. I suppose nothing but the anxiety of human nature to know, under such revolting circumstances, who and what the man was—I cannot give a verbatim account of the whole conversation—the first conversation was the caution and where he came from—I cannot give the whole conversation—I do not know where the first conversation stopped, or how far it extended—I was four or five minutes in the cell—it was about six o'clock—I went back in about an hour—it is my duty to visit the cells every hour—the prisoner was not alone—there was a constable with him named Edwards—he is not here—he heard the conversation—I visited him the second time about seven—I cannot tell exactly what passed at the second

visit—never intending to have it brought forward I made no notes—I noted down the subject of the morning's conversation five minute after—I mentioned the evening's conversation next morning to Mr. Hall at Bow-street—they were then quite fresh in my recollection—I cannot give the substance of either conversation—if I had any notion of coming here I should have taken more notice—I went next morning at a quarter after nine—I was there about three minutes before the constable went to get the water—he was absent six or seven minutes—the conversation passed in the absence of the constable—I knew the constable was coming back—I should have been very glad for the constable to have beard the conversation—our time to leave was a quarter past nine, and he had to wash—I had no motive for not waiting till he returned.

Q. Do you mean you had no motive for asking him whether he wanted to make a statement to the Magistrate? A. I will tell you my motive—I wished him to understand that I was quite at liberty to hear anything he wished to say voluntarily—I thought the responsibility was removed from my shoulders after giving him the caution the night before—I could have waited till he went before the Magistrate, but men's minds very soon change—he said he had a statement to make and a short one—I said he might if he had thought proper have said anything he pleased the night before.

Q. You said for the matter of that, &c., with a view to induce him to make a statement? A. I do not know—my object was to let him know I was there to hear anything he had to say.

Q. Was it not to lead him to make the statement to you that he had to make to the Magistrate? A. If he thought proper—I first mentioned this conversation next morning, the 21st, to Mr. Burnaby the clerk, at Bow-street, and afterwards to Mr. Hall—I mentioned it to Mr. Burnaby immediately I got into the Court, and to Mr. Hall after the case was heard—I rather suspect Mr. Hall was aware of it before the case was heard—I made a deposition at the next examination—I am not aware why I was not examined at the first hearing—I was in Court, and I was at the Coroner's Inquest—I did not state it at the inquest—I believe I mentioned it to the commissioners of police—I am not sure of it—I think I mentioned it to Colonel Rowan—I made a private report—I sent it into our office—it was written—I said to the prisoner, "You are aware of the gentleman you have shot at"—that was very thoughtlessly put—it was merely to turn the conversation—I thought he was going to make a regular statement of the whole affair, and I did not wish to hear it—it was inadvertently put—I did not think it prudent to tell him who it was—I thought it more proper to keep the thing quiet.

MR. SOLICITOR GENERAL . Q. You were examined before the Magistrate on the 28th? A. Yes—I gave a statement before them of what passed between me and the prisoner. I was present when the prisoner was asked what he had to say by Mr. Hall, at Bow-street—I heard the statement he made—it was read over to him afterwards, and I saw him sign it—this is the statement he made on the 21st—it is the exact words—(read)—"The prisoner after being cautioned as to his statement, says, 'The Tories in my native city have driven me to this, and have followed me to France, Scotland, and other parts; I can get no sleep from the system they pursue towards me; I believe I am driven into a consumption by them; they wish to murder me. That is all I wish to say at present; they have completely disordered me, and I am quite a different man before they commenced this annoyance towards me.' "

EDWARD HOWE . I am office-keeper at the Board of Trade, Whitehall. I was so in Jan. last—I am perfectly acquainted with the prisoner's face—I first saw him about a fortnight before the 20th of Jan., at the top of the steps of the Privy

Council office, at the corner of Downing-street—(Sir Robert Peel lives in Privy Gardens, about 300 yards from the Privy Council office—you cross White-hall, leave the Duke of Buccleugh's on the left, that brings you to Downing-street—Sir Robert Peel does not occupy the Treasury house, but transacts business in Downing-street)—I had no conversation with the prisoner then—I saw him after that almost daily, either standing on the steps or passing towards the Treasury and Charing cross—I saw him a great many times—more than once on each particular day—I saw him on the 20th—I saw him twice one day, when I was passing, on the Privy Council office steps—I saw him on the steps on the 20th, between three and four o'clock, about half an hour before this happened—I went up to him, and said, "You will excuse my taking the liberty, hut I belong to the office next door; you are a police-officer, are you not?"—he stepped forward to me, and said, "Yes"—I said, "I suppose, then, it is all right"—he did not say a word more—I left him standing on the steps—that was about half-past three o'clock—I went to Gardner's-lane the same day, and saw him in custody.

JAMES PARTRIDGE . I am a policeman. For some time before the 20th of Jan. I was on duty in Whitehall on occasions—I had seen the prisoner five or six times—my attention was first drawn to him, I think, about the 5th of Jan.—I had seen him near the Council office on several occasions, and on the 13th I saw him on the Council office steps—I went up to him, seeing him standing there, and having seen him once or twice before—I asked him if he was waiting for anybody—he told me he was waiting to see a gentleman, and at the same time he walked away from me towards the Horse Guards—I saw no more of him that day—I saw him, I should say, twice between then and the 20th—I saw him on the 20th—I was on duty there—he was on the last step of the Council office about half-past ten o'clock—I went on duty at ten, and he arrived there about twenty minutes after—I saw him there it may be from twenty minutes to half an hour before I spoke to him—I am not certain he remained there during all that time—I passed him two or three times, and looked at him—I then went up to him, and asked him if he had seen the gentleman he had told me he was waiting for—I did not mention the date—his answer was "No," or something to that effect—he spoke quick, and walked away from me directly—he did not seem inclined to answer any question I put to him—I saw him again two or three times, in the course of the day—I saw him about a quarter after twelve o'clock, down against Lady Dover's, eating some bread—Lady Dover's is between the Home Office and the Horse Guards—the Home Office chambers are between them—Sir Robert Peel's bouse is behind—you cannot see it from Lady Dover's—Gwydyr-house is between them.

RICHARD JONES . I am sergeant of the 10th Hussars. I have been on the recruiting service in London, and am in the habit of being about Whitehall, Downing-street, and that part of the town—I remember Mr. Drummond being shot—about ten or twelve days before that, or from that to fourteen, I saw the prisoner there—I had seen him frequently by the Horse Guards, from there to Downing-street, and between there and Charing-cross, walking about—I saw him on several different days—I have spoken to him—I asked him to join her Majesty's service, and intended to enlist him as a recruit—I asked him if he had any intention of joining the army—he replied he had something better in view, on the first occasion of my speaking to him—I saw him afterwards, standing with his back against the gate of the Horse Guards, in the centre—I said, "Halloo, what, here again! is there any particular regiment you would wish to join?"—he said he had no wish to join the service, he was merely waiting for a gentleman—this might have been five or six days before Mr. Drummond was shot—on the 20th of Jan. I saw him, about fifteen or twenty

yards from the Privy Council steps, in Whitehall—it was a little after one o'clock—I was in company with a recruiting sergeant, who made an observation to me, in consequence of which I pointed him out to one of the police—I saw him afterwards in custody.

WILLIAM BALE . I am a sergeant in the 2nd Dragoon Guards. I was about Whitehall and the neighbourhood some days before the 20th of Jan.—I first saw the prisoner there between ten and twelve days, I should say, before this occurrence—I saw him loitering about Downing-street and the Privy Council steps, and the Home Office, backwards and forwards, loitering against the palings, standing about, and walking—sometimes he crossed the road, and went to the entrance of the Duke of Buccleugh's, in Privy-gardens, pass Sir Robert Peel's house, and come on again by the chapel at Whitehall, and return to the same place—I cannot say whether I had seen him do that more than once in one day, but I have seen him do it on two or three occasions—I asked him to enlist—I will not say three times—twice I did—he declined, and said he had no intention of enlisting or joining the army—he said he was merely waiting to see a gentleman.

JOHN DRAKE . I am a policeman. I have been stationed at Whitehall and Downing-street since Dec. last—I have noticed the prisoner about there since the 3rd or 4th of Jan. up to the 19th very frequently, except on Sundays—I have generally seen him near the corner of Downing-street standing on the steps of the Council-office door, or walking in Whitehall, and sometimes in Downing-street—on Wednesday, the 18th of Jan., I went on the steps, and said to him, "Some of the gentlemen inside have been speaking to me about your standing on the steps; they don't appear to like your standing here"—he said, "Tell them it is a notion I have taken"—I said, "If you are waiting for any one you had better wait on the pavement, as they don't appear to like your standing on these steps unless they know your business"—he said, "You can tell them their property is quite safe"—on the same day I spoke to him again, not on the steps, but at the corner of Downing-street—he came and asked me if I would take a glass of ale—I declined it—he then asked me if I would take gin—that I also declined, and left him for that day—I saw him again on the following day, about a quarter to five o'clock in the afternoon, at the corner of Downing-street—he then asked me if I would have something to drink now—I said, "No, thank you"—he said, "Why won't you?"—I said, "If any of our people see me I shall get into trouble"—I then parted from him, and did not see him again till I saw him at the police-station next day.

ELIZA DUTTON . I live at No. 7, Poplar-row, Newington. I know the prisoner—he lodged at my house some time—he first came to lodge there about July twelvemonth—I had at that time a bill up in my house for a room to let, a back attic—he took it—he came alone—he was to pay half-a-crown a week—he said it would suit him very well—that was all he said, and he came in the evening—there was no sitting-room, only one bed-room—he came to live there that same day—he remained with me I think nearly three months, but I cannot be certain—I did not take particular notice—he slept there every night—he used to go out at half-past eight or nine o'clock, sometimes a little later, never after ten—he did not breakfast in the house—he went out to breakfast—he took all his meals out of the house—he used to come home in the evening about the same time—I gave him washing out for him—he always paid me when he paid his rent—he always settled with me every week—he never required an account of his washing—I always told him what he had to pay—that was done regularly all the time he was living with me—he came back in about three weeks, and stopped I think,

for about three weeks—I think he mentioned he had been to France—I did not observe any difference in his manner at that time—I cannot say I ever observed anything to make me think he was not right in his mind—I never had any idea of anything of the sort—I never had any reason to judge so—he remained with me the second time about three weeks—he returned the latter end of last September—I do not recollect the month he went away—he was away I think twelve months before he returned in September—I cannot say exactly what time he left—he had the same room—during the time he stayed with me he was ill a fortnight—he was in bed part of the time the last time he was there—he was not confined to his bed a fortnight—he was up some days—this was in the beginning of Dec.—I knew he was poorly then—I fetched him some coffee for breakfast from the coffee-house while he was ill—I never did anything for him in the house—he had a little barley water twice I think—I poured some boiling water on some barley which he brought in—he asked me to do it—he had no medical man attending him—he said he had got a bad cold from being out in the wet—I did not ask him to have any medical attendance—he afterwards got well, the same as he had been before—I had no conversation with him about his going home, or about his friends—I never had any conversation with him about anything—I remember the occurrence of Mr. Drummond being shot—the prisoner bad slept at home that night—he went out about eight o'clock—I spoke to him that morning—I merely asked him if he had got his brushes for his boots—he said he had got them—I gave him the clothes brush, but he did not use it—about a quarter to ten o'clock, I think, he went up to his room, but was not two minutes there—he came down again, went out, and I saw nothing more of him that day—I did not observe anything particular in his appearance and manner that morning—when he came back to me in Sept. last, he said he had been to Scotland—it was the time the Queen had been there, and I asked him if he had seen the Queen—he said he had not, for he was not in that part—I asked him if he thought the Queen's visit had done trade good—he said he thought it had—at the time he was ill he said his head was very bad—he appeared to have a great deal of fever—after that he appeared to me to get well—he came in of an evening the same as he did the first time—I never knew him to stop out—he used to come in between eight and nine o'clock—that continued all the time he was with me—he was very regular going out and coming in—I slept in the front room on the same floor as he did—I always let him in and gave him his candle, when he went to bed.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. Did he appear to you to be a man of very sober habits? A. He was very—I never saw him otherwise—I thought he was a particularly sober man—I always thought he was rather reserved in his manner—he was a man that avoided conversation with people—he never appeared to wish to join in conversation—I never saw any companion of his during the whole time he was with me—I never saw him with a creature—not one—on the morning in question he came in about half-past ten o'clock, ran up stairs, and went out again—he had done that once or twice before.

Q. When he was ill, was it from your observing the state he was in that you spoke to him, or did be begin the conversation with you? A. He spoke to me—he knocked at my bed-room door, and asked if I would get him some coffee from the coffee-house—my bed-room was near his—it was the front room, and his was the back room on the same floor—I observed that his head seemed to be bad, and that he seemed to have much fever that week—the conversation about Scotland began I believe by my saying something respecting Scotland, and he said he had been there—I asked if he was there when the

Queen was there—he said he was there, but not in that part—I said, "Has it done trade good?"—he said he believed it had—that was all—he did not join in conversation—never anything more than you asked him.

Q. Was he in the habit of looking people in the face, or did he always hang his head down when asked a question? A. Rather down—he answered shortly and quickly, as though he wished to get rid of a question—as far as I could judge I should say his habits were very penurious—he had only a change of linen, a change of flannel, and a change of socks in the house—I had no conception of his having anything like 700l. by him—when he appeared to have the fever his face was flushed, and it looked very pale when the fever had gone off him—he said he was very weak—the barley water I made him was from some barley which he brought home in his pocket—his illness was I think at the latter end of Nov., or the beginning of Dec.—nobody ever called on him—when he came home at night he would have his candle and go to bed directly—he had no sitting-room—he never had a fire—as far as I had the opportunity of observing, his habits appeared sullen and reserved—I had five other lodgers besides him—I generally let all my house out—(I make my living by it)—to families or single gentlemen—I have heard him get out of bed several times of a night—I have sometimes heard him moan and groan in the night, once or twice—nothing more I believe—I did not notice it—I was not aware of anything peculiar about him—I never heard him pace up and down the room of a night—I have known him get up in the night and smoke a pipe—I could smell tobacco or I should not have known it—I was under the impression that he was out of a situation, and had very little means, and I attributed his sullenness, and unwillingness to enter into conversation to a difficulty of getting a situation.

MR. SOLICITOR GENETRAL . Q. Nobody came to your house to visit him? A. Never—he was very little at home in the day-time—he used to come in by chance at times, but not to stop—he was generally out all day—the families of the other lodgers live in the house—they took their meals in the house—he kept his things in three table drawers, but no drawer that locked—his room was never locked—I was not aware of his having pistols, or a powder flask, or bullets—I saw the police officers find the pistols, bullets, and flask—they were in the table drawer—I was not aware of that before—I heard him get out of bed since his illness, and a little before—I heard that for two or three weeks now and then—I have heard him moan two or three times in the night about that time—when he was in health he generally slept pretty well—I believe the time I refer to was about the time of his illness—I never knew him smoke until about the time of his illness—the barley from which I made the barley water he brought in from the shop I suppose—he brought it in in his hand when he came in, when he was getting better, and asked me to pour boiling water on it, which I did—he got well again—he looked a great deal better, but did not look so well as when he first came to me—during the latter part of Dec., and early in Jan. he used to go out every morning, and came home at night just the same as usual, and he continued to do so down to the time he was taken in custody.

COURT. Q. When he came to you at first did he bring no box with him? A. He brought a portmanteau with him the first time—he did not the last time—that was kept in his bed-room—I never tried to see whether it was locked or not—he brought it on the second occasion, and took it away with him—he did not bring it back the third time—on the third occasion he had nothing about him, but what was about his person—the change of linen and flannel I should say he must have brought in his pocket—he had no books, I gave him one when he was ill, as he asked me—it was a religious book—extracts

from the Bible—he asked me for it—he went out on Sundays just the same as other days.

WILLIAM HENRY STEVENSON, ESQ . I am private secretary to Sir Robert Peel. I knew the late Mr. Edward Drummond perfectly well—he was also private secretary to Sir Robert Peel, and had official apartments in Sir Robert Peel's residence, in Downing-street, where he transacted his business—that is the official house of the Prime Minister—Sir Robert Peel was also in the habit of transacting business in the house constantly—it is very near the top of Downing-street—coming from Sir Robert Peel's house, past the Duke of Buccleugh's, and by the Privy Council steps, you get to the house—Mr. Drummond was very frequently in the habit of going to and fro from the house in Downing-street, to Sir Robert Peel's private house—Sir Robert Peel himself is also in the habit of doing so very frequently—there is a way through the Treasury, but coming through the street, you must pass the Privy Council steps.

ROBERT GORDON . I am a brass-founder, and live at Glasgow. I have known the prisoner about six years—I do not know where he lodged when I first knew him, but he worked in the same close as I did, as a wood turner—he was then carrying on business for himself—I was manager for Messrs. Laing and Son—they used to employ the prisoner—I frequently saw him on their business—his shop was in Stockwell-street—I afterwards had business with him on my own account and employed him till he gave up business, which is about a year and a half ago—I do not recollect the precise time—he was a very industrious man—I was not acquainted with him otherwise than by employing him—I frequently saw him on business, perhaps twice or thrice a week—not during the whole of that time, but at times—when I was in business for myself, I paid him money, and got his receipts—I cannot say that I observed anything remarkable about his manner on any of those occasions—I came to London in Nov. last—I did not know that the prisoner was then in London till I met him in St. Martin's-lane—it must have been about the end of Nov.—I cannot be certain as to the exact time—it was, I think, between ten and twelve in the forenoon—I was very much surprised to see him, shook hands with him, asked him how he did, and what he did up here—he asked me what I was wanting here—I told him I was in search of employment—he said he was in search of employment also—I told him I was going to Mr. Hedges in Great Peter-street, Westminster—we walked along together, and went down past the Horse Guards, on the opposite side of the way—we went down Parliament-street, and then into Westminster-hall—on our way there we passed Sir Robert Peel's house—I mentioned to the prisoner that that was where Sir Robert Peel stopped as I understood—he said, "D—n him," or "Sink him," or some such name—I cannot be certain of the expression—it was some oath—as we passed the Treasury, he stopped, desired me to look across the street, and said, "There is where all the treasure or the wealth of the world is," or something like that—we then went into Westminster Hall—we did not stop there above five minutes—we went to look at Westminster Abbey—he made a remark upon that—I cannot remember the precise words, but it was something like this, "You see how time has affected that massive building," or something like that—we then went on to Great Peter-street, where I was going to inquire for work—he staid some time for me, but when I came out of Mr. Hedge's he was gone—I saw no more of him that day—this was on a Monday—I saw him again on the Friday evening following at Mr. Hedge's—he came to see me there—I had gone there to work—he came at the dropping time, I believe about seven o'clock, the time we left off work—we walked away together—we came back to Great Peter-street, across Westminster

bridge, and went into a public-house at the end of the bridge, on the Surrey side—we sat down together, and had two quarts of porter to drink—we remained there about three quarters of an hour, as near as I can recollect—we had not a great deal of conversation—it was principally upon Glasgow that we were talking—we are both Glasgow men—I told him I had been seeing the British Museum and the Picture Gallery—I am not certain whether he made any remark on that or not—he said he was in search of employment, and that he had inquired at a shop in Great Peter-street, after leaving me on the Monday, and they could not employ him—it was a turner's shop—he said the London turners were a century behind in their way of working, and that if he had them in Glasgow he would learn them something—he paid for the beer we had—I wanted to pay the half of one of the quarts—he said it was no use doing that, that he was not hard up—we left the public-house together, went down Stamford-street, and parted there—I saw no more of him—I left London on the Tuesday after.

Cross-examined by MR. BODKIN. Q. How long did you know him carrying on business on his own account in Glasgow? A. I suppose some years—he appeared to me to be carrying on a prosperous business—he gave it up about a year and a half ago—I am not certain whether he gave it up suddenly—I am not certain whether he thought of giving it up before—I had heard that he had intended to give it up, probably some months before—I saw him once at Glasgow after he gave up business—I knew nothing of his private habits—as far as I could judge, he appeared a mild inoffensive person, particularly so—he was sometimes a little rough in his expressions, that is all—generally speaking, he was tranquil—his manner appeared inoffensive when I met him in St. Martin's-lane—he continued to talk to me in the usual manner until we got up to the neighbourhood of Whitehall—on my mentioning that that was Robert Peel's residence, he suddenly burst out with that oath and expression.

JOHN CALDWELL . I live at Glasgow—I know the prisoner—I first saw him, I think, in 1835—he came to me and wanted to take a workshop of me—he mentioned who he was and mentioned his father—I made some inquiry, and agreed to let him the shop—he occupied it from May, 1835, to May, 1836—during that year I frequently saw him in his shop—I never saw him any where else—I was not very often there—there was a question about his rent—I supposed it was 9l. 10s., and he thought it was 9l., and I kept him at 9l.—when he left my shop he removed to Stockwell-street—I used to see him there—I employed him in his business a little—I did not continue to see him up to the time he left Glasgow—I am not exactly certain whether it was in 1837 or 1838 that I lost sight of him—I never observed anything peculiar in his manner or his ways.

JAMES THOMPSON, ESQ . I am one of the magistrates of the town of Gorbals, near Glasgow—I am factor of the property in the street called Stockwell—I first became acquainted with the prisoner in 1838—I think in Nov. 1838 I received the first rent from him—it was for a workshop in Stockwell—he was tenant of that—I continued to receive rent from him for that shop up to the 11th Nov. 1840—Mr. Carlow succeeded him in it—the rent was 12l. a year—he paid me his rent regularly, half-yearly, at Martinmas and Whitsuntide—he used to pay it himself, on the 11th of Nov. and the 15th of May—he paid it with his own hand—I saw him again on the 19th of April, 1842—he called at my house in the evening, and said he had a demand against me—I asked what it was—he said he had paid what we call the poor-rate—the tenant pays the poor-rate, and the landlord pays half, and he said that in paying his last rent he had neglected to receive his half of the poor-rate, and he called to receive it—he produced his receipt and gave it to me—this is it—it

is for 6s. 3d.—he claimed the half of that, 3s. 1 1/2 d.—I paid it him—there is an indorsement on the back of it in his handwriting, a memorandum that I paid him half the poor-rate—that is all that passed on that occasion—I saw no difference in him on that occasion to what I did before—I never observed anything remarkable in his manner or conduct.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. You saw him twice a year? A. Yes—I had no particular reason for noticing him.

ALEXANDER MARTIN . I am a gun-maker, and live at Paisley—I have seen the prisoner in my shop—I cannot exactly recollect the time—I think it was about the month of July, last year, I will not be positive about the time, I think it was about then—he called at my shop and wanted a sight of some pistols—I showed him some, and be bought two of me—these produced are the pistols I sold him—they are not of the same size—he wished to have a pair to match, like the largest of the two—he wished me to get one to match that—I told him I could not promise to do so before three weeks—he did not take away either of the pistols that day—I told him I would attempt to get one to match it from my son—he went away and called another day, I think it was next day, but I am not quite sure—as far as I can recollect it was next day—I told him my son lived at Glasgow—when he came next day he said he would take the two pistols from me, on condition that I would give him one in exchange if he ever came back again—he paid me the money for them—I cannot be exactly positive how much he paid—I think it was 17s. altogether—I think he bought a powder-flask and some quantity of powder, and I think a few balls, but I am not quite sure of that—I cannot speak positively to this flask—we do sell flasks of this description and of this maker's, and I think I sold the prisoner a powder-flask—I think I made him some balls at the time.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. By saying you think, you are not, I presume, quite sure? A. Not perfectly sure, but rather confident I did do so.

MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. What is the distance of your shop from Glasgow? A. About seven miles.

WILLIAM AMBROSE . I live at Glasgow, and am a writer, what is called a solicitor here. I was secretary to the Glasgow Mechanics' Institution—I know the prisoner—I have known him since the spring of 1840—I have been in the habit of seeing him at the Glasgow Mechanics' Institution—he attended the lectures there in several classes—he had been in the habit of attending the institution several years—he attended the anatomy class on one occasion—I was in the habit of speaking to him—I knew him quite well in the spring of 1840—there was an attempt made by the persons attending to get the rules of the Institution altered—I took part in it, and the prisoner also—there were several individuals who were parties to getting up a memorial to alter the constitution, and he joined about a dozen, who took a more prominent part in getting up the memorial—he was one of them and I was one myself—the memorial was afterwards got up and signed—this is it—(looking at it)—I see my own name here and the prisoner's also—his is fifth—I partly drew it up myself, but many took part in it, eight or nine—I think he was one of them, but I am not quite sure—there was a meeting, and this is a report of the meeting—it was moved at a meeting of the parties, what we call the subsidiary classes, and the prisoner was at the meeting, if I recollect—(looking at the memorial)—I see he moved the last resolution, which was "That the following gentlemen be appointed a committee to draw up the memorial, and, embodying the resolutions, agreed to," and he was one of the committee appointed—he seconded the resolution—I was a member of that committee—I think he attended it, but I am not quite sure—it was in the

spring of 1840—the memorial will tell—there does not seem to be a date, but it was in the spring of 1840, March or April—I was in the habit of seeing him a great deal at that time—I observed nothing about him which lead me to suppose he was not in his right senses—the persons attending the lectures merely listen to them in ordinary cases, but this was a meeting to get an alteration—he was in the habit of getting books from the library—he was entitled to that privilege—I have a list of books which he had—it was made by my clerk, but I compared it—this is a list of the books which he had for two years—by attending the classes he would have the benefit of the library—I called at his place of business in Stockwell-street, about April, 1841, and saw him—I asked whether he was still a member of the Mechanics' Institution—he said he was not—I spoke to him generally about the Institution but nothing further—he spoke to me about it—I was with him a few minutes—he had a ticket for 1841 and 1842 for books—this is what we call a summer reader's ticket—it is signed by me—he did not attend the lectures during that session, but the ticket gave him the benefit of the library, after the lectures were over, until the commencement of the next session—I do not recollect seeing him after April, 1841—I did not observe any change about him then.

Cross-examined by MR. COCKBURN. Q. Where was the meeting in 1841? A. At his place of business, in Stockwell-street—as far as I recollect, it was about April or Whitsuntide, 1841—as far as I can say, he was then carrying on business in Stockwell-street—I was secretary to the institution, and am a director also—we have duties to attend to in giving out books to the members—the members take no part at the lectures, except anything special arises—I am not sure whether the resolution which the prisoner seconded was framed by the man who moved it—I helped to frame them all myself, but there were several parties concerned—I find his name in this memorial—I recollect his attending the meetings of the committee, and that meeting I know from the memorial itself, and also from recollection that he was there—I do not think he made any speech on the subject, he seconded the motion—I dare say the discussion was rather an angry one—there was one party for it, and one not.

Q. Do you recollect his bursting out into a loud fit of laughter without any cause for it? A. No—I was on the platform, I do not think he was; he was somewhere in the body of the hall, I think—as far as my recollection goes, he was in the body of the hall—I am sure I saw him there—I do not recollect where he stood—I am not aware that he was in a corner by himself.

MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. Have you a distinct recollection of his taking a part in the alteration of the rules? A. I have a distinct recollection of that, but as to the place in the hall which he sat at I am not so sure.

WILLIAM SWANSTON . I reside in Glasgow; I am curator of the Mechanics' Institution at Glasgow, and have been so since 1831 or 1832. I have seen the prisoner coming to the institution, and got acquainted with him there—I cannot exactly say when he first became a student of the institution, but I think I have seen him there in 1834 and 1835—his name appears in the book in 1838 and 1839—I have seen one entry since that—he attended Dr. Wood's lectures on popular anatomy and physiology during the session of 1838 and 1839—he had books from the library during that year—he attended lectures during 1839 and 1840, Mr. Mackey's class on natural philosophy, and he had books during the session of 1839 and 1840—I am the librarian—I

think he had thirty-six volumes during that year—he then ceased to come to the institution for some time—the next time I saw him was in May, 1842—the last books were sent to him on the 16th of September, 1842—I had occasion to meet him frequently in the library, and frequently conversed with him—we always had a few words of conversation when he called for his books—it was principally connected with the books he wanted, or about the affairs of the institution—I remember the movement in the classes in the session of 1839 and 1840—I gave the memorial, which has been produced, to Mr. Longman, of Glasgow—I have not seen it since—this is the memorial which was presented on that occasion—I did not attend the meeting of the sub-committee that drew up the resolutions—I attended the meeting of the committee of the directors of the Institution—I have seen the prisoner attending the meeting of the sub-committee—I was there sometimes, but not stopping any time—I have seen him attending the sub-committee that drew up this memorial—I have seen him going in—I have been in the room, and seen him there—I have heard him speak—I heard him speak in the discussion about this memorial—he spoke tolerably fair, he made as respectable an appearance as any others there, and spoke as sensibly—during the years of 1839 and 1840 I never observed anything remarkable either in his appearance or manner, I saw nothing different from others—during 1842 he was going rather better dressed in clothes, cleaner than he was before—his manner and conversation was not much changed, I did not remark any change in particular—he used to come frequently for books in 1842, I used to converse with him, we always had a few words of conversation—I was there regularly as librarian—he got books two or three times when I was not there, at least they are not in my handwriting—he had thirty-five volumes during the summer of 1842—if a person wished a book to be renewed he always paid 1d.—I always demanded that payment of the prisoner on his renewals in the summer of 1842, and he demurred to paying.

Q. Had he any particular acquaintances or friends that you know of? A. Yes, he had William M'Lellan, who knew him long, and Colin Graham, and there was a Mr. Knockells, of Glasgow, a member of the Socialist society—I cannot say which of those I have seen him with the most frequently—I know they were talking frequently, I have seen them shaking hands and talking together in the Institution and in the street—in our conversations we have had short references to the passing politics of the day, but we have not had much; we have talked a little on politics together—he would express himself pretty strongly on politics—I do not recollect what he said.

COURT. Q. Do you recollect what his opinions were, generally? A. I never heard him state anything as his own opinion.

MR. SOLICITOR GENERAL . Q. What have you heard him state? A. I have heard him express himself in favour of the extension of the suffrage, but I never heard him express any definite point at which he would wish to rest.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. You knew where he lived? A. I did not know where he lived till he gave me his address—I never was in his lodging, and never took a meal with him in my life—I never went to a public-house to take a glass of beer with him—I knew he was very penurious—I was not before the Sheriff substitute—I was before Mr. S—.

Q. When you saw him in 1842, did you see a marked difference in his countenance, and particularly a marked change about his eyes? A. No, I saw nothing, except about his dress, and his cleanliness in habits—I recollect on one occasion when I wanted payment of a penny from him, which he wanted not to give, and I insisted on it, he gave me a stare with his eyes, which made them appear fuller and glaring, more than usual, but that is the

only time that I recollect anything of the kind—I have stated that I noticed in the summer of 1842, a change in the expression of his countenance, particularly about his eyes—I have seen him with M'Lellan, about the institution, for a few minutes, talking, at the desk in the library, in the street, and sometimes in the room—I have seen him in the street in company with M'Lellan, shaking hands as he met him—I cannot say how many times, more than once, I think, but more than that I cannot say—I have seen him with Colin Graham about the institution, and in the street—I cannot say how often I have seen him with him—I have seen them more than four times talking together—they were often together, about the time the memorial was drawn up, standing talking together, and walking together, sometimes I put them into a small room on the stairs, when I opened it for half-an-hour or an hour—I do not know what they have been saying—I did not hearken—this was at the time this memorial was being drawn up, and since then at different times—I have never had an opportunity of seeing them together long enough to know what they were talking about, or whether they were intimate or not—Graham is not here—I saw him last week in Glasgow—I told the gentleman who examined me about a fortnight ago, what I have stated about M'Lellan and Graham—I think I saw Graham on Thursday or Friday last in Glasgow—I have not seen Knockolls this long time—I saw him, I think, once in the street during last summer, or else during the autumn—I had not seen him for a long time before that—I cannot say whether six months or a year before—I cannot say how often I have seen the prisoner in company with Knockolls—I cannot say whether it was twice or six times—I did not hear what passed between them on those occasions—I might have heard it, perhaps—I do not recollect it now—that is all I know about his acquaintances—I know his father—I left him in Glasgow last week—I do not know that he is here—Knockolls was a member of out institution—the prisoner was not a member—he was one of the off-classes—as curator of the institution I had no right to interfere in the discussion respecting the memorial—I did not interfere in anything not belonging to my own department—I did not see him burst out laughing in the midst of the meeting, in the midst of some person speaking—I can swear that I did not see it—I have heard it said lately by Colin Graham, that such a thing was, but I do not know it—Colin Graham told me so within these few weeks, that is the Colin Graham that is not here.

WILLIAM M'LELLAN . I am a blacksmith, and live at Glasgow. I have known the prisoner sixteen or seventeen years—he might be fifteen years of age when I first knew him—he was then working with his father—for five years after that I saw him almost every working-day—after that five years I saw him occasionally, just, perhaps, once or twice a-week, sometimes less, sometimes more, up to last summer, when I saw him about once a fortnight, I think—we used to attend the same classes together at the Mechanics' Institution—I have been a member of the institution these ten years past—he has attended, as far as I can recollect, three or four years—during the whole time I have known him, I cannot say I have observed anything peculiar in his manner or habits.

Cross-examined by MR. BODKIN. Q. When did you see him last? A. In Aug., 1842—I did not then observe something about him which I had not noticed before—he was more clean than usual—there might be a slight tinge of paleness about his countenance—when I saw him in Aug., 1842, I noticed that he was paler than usual—I also noticed that he had acquired a habit of knitting his brow occasionally, which I had not observed before—once or twice before he gave up business I saw that he had acquired a habit

of rolling his eye when he called at the library—I did not observe that in Aug., 1842, at the time I observed he was paler than formerly—I was examined at Glasgow.

Q. Have you not said, that in the summer of 1842, at the time that he was paler than usual, there was also a knitting of the brows, and a rolling of his eyes, which was not observable formerly? A. That was previous to his giving up business that I state that, when he was in his working dress—I cannot give the year—I cannot tell exactly in what year he gave up business, perhaps it might be about two years ago—I did not notice those circumstances last year—I noticed his being paler, the knitting of his brow, and the rolling of his eye, previous to the summer of 1842, previous to his giving up business, when he came in his working clothes—I noticed at that time that his eye had become more prominent—he was of very calm manner whenever I saw him, and of an inoffensive disposition—I never was in his house in my life—I know of no companion or friend he had—I had known him, I think, since he was about fifteen—so far as I saw, he was of a very reserved disposition—when I saw him once or twice a week, I wrought in the same neighbourhood with him—he was down in my workshop, getting small jobs there—he did not work in the same workshop—he occasionally came to the same workshop, to get some small jobs done—that was all the opportunity I had of knowing him.

DR. JAMES DOUGLAS . I am a surgeon at Glasgow, and am lecturer on anatomy there. I am in the habit of giving a course of lectures in the winter, from Nov. till May; and again in the summer, till the end of July—I know the prisoner—I recognise him as having been a student of mine in the summer of 1842, when he attended my lectures on anatomy—I had an opportunity of speaking to him almost every day—I merely spoke to him on the subject of anatomy—he spoke to me also on the subject—he appeared to understand the subject he was attending to—I had scarcely any opportunity of judging whether he made any proficiency in his studies, for he did not attend the examination of the classes; but he attended the lectures regularly, and generally spent an hour in the dissecting room daily, under my direction, reading descriptive anatomy, comparing it with the skeletons, and with the dissections on the tables—I examined the students every Saturday, but it was not compulsory for students to attend—some attended, and some not—I frequently talked with him in the dissecting-room about what was going on there—he appeared to me to understand what he was about—in the course of my lectures I give a description of the body, from the beginning to the end; and in the dissecting-room I explain particularly to them what they are studying there, what they hold in their hands, and what is before them, in the way I consider that they are familiar with—that is in addition to the public lectures—I have done that to the prisoner—I observed nothing about him, or in the conversations that I had with him, to lead me to suppose that his mind was not right—he attended my lectures regularly—they are five days in the week—this card was given by me to him—it is a certificate of his having attended the lectures—this is my signature—students keep this until their studies are terminated, as a proof of their having gone through their studies—they keep them till they apply for their diplomas—I had not seen him, before this occurred, since the last day of July, when he applied—I saw him in prison on Monday last, when I was in London—I spoke to him—he knew me—I can hardly say what I said to him—I think I said I was surprised to see him there, or something to that effect—he made no answer, except a monosyllable—I forget what he said—he made no definite answer.

Cross-examined by MR. COCKBURN. Q. By whose directions did you go to the prison to see him? A. Mr. Maule's—I do not know whether any notice

was given to the prisoner's attorney or friends—I merely went for the purpose of identifying him—my attention was not directed at all to the state of his mind in the prison—he came, like any body else, to attend my lectures—I have seen him in the dissecting-room perhaps thirty or forty times—I cannot say positively—I conversed with him, and explained to him what he was reading—we never had any conversation on any other subject—I saw him comparing the work he was reading with some skeletons—I explained to him the nature of the subject matter of the inquiry—he merely listened, he did not take part in the conversation—I had no opportunity of judging whether he was deriving any benefit from the instructions I was giving him, except from observation—he was very regular and attentive—he did not attend the examination—he said that his want of education prevented his understanding and pronouncing the Latin and Greek names—that was the excuse he gave to the students—he did not say so to me—I never observed any thing peculiar about him, except what I suppose arose from his being a man of no education, perhaps a little want of polish in his manners—he was not abrupt in his manners—he appeared to understand what I said to him, in pointing out those things to him in the dissecting-room—I had no opportunity beyond that of forming an opinion of him, one way or the other.

JOSEPH FORRESTER . I am a hair-dresser, and live at Glasgow. I have known the prisoner about sixteen or eighteen months—before he left Glasgow he was living in Plagg-street, at a Mrs. Patterson's—I have been in the habit of visiting him frequently there, I used to goon the afternoon of Sunday occasionally—we did not drink when I went there—we just sat and talked—I smoked once with him—we generally talked about the ordinary occurrences of the day—I very often found him reading—he never talked about the books he had been reading—I never saw anything about him that made me suppose he was at all wrong in his intellect—I never once thought of it—I do not know exactly when he left Glasgow—I missed him about August or September last—I frequently visited him up to that time, but not regularly—I used to stay with him about half an hour or an hour, never more than two hours.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. What are you? A. A hair-dresser—I live in Clyde-street—I never once thought of anything at all being wrong about him—I swear that—I did not pay particular attention to see whether there was or not—I never thought or suspected anything of the kind—I know Wilson, the baker, in Clyde-street—I am well acquainted with Mrs. Patterson—I never said to her at any time that it would be a pleasant thing to come here as a witness—I do not know how the attorney for the prosecution found me out—I cannot imagine—the captain of the Anderston police came to me—I cannot say exactly when or what month it was—I do not think it is two months ago—I am sure it was before Christmas—I cannot be positive—I think it was about two months ago—it was after the death of Mr. Drummond—Christmas was before the death of Mr. Drummoad—the captain asked me if I knew anything about the prisoner—I said I knew him quite well—he said, "Perhaps you will have something to say on that, how did you know him?"—I said by lodging at Mrs. Patterson's, that I saw him there, and conversed with him, and that was the only way I knew him—I was in the habit of seeing Mrs. Patterson—on account of her husband being away I went frequently up there—I cannot say any more that the captain said to me then—at our next conversation he gave me a note, and said I was to call on Mr. Loman, a writer, in Glasgow, what is called an attorney here, who wished to see me—I cannot recollect how soon that was after the first conversation—my recollection is always clear—I dine regularly about two o'clock—I have never offered myself as a witness to anybody else—on my oath I never told Mrs. Patterson that I was desirous of coming forward

on the part of the prisoner, or words to that effect—I never talked to Wilson, the baker, in Clyde-street, on the subject of coming for the prisoner—I never said such a thing in my life as that M'Naughten was a daft man—I deny it—I have been to Mrs. Patterson's since he has been in custody—I only just went up to see her one night after dinner and crack with her about him, and to hear what she had to say about it—she described backward and forwards of it, and said she wondered that I thought he was right, for she said that I had said he was wrong at one time—I denied ever having said so—she said that I did say so—I said, "I never did, when did I say so?"—she said, "You said it one night, and that you were ready to go the Procurator Fiscal's office with me if I liked"—I denied all that—she said I was tipsy at the time I said that—I have dined to-day at the Pitt's Head over the way—I have had no spirits—I had a tumbler of ale—I have had more than one tumbler—I had a tumbler before dinner, and a pot of porter—all I have had to drink to-day has been a share of a pint of porter, one with the cold air taken off, and a tumbler of ale at dinner, I should say two—I swear that is all the drink I have had to-day, both before and after dinner—I told you just now I had a pint of ale between two—I mean to represent myself as being perfectly sober.

LACHLAN M'GILLAVERY . I have known the prisoner about fifteen years—I believe these two letters—(looking at two)—to be his handwriting—I have not seen him at all of late years—I last saw him before this occurrence about nine months ago—I met him in Argyle-street, Glasgow—I had not seen him before that I think for two years or better—I had no conversation with him—I was hurried and was carrying a portmanteau at the time—I had no talk with him—I rather got out of the way because I was hurried.

ROBERT SWANSBORO . I am clerk to the London Joint Stock Bank. These deposit receipts were both given by me—one is dated on the 9th of Aug., 1841, for 750l.—I gave the other on the 28th of the same month—I recollect giving it—I believe on the 9th of Aug., the same day as the prisoner deposited the money, he called again, and required 5l. on account, which I refused—the money was deposited subject to seven days' notice of withdrawal—I think it was the same day he called, because in my diary I find I had to pay him 760l. on the 15th of the same month—I refused to give him the 5l., telling him that it was not our mode, to have a deposit account converted into a drawing account, but I would give him the whole if he pleased—I put it down for payment on the 16th, but he did not call till the 28th—I made a cheque out for him on the 16th—I then paid him back the 750l., and he then re-deposited 745l., thereby obtaining his 5l.—I then gave him the second deposit receipt—I have the counterparts of these which he signed at the time he deposited the money—these two contain his signatures.

LACHLAN M'GILLAVERY re-examined. These signatures are the prisoner's writing.

ROBERT SWANSBORO re-examined. These names are signed at the time we give the deposit receipt, so they would be signed on the 9th and 28th of Aug.—having put the last deposit receipt in, we afterwards received this letter from him (produced) on the 25th of May, in the following year, 1842—we wrote to him the same night by post, saying we should require him to send us up the receipt—we ultimately paid the money to Glynn and Co., on the 1st of June—(letter read)—"Glasgow, 23rd May, 1842.—Sir,—I hereby intimate to you that I will require the money ten days from this date, which I deposited in the London Joint Stock Bank through you, the amount is 745l.; the account is dated, 28th of Aug., 1841, but with no number—as it would put me to some inconvenience to give personal intimation, and then

remain in London till the eight day's notice will expire, I trust this will be sufficient. Yours &c., D. M'Naughten."

WILLIAM THOMAS . I am a clerk in the house of Messrs. Glynn and Co. The Glasgow Shipping Bank are correspondents of ours in the country—I paid a draft of 20l. to the prisoner, on the 29th of Nov., 1842, here in London—I did not take a receipt on the back of the note—that was done in the country office.

THOMAS M'QUEOSCH . I was agent for a friend in causing this advertisement to be inserted in the newspaper—it was not inserted by me, but by the gentleman for whom I acted—to the best of my knowledge and belief—this is the letter I received in consequence of that advertisement—(produced)—this letter (produced) is my answer to it—I heard nothing further after sending that letter.

Advertisement read from the Spectator Newspaper of the 16th of July, 1842—"Optional Partnership.—Any gentleman having 1000l. may invest them on most advantageous terms, in a very genteel business in London, attended with no risk, with the option within a given period of becoming a partner, and of ultimately succeeding to the whole business; in the mean time security and liberal interest will be given for the loan. Apply by letter, B.B., Mr. Hilton's, bookseller, Penton-street, Pentonville."—Letter read, addressed, "B. B., Mr. Hilton, bookseller, Penton-street, Pentonville, London. Glasgow, 19th July, 1842.—Sir,—My attention has been attracted to your advertisement in the 'Spectator' Newspaper, and as I am unemployed at present, and very anxious to obtain some, I have been induced to write requesting you to state some particulars regarding the nature of the business which you are engaged in, if immediate employment can be given or otherwise, what sort of security will be given for the money; and how much interest. I may mention that I have been engaged in business on my own account for a few years, and am under thirty years of age, very active and of sober habits. The capital of which I am possessed, has been acquired by the most vigilant industry, but unfortunately does not amount to the sum in your advertisement; if nothing less will do, I will be sorry for it, if otherwise have the kindness to address to me.—D. M'N. &c."

ANTHONY NISH . I went to the prisoner's lodging, at Mrs. Patterson's, at Glasgow, and found this letter, several papers of different kinds, and some books—I have not got the books here—I made an inventory of the books I found in his room—this is it—it contains a correct enumeration of the books, papers, and other things.

(Adjourned.)

Saturday, March 4th.

The Queen against M'Naughten continued.

Witnesses for the Defence.

DANIEL M'NAUGHTEN . I am a turner, living at Gorbals, near Glasgow. The prisoner is my natural son—he was apprenticed to me in my business, after which he served me as a journeyman for some time—it may be fourteen or fifteen years ago or thereabouts, since he was apperentice—I think he might be between twelve and thirteen when he came—he served four years and a half or thereabout, then became my journeyman, for I think, two years, then went away a short time and came back and served me again for about three years more—after that he went into business for himself as a turner, for a year and a hlaf—after which he removed to Stockwell-street, Glasgow—he continued therein business for himself, for I think nearly five years—at that time he was very industrious, he was very steady while he was with me, generally very attentive—his conduct towards me was very obdient—he conducted himself with great property at that time—I was

not in the habit of seeing him very frequently after he went into business for himself—after he separated from our shop I did not see him so much as formerly—I met him frequently—after he began for himself, I thought his conduct was a little more distant towards me—he was very seldom in the habit of speaking to me or recognising me when he met me in the street, at first he did, after-wards he became more distant towards me—I met him in several places about two years ago—I understand he went to lodge with Mrs. Patterson—I never saw him there—I heard of his leaving business—I met him frequently in the street after that—he frequently passed me without speaking—I cannot say what reason he had, I had given him no cause for that—I remember his coming to my house full two years ago, it might be two years and a month or so, I cannot say to a few days—he said he wished to speak to me by myself—I went into a room with him—he said he wished me to speak to some of the official gentlemen in the city of Glasgow, to put a stop to a persecution raised against him—he mentioned the name of Mr. Sheriff Allison in particular—I asked him who were the parties that were persecuting him—he told me it was some of the gentlemen connected with the conservative parties in Glasgow, and Mr. Sheriff Allison knew all about it—I told him I was very sorry to hear his statement, and assured him there was no such persecution existing within the kingdom as far as I knew—he shook his head, and said there certainly was a system of persecution existing against him—I again wished him to banish that from his mind as quite a groundless affair, wholly without any foundation whatever—he said I knew about it likewise—I said, "Sir, I am very sorry to inform you I know nothing of the kind, I know nothing of any persecution by any individual at all," that was the express language which passed between us—seeing his mind was so much in that way I rather dropped the subject, and talked on some other subject at that time—he talked about some other subjects rationally enough—he was rational enough off that subject, on any other subject—after talking some time on other subjects, he desired me to use my endeavours to get him into a counting-house in town or in London—before this time he had not given me any description of his days or nights, not at the first visit—I asked him if he was perfectly away from his other business—he said he had given it up—I said it would be necessary for him before he applied for a situation in a counting-house, to go to some respectable teacher to learn a regular course of arithmetic and book-keeping, and better writing, and then I would see what could be done after that—he agreed to my proposition—we parted upon that the first time—a week or two, or a short time after that, he called on me a second time and asked me if I had made any endeavours to stop the persecution against him—I said I certainly thought that in parting the last time he had been to school, and had banished that idea altogether from his mind—he said it was useless of him to attempt any system of improvement, as he was followed constantly by spies night and day—I asked him what were those spies, could he point out to me who they were—he said it was useless for him to point them out, he saw them following him every time he turned round—I asked him what they did to him, did they speak to him?—he said they did not, but they laughed in his face frequently, when he turned round, shook their heads at him, raised their arm and shook their fist in his face likewise, and frequently those of them who had sticks would shake their sticks in his face likewise—he likewise mentioned a man who had a few, perhaps a dozen straws in his hand, and whenever he looked round he saw this individual shaking a few straws in his face—I asked him if I was going out with him, he could point out any of these spies to me—"Oh, no," said he, "if they saw you with me they would not follow me at all, it is only when I am alone they follow me"—I asked him, "What did the man do that had the straws?"—

if he understood what he meant by the straws—he said, "It probably meant that I was to be reduced to a state of beggary by these straws"—I said to him, "Probably that man was a little out of his mind that you saw with the straw, if you really saw him"—he concluded this description for a time, by insisting on my calling on Sheriff Bell, as he knew also about the persecution—he asked me if I knew Sheriff Bell—I said I knew the gentleman by seeing him frequently; I never had spoken to him, but I knew him quite well—"Well," said he, "will you call on Sheriff Bell, and speak to him about it, and desire him to put a stop to it immediately?"—I asked him what he wished me to say to Sheriff Bell—he said that I knew the best way myself how to call on him, I knew better than himself what to say about it—I said I really did not know what to say about it, the thing, the system, had no existence in the world, and if such a system did exist it would be against other individuals as well as himself—I again assured him that nothing of that kind did exist against any individual, and expressed my sorrow at hearing him give such a statement—after assuring him of this, we began on another subject—he did not describe his state at all—he could not, possibly—he only always insisted that these spies were following him—I had a good deal of difficulty to divert his mind from it—we then adverted to another subject, and he again spoke rationally enough, for perhaps half an hour, on some other subject—after that we parted for the night—this was the second interview—I saw him again the third time, perhaps in three or four weeks, I cannot say to a week, about that—he asked me if I had applied to Sheriff Bell, to stop the persecution, and these spies following him—I said I had not—he asked why I did not speak to him—I said it was useless to speak to Sheriff Bell about a system which had no earthly existence—I asked if any person wrote any letters to him, or threatened him, or even dared to injure him in the least degree—he said no, they had not—I asked him if he had ever received any letters containing threatening language to him, which might be the cause of this delusion of mind—he said no, he had never received any letters to that effect—he again asked me if I knew Mr. Salmon, the procurator-fiscal in Glasgow—I said I did, I saw the gentleman every other day passing—he wished me to apply to him, if I did not think proper to apply to Mr. Bell, to stop the persecution, as he also knew about it—I said, if he could describe to me any one thing of a tangible nature, or point out any individual whatever, I would certainly call on any one of those gentlemen, if he would point out who it was that was annoying him—he said he could not point out any individual, he could not point them out—I asked him, when he looked round and saw these spies following him, could he describe what dress they had on—frequently he said they had top-coats on, large coats, wrapped up—I asked him again if ever he saw any of them at any time, and could he recognise them—he said no—I told him my reason for asking him that was, if he could point out any individual, I would immediately find means to prevent it, if he could point out any individual that annoyed him—he said he could not identify any individual—he said that he could not rest night or day, in consequence of being annoyed by these spies—"When I come out of a morning,"he said, "they follow me, and they follow me the whole day, till I return in the evening again; they are constantly following me"—I do not recollect any thing more that passed at that time—we spoke a great deal after that on another subject, and we parted as calm as usual, as we had done on former occasions—a considerable time elapsed before I saw him again, it might be several months after—he called again at my house—I met him at one time on a country road to Glasgow—we were stopping out of town, on account of the health of one of our children—we had an hour's conversation, the same as usual, he still insisting that

spies were following him—perhaps this might be the fourth or fifth interview—the interviews on the same subject were frequent for a year and a half—he was always alone, nobody was with him—I have not seen him in company with any person, I suppose for two years—he told me at that time he had used every endeavour in his power to get quit of these spies, but it was all perfectly in vain—he told me he had left the city of Glasgow to endeavour to avoid them; that he went to England to avoid them, and even to France, to escape from the persecution; that he had no sooner landed in France than he saw the spies following him there, and it was perfectly useless for him to go anywhere else; he had just returned to his native country again; he had been again attempting to evade the persecution, and he had called on me again to apply to the authorities to put a stop to them—I rather think he had called at my house in my absence, but he would find the house locked np—we were living in the country—he repeated his request to me to call on these gentlemen—I reasoned with him about the folly of entertaining ideas of that kind again, and persuaded him to banish these things from his mind—I insisted again and, again that he should put himself to school, and I would endeavour all in my power to get him a situation when he had been at school some time—after reasoning with him on the subject, I considered that it had been in a great degree effaced from his mind—on other subjects he appeared quite rational, like other people—I think I had one or two more interviews with him of the same description—he still wished me to call on the same people, and complained of the spies following him—I did not know that he left for England in September—he did not let me know of that—I saw nothing more of him until I heard that he was in custody—I think it was about the latter end of August that I saw him last—the conversation that passed between us then was just the same as usual—I had not seen any of these official gentlemen—I did not think it necessary—I thought the thing would by-and-by be banished from his mind altogether—his mind was cool and rational on every other subject.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. I understand that Aug. was the last time you saw your son? A. As far as I recollect—I did not learn from him then that he was going to London—I did not know where he was living at that time—he did not tell me—I learned afterwards that he had lived at Mrs. Patterson's—after he left my house, and set up in business for himself I was not on terms of intimacy or friendship with him, very little—he left my house a considerable time before he began business for himself, when he was a journeyman—he did not leave in consequence of a quarrel with me—I believe the reason he left, as far as I know, was, we had been in the habit of shutting up our house two or three months in the year, and taking the younger children thirty or forty miles into the country, we found it inconvenient to keep him in the house alone—we left the shop altogether; and after one of those occasions of coming back, the young man had been and got a lodging for himself—he did not leave in consequence of any quarrel with me—we continued on terms of in timacy after he left—he still worked in my shop a considerable time after he left the house—I cannot say where he was living at that time—I had no quarrel with him when he set up in business for himself—he seemed a little dissatisfied in consequence of not getting a share in my small business—he asked me to give him a share, and I refused—it was in consequence of that that he left—at least that is my conviction, I know of no other cause—I was not on speaking terms with him, but very seldom indeed, for a long time—I frequently passed him in the street without speaking—I know, from his former habits, that he was very industrious, and a hard-working lad; and, us far as that, I thought he was prospering very well—I knew where his

shop was at that time, where he was working—I do not think I was ever at the shop, at least for a number of years—I never was at his lodging—we were not on terms at that time—I think I first spoke to him five or six years after he set up for himself, as far as I recollect, when he called on me after giving up business for himself—I think that was the first occasion of our speaking together—I did not know of his giving up business until a short time after he had done so—party politics sometimes run high at Glasgow—I rather think Mr. Bell belongs to the Conservative party—when I had these conversations with my son, it was always my impression that his mind was disturbed—I did lot consult any medical man, or give information to any of the authorities of Glasgow, because at that very period trouble in my family occupied me a good deal—I had five or six of my family lying ill of scarlet fever—they were the junior branches of my family; and finding him under these rational feelings I thought it unnecessary, as I thought it would certainly get away from his mind altogether—that was my impression.

Q. What time was your family afflicted, as you say? A. Just at the very time be first called on me—all along.

Q. It could not remain two years? A. No; but one of the youngest had lingered on for two years, and was always ill, till it died.

Q. That was your reason for not taking any steps? A. I thought it more necessary that I should attend to the junior branches of the family—he was away from our house, and I thought he was perfectly able to conduct himself—he conversed with me rationally on every subject, except that one.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. You were aware of no cause of quarrel that occasioned him to leave your house? A. No, I was not—after he left our house he worked in my shop—I saw him daily—he had the charge of my shop in my absence—it was not my act that we passed each other without speaking—it was sore against my mind—he seemed to think I was opposing him in business, when he was opposing me, for he got numbers of my customers; but I never minded that, I had plenty—his passing me was his own act—he would sometimes hold his head away—I hoped these notions would pass away, and considered him perfectly able to conduct himself—he was qnite a harmless, inoffensive lad, as far as I saw; and that was bis general character, as far at I knew—I had a wile and family living at home—he never evinced any disposition to violence, or any thing of that sort—my reason for leaving him to himself, and not taking any steps, was, that I hoped it would pass away from his mind.

WILLIAM GILCHRIST . I am a printer, and live at No. 22, Centre-street, Tradestown, near Glasgow. I know the prisoner—I first became acquainted with him in 1834—the last time I saw him was in July last—when I first knew him in 1834, I was a fellow lodger with him at Mrs. Dagleish's, in Gorbal's-close, by Glasgow—we slept in the same bed till May, 1835, from about the 1st of April, 1834—during that period he used to get up frequently in the night, and walk about the room saying unconnected sentences, "by Jove," and "my God"—they were not stid in a loud tone, but loud enough for me to hear—that has occurred while he was walking in the room—they were uttered in rather a grave manner—he would occasionally be out of bed an hour, walking up and down in this way—he did not dress himself, or put anything on—he then returned to bed—this occurred from time to time during the whole period I was his fellow lodger—he appeared to be kind and mild, and of a sensitive disposition—perhaps in walking he would not allow a bird's nest to be harried—I have known that happen in my presence—I have known him carry out crumbs of bread for the purpose of feeding birds

when he went out walking—he seemed particularly fond of children—he frequently went out to Cathcart to see children there—Cathcart is two or three miles from where we lived—I accompanied him several times at his request—Mr. Smith is the minister of Cathcart—there were two children under his care, who were in the habit of playing in the garden—it was to see those children play, that I accompanied him on several occasions—he merely knew them by seeing them there in the garden—he told me that his object in taking me to see them was to witness their innocence—when I saw him in July last, it was on the banks of the Clyde—I walked out with him a short way—I noticed on that occasion that he did not look me so fair in the face as usual—I mean when he looked up, he immediately put down his head again, if 1 looked at him—on meeting my gaze he dropped his eyes to the ground—I noticed that particularly—he was not so connected in his conversation as formerly—he did not about that time complain to me about any pain that he had—on a former occasion he complained of pain in the breast—he only did so once—he would laugh occasionally without any cause, and cry without any apparent cause, but not loud—not shedding tears, but moaning, making a noise—he never to my knowledge attended public meetings, or took part in politics—I never heard him express any extravagant political opinion—about a month before July last, I saw him in my own office—he told me he had been to the House of Commons, that he had heard O'Connell, Sir Robert Peel, and Lord John Russell speak—he said Sir Robert Peel had arrived at that which Byron had said of him, of being something in the State, and that he was a great orator, that O'Connell was a great declaimer, but Lord John Russell was inferior to either of them—he did not say anything on that occasion in the least disrespectful of Sir Robert Peel—I have told you all he said on the subject.

Cross-examined by MR. ADOLPHUS. Q. When he went out of bed in the night, and walked about the room talking, was he awake or asleep? A. He must have been awake, because he was walking and speaking—I took no notice, but concluded he was awake by his walking—I have seen him laugh without any apparent cause—he might have been laughing at some recollection which I could not understand—that is not unusual—I cannot tell whether any internal pain made him moan—when he spoke of Sir Robert Peel, Lord John Russell, and O'Connell, he did not say whether they were right or wrong—there was no conversation to lead to his making that observation—nothing but what I have stated—when I met him in July, he cast down his eyes—he was not in business for himself at that time—he had left business—I know that in the course of his business he realised a good deal of money.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Did you speak to him on that occasion of this getting up and walking about the room? A. No—I never mentioned it to him afterwards.

MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. Had you been in the habit of seeing him between 1835 and 1842? A. Yes, frequently—I was on terms of intimacy with him at Glasgow—I was in the habit of seeing him at his workshop—he also came to my place—I continued intimate with him down to the last.

JOHN HUGHES . I am a tailor, and live at Glasgow. The prisoner lodged at my house at Glasgow, at one time, for about seven months—he first came in June, 1835—I had another lodger, named William M'Ockingdale—when the prisoner first came to lodge with me, M'Ockingdale slept in the same bed with him—M'Ockingdale complained to me that the prisoner was restless at night, and he left the lodging in less than a week, I believe for that reason—I myself slept in the same bed with the prisoner on one or two occasions—I was disturbed by him by his wrapping the whole of the

clothes round him during the night, and a great motion with his arms and feet—he did not get out of bed, to my knowledge—his sleep appeared to be very sound, but he was very much disturbed while he was sleeping, kicking about with his feet, and knocking about with his arms—during the whole time he lodged with me he had no acquaintance or friend as a visitor—his manner was very strange, he scarcely spoke but when spoken to, and when he spoke, his reply was quick—he always looked down when the eye caught his, and before he asked for anything, he appeared very much confused; when he did ask, he did it very quickly, and was quite relieved when he had asked—he used to leave my house and go to his workshop, I think, about seven, and returned to breakfast about nine—he staid at breakfast for an hour, then went away, and returned at two to dinner—after dinner he went away again, and returned about seven in the evening—he very frequently went to work after that—he constantly read while having his meals in my house—we usually went to bed at a little past ten—he generally remained up after we were gone to bed—I can scarcely say how late he sat up—we have heard him up till between twelve and one—I have known him to be out of bed at that time—he was always reading when he went to bed—I gave him notice to leave—I had several reasons for doing so, his strangeness of manners, his unsociablenesss, as well at the family fire-side, and his infidel principles—I had family worship in my house every Sunday morning, and every Sunday night—I did not have family worship exactly every day, but frequently, but he was always out of the way when we had it, only on sabbaths—he was at work on the other days—he always attended family worship on sabbaths, regularly.

Q. What did you mean, then, by his infidel principles? A. Because the books he was reading were infidel books—I got a lodging for him—he was very unwilling to leave my lodging—I do not know where he went to live after that—he never called on me after he left my lodging—one morning, about a month before he left, when be came in to breakfast, he appeared quite irritated and confused—he said, "Mr. and Mrs. Hughes, I have a question to ask you," speaking to me and my wife at the same time, in a very abrupt way, and angry—I said, "What is it, Mr. M'Naughten?"—he said, "Has anybody been saying anything to you against me?"—I answered, "No"—he said, "I have reason to suspect so"—he took his breakfast, and no more passed that morning.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. When did he leave your house? A. At the latter end of Dec., 1835—I never saw him since—he was working for himself at that time—it was after he left his father—at that time he always looked down, and did not look me in the face when I spoke to him—that has been so ever since I have known him—he was more strange towards the latter end of the time than when he first came—his character was more strange altogether—he came to me in July, 1835—I observed a great difference between July and Dec.—the strangeness of his manner—he was far more distant coming into the house, and remaining, and not speaking and persons speaking to him—he would be sometimes a long time before he gave any answer, and he would ask whether we were speaking to him—I did not observe the same sort of thing about him at first—he did not look me in the face when I spoke to him, when he first came, that continued all the time—during that time he was working for himself, going out to his work regularly—I parted good friends with him—I told him the reason I wished him to go, but I did not tell him this reason—it was not likely I should tell him the reasons I have stated—I did not state those reasons—I gave as a reason, that I wished him to leave—that was the principal reason

—I told him that my wife could not much longer wait upon him, that was the principal reason I gave him for going, meaning that we would wish to get clear of him, that was the principal thing—that was all that passed about it—I have not seen him since—I have not had many lodgers since—I have had some—I recollect his asking if any one had said anything against him—that was in Nov., 1835—I told him, no.

COURT. Q. Was that before or after the notice you gave him to quit? A. It was two months after—I gave him several notices—I had some children living in the house—he scarcely ever spoke to them.

WILLIAM CARDWELL . I am a turner, and carry on business in Stockwell-street, Glasgow—I know the prisoner—about seven years ago I went there to work with him as journeyman, and continued to do so for two years and seven months—I left him in 1838—I remember seeing him again in June, 1841—I frequently saw him in the interval between 1838 and 1841—his business in Stockwell-street was a good business for a considerable time—in 1840 he wanted me to take it—I did not want to do so at first, having other objects in view—he said if I did not take it he should sell off—it was at the latter end of 1840—he wanted to dispose of the whole of it to me, and he and I went into an arrangement, and I occupied it in 1841—that was after he had told me he should sell it off if I did not take it—he said he intended giving up, intending to embark in some other line, and that it would be a good speculation for me to take it, and by his persuasion I did—he said if I did not take it, he would be under the necessity of rouping the tools and selling off—during the time I was working with him I often heard him complain of his head—he complained of a pain in the head, and when he was fashed with it, he would sit for days, at least half days, holding his head—the Clyde is about half a mile from his premises—I have known him when suffering from his head go away to bathe for the pain in the head—I have known him afflicted with this pain since 1835, perhaps a day at a time, at monthly intervals or so—he appeared to suffer much pain at those times.

Q. When did you first, if ever, observe anything you thought wrong about him? A. I did not observe anything I could call seriously wrong about him till about six months ago—I had before seen him very downcast, and like afflicted in the mind, but no actions or words till about six months ago—after 1841, when I took the business, I did not see him very often till about six months—not long at a time—I saw him frequently after 1841, sometimes twice a week, sometimes not for a month or two months—I have been informed for the last eighteen months that he was wrong, but I did not believe it—I always countermanded it—about six months ago I went to see him in consequence of what I had heard—I saw him at his own lodging at Mrs. Patterson's, on a Sunday—I had not heard anything about plots against him before that time—I walked out with him, and he gave me a description of his tour to France—he said he went there for curiosity—he told me there was a party using their influence against him, and he did not get a situation on that account—I put the question to him why he did not get into a situation, and that was his answer, that there was a party using their influence against him—that they followed him to France and England, and through Scotland—I asked him if they actually followed him—he said no, but they sent their intelligence and he was known wherever he went, and then he wished to drop the subject—I told him that it was surely folly his imagining anything of the sort, for I did not think it, there was no truth in it—I asked him if they were Englishmen, Frenchmen, or Scotchmen—he said they were Scotchmen from the city—I stated that he ought to have them punished if they were slandering him—that I thought his character quite good, and he ought to have them

punished surely—he said, provided he could get his eyes on them they would not be long in the land of the living—I noticed that his demeanour and conduct changed very much in the course of the conversation—I thought it proper to drop the subject, from his violent action and words—I was quite satisfied I had gone far enough on that subject, because that was the subject 1 went on—I went to satisfy my mind—what I had heard for eighteen months I disbelieved wholly—I did not continue in that disbelief—I informed a dozen of my acquaintances the next week what had happened—I had heard reports of him as to his state—after I had had this conversation with him I quite believed what I had heard—in my judgment, he was not in his right mind when I had this conversation with him six months ago—I went expressly to ascertain that that was the fact, having up to that time disbelieved what I had heard.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. When did you begin to work for him? A. In 1835—I knew him very well in 1835, 1836 and 1837—he was lodging with Hughes in 1835—there was nothing particular about his manner at that time, it was very eccentric.

Q. What do you mean by very eccentric? A. Hard Working and penurious—his habits were a little eccentric, and what I call penurious, all connected with penury—that is what I meant by eccentric—his manner was like other people's at that time—he altered a little within the last six months—he was very anxious to have his accounts in—that was before he gave up business—between January, 1841, and the Sunday when I went to see him at Mrs. Patterson's, I saw him frequently—I did not visit him at Mrs. Patterson's except once for a minute, I have met him in the street—I conversed with him very shortly on those occasions I observed a little downcast look in him lately—he had not that look in 1835—I did not particularly observe that he looked me full in the face—he could speak fairly enough—he always had that disposition to evade questions—I cannot say that he looked me in the face when he spoke to me.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. As far as you could observe of him, was be a sullen, reserved, taciturn person? A. Yes, always—he was not in the habit of going about with persons like other men—he kept himself very much to himself, and when questions were put to him, he answered them as shortly as possible—it was before he gave up business that he appeared to be anxious to get his accounts in—hee said he was sure some persons were putting ill in their heads against him—that was the expression he used when he talked about his accounts—that did not attract my attention at the time.

COURT. Q. What did you give him for the business? A. 18l.—he had been in business five years and a half—he employed another person besides me at that time—the 18l. included tools and all—there were very few took, they were all worn out.

JANE DRUMMOND PATTERSON . I live at Glasgow. The prisoner came to lodge with me about two years ago—I had known him before that—for the last eighteen months I have observed a remarkable change in his manner—I observed that his eyes wore a very strange appearance—they looked very wild and different to what they used to do—he was very disturbed in his sleep—I slept in the adjoining room to his—there was a thin partition between us—I observed that restlessness in his sleep about the same time that I observed the wildness in his eyes, and that was about six months after he had been lodging in my house—he went away from time to time—I cannot exactly say when it was he first went away—it was some time after 1 observed the change in him—the wildness in his eyes changed again before he went away the first time—they turned better and then got bad again, and he used to moan and

groan in his sleep, and speak—that was while he was in his bed—I could not distinctly hear what he said on those occasions, only that he was speaking—that has occurred several times, at the same time I observed the wildness in his eyes—he did not have one person to visit him during the whole time, except one young man, which was Cardwell, who succeeded him in his business—I cannot exactly say how long he was gone the first time he went away, for I paid little attention to his going and coming—it was two or three months—it was during the summer season that he went generally—it was in the summer season the first time—when he came back, after leaving the first time, he said he had been in London and France—he did not then give me any further account of where he had been, or why he went—I do not know how long he remained when he came back—it was rather better than three months—he looked very poorly when he came back the first time, and was thinner than he had been, and I observed that his eyes were not much better—I had noticed his eyes before he went away—he slept in the same room on his return, and I slept in my room—I noticed the restlessness at night, as before—he was gone the second time about as long as before, and when he came back I think he staid about four months, if I recollect right, or three months and a half—I remember his returning, but I cannot exactly say the time—he went away a third time, and never returned—that was the time he came to London—he went away twice, and returned twice—on his returning the second time he told me he had been to France—he told me that he was twice in France.

Q. Did he tell you what was the reason of his going? A. He said he was going to seek a commission in the army—he told me that before he went, and after—he did not tell me anything that had happened to him in France when he returned—I aked why he did not stop in London or France when he got there—he said he could not stop there, he could have got plenty of berths, but he could not stop; he was haunted by devils—I asked him what sort of devils they were—he said they were men from Glasgow—at the time he was telling me this, he appeared to look very indifferent, not very well—he appeared to be very angry with me when I asked him—we at different times had conversations on the subject of his being haunted by devils—I told him I thought he was going wrong in his mind—he got angry, and said that I knew nothing about it—he repeatedly told me about his being haunted by devils, and I wished him to go out of the house, to go away, because I was afraid of him—when I expressed that wish, he said he would go away in a little time, as soon as possible—that was all he said when I mentioned for him to go and look for a situation for himself—I wanted him out of the house, and he told me he would go away as soon as possible—it was when I spoke to him about getting a situation that he spoke about the devils—he said be could get plenty of situations, but he was haunted by devils in every corner that he went into—I have many a time spoken to him with a view of inducing him to get a situation, and sometimes he gave me that answer, and sometimes not—he has very often given me that answer—on one occasion I found some pistols in his room; that was, I think, a few days before he went away, which was in Sept.—I said to him, "In the name of God, what are you doing with pistols there?"—he said he was going to shoot birds with them—I did not see the pistols after that.

Q. Was he in the habit lately of lying in bed in the daytime? A. Yes—he took a lowness of spirits, and went to his bed—he complained of pain in his breast—I told him to take medicine—he said he would not take medicine—he said it was a great heat and pain in his breast—he laid on the top of the bed with his clothes on—he was dressed—I have known him to be in the

house all day in that way—on one occasion, when I spoke to him about geting a situation, he took hold of me by the breast—that was not one of the occasions on which he spoke of being haunted by devils—I was telling him to go away and look for a situation for himself, he was rather cross, and siezed me by the breast, he made use of an oath at the time—I do not recollect what it was—his eyes were very wild at that time—I knew very little of him before he came to my house.

Q. You knew him for six months before you observed this change, during that time what had been his conduct and demeanor? A. I noticed his eyes going wrong at different times—he was a very quiet man—he left me in Sept. the last time—he took nothing with him but what was on his back—he told me that he was going, on the morning that he went—I do not recollect how he had been the day before, but the day he went he was very raised- looking, excited, and wild—his eyes looked wild and frightsome-like, like they used to be—before he went I asked him, if he was going to London, to take the trouble to go to the East India House, and inquire after the Argyle steamer—he said he would go—he appeared to be strange-looking then—my husband is employed on board a steamer.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. When did you first observe anything about his eyes? A. As soon as ever be came to the house—I cannot say justly that I noticed it when he first came, but after he was there some time—it is about eighteen months ago that he first said anything to me about being haunted by devils—that was what he said—he never told me that he was haunted by any other persons—when I asked him what sort of devils, he said tbey were men from Glasgow—when anybody else has spoken of it, he has always said that he was haunted by devils and persecuted, and it was always that that he spoke about.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Do you know a person named Forrester, who has been examined as a witness? A. Yes—I met him at Glasgow, as I was going to Sheriff Allison's—I had got a summons to go up to speak of what had happened—I told Forrester where I was going—he said, "Well, I can testify myself that the man is insane," and he urged me to take him up along with me to the sheriff—I said, "No"—he said he knew that the prisoner was a daft man—I would not take him to the sheriff because I saw that he had drink in his head, and I thought he knew but little about him—I did not tell him that at the time.

MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL . Q. You were going up to Mr. Allison's to speak to the prisoner being insane, were you not? A. Yes, that was my object in going up—I did not ask any one to go with me, and no one did go with me—I met Forrester coming across the street where I was stopping—I told him where I was going, and knowing he had got the newspaper, I asked him what he had heard about M'Naughten's case, and what had happened—he said yes, he knew it quite well—I had very little talk with him—I asked him if he had heard anything about the young man in the newspapers—he said he had, and I told him I was going up to Sheriff Allison—he offered his services to go along with me, and said that he knew quite well the young man was insane—I would not let him go and he did not—I knew that he came very little about the prisoner, because the prisoner was at hard labour out of the house, and he never used to come to my house—I do not think he was there above once or twice—he was in the house just twice, not oftener than that—he was not constantly in the habit of coming to see me—he has been at my house but very seldom—he knew my husband—he has been at my house to see my husband, but my husband has been from home these twelve months—he has not been to my house

to see me while my husband was away—he was just once at my house when the prisoner was there that I recollect—that was at the time I was up in London, in May, seeing my husband away with the Argyle—the day I was in London I heard that Forrester was at my house, talking with the prisoner—the prisoner told me so when I came home—he said that Forrester had been there to talk to him—he was once at the house when I was at home—those are the only two times he has been—he was in my house exactly twice—he lived across the street where I lived—I saw him very often—I very seldom talked to him—the prisoner did not tell me what he had come to talk to him about—he said that he was up in the house, and he wished to get rid of him—that was last May, after I came from London.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Had Nish the officer been to your house and searched it before you met Forrester? A. I cannot recollect, I think he had, but the officers were two or three times at the house—I went to the sheriff in consequence of having a summons.

HENRY GLASSFORD BELL, ESQ . I am one of the sheriffs of the county of Lanark, and reside at Glasgow—the prisoner very much resembles a person who called on me about nine or ten months ago—I cannot swear that he is the person—I have a strong impression that he is the same person—I cannot say that I am satisfied he is the same person, I think he is—he came to my office and stated that he was persecuted as he considered, and could get no redress—I asked him the nature of the persecution—he made a confused rambling statement in answer, the drift of which appeared to be, that he thought some persons had conceived an ill-will to him—that he considered himself, and I am not quite sure whether he said his property, in danger—I told him if he had a complaint of a criminal nature to make against any one, he should go to the Procurator Fiscal for the county, and if it was of a civil nature he should consult a man of business—he said he did not think that would do any good, and went away, apparently rather dissatisfied—about a fortnight after, the same person called again, one forenoon, and repeated some-what in the same way as formerly, that he still was subject to the persecution of which he complained—I asked if he had been to the Procurator Fiscal, or had consulted with a man of business—he either said that he had not, or that he had, and they refused to interfere—I then stated to him that if they would not interfere, if he would not take my advice of going to them, I could do nothing for him at that time—he then went away, after perhaps making one or two other observations of a somewhat confused description, which I did not pay much attention to—I think he was not very satisfied.

Q. What was the impression on your mind as to the state of that person's mind? A. I certainly thought there was something decidedly odd in the mode in which he expressed himself, and in the somewhat confused statement which he made—I made an observation to my clerk, who was waiting in the room, as to the state of the prisoner's mind, immediately after he left.

ALEXANDER JOHNSTONE , Esq., M.P. I am member for a district of the Scotch Burghs, near Glasgow—I have seen the prisoner twice before—the first time I saw him was at Glasgow, about a year ago—he called on me to complain of persecution, to request advice and assistance to get quit of the annoyance or persecution—he talked a little about other business, and upon that I found him reasonable and tranquil; and when he began on the subject of persecution he spoke in a tranquil manner too—he said that he was persecuted by the emissaries of a political party, that he had given offence to, on account of interfering in politics—he did not represent in what way he interfered in politics—he said he was attacked in the newspapers, that he was followed by persons hired to annoy him; that he could get no rest, night nor day, on account of being watched; that he had no peace of mind, and he

did not know what to do—I told him I believed he was mistaken, that I did not think any one followed him, or that any political party annoyed him; that if he was annoyed in any way he ought to complain to the captain of the police, who would protect him—that formed the principal subject of our first interview—I think he said he thought that nothing would satisfy his persecutors but his life—when I doubted the truth of his suppositions, he said he was quite certain of the fact; that many persons said to him that he was mistaken, that he was under a wrong impression, but he did not believe any thing wrong with him; he was perfectly in good health, of a sound state of mind, and that he was quite certain what he had stated was quite right—I considered that what he stated to me was his positive belief—I was impressed with the firmness of his convictions, right or wrong—I at length got rid of him—about eight days afterwards he called a second time—his representations on that occasion were much the same as on the first—he spoke generally of being annoyed, in the same way as before; that he could get no change; that he could get no rest at night; and he wished very much that I would interfere on his behalf, and free him from his persecutors—I recommended him to go to the sheriff and make his complaint; and I was quite sure, if he was so annoyed, that he would be protected by the authorities of the place—my object in doing so was to satisfy him, and to get rid of him, as I was convinced he was under a delusion—I perceived that what I said did not remove it—I came to London, I think, about the end of April—a few weeks after I arrived in London I received a letter from the prisoner—I think I destroyed that letter at the time I received it—I have not got it now—the letter, I think, contained three pages of writing, full of the same complaints as he had made to me personally—to the best of my belief, it stated that he had been followed in the way he had personally represented to me—it was to the same effect that I have stated—I do not remember particularly the expressions in the letter—I read it hastily over—I saw that it was to the same purport that I state, and I immediately answered it, and destroyed the letter—this is the answer I sent to him—that was quite the result of my own conviction, from what had passed between us, and what he had written to me—I believed that at that time he was labouring under a delusion of the mind, and that there was no ground or reason whatever for his entertaining the fears which he expressed and wrote to me about.

Letter read.—"To Mr. Daniel M'Naughten, 90, Clyde-street, Anderston, Glasgow.—Reform Club, 5th May, 1842.—Sir, I received your letter of 3rd May. I am very sorry that I can do nothing for you. I am afraid that you are labouring under a delusion of mind, and that there is no reason for your entertaining such fears. Yours, &c., ALEXANDER JOHNSTONE." Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. Had you had any acquaintance or knowledge of this young man before? A. I knew nothing whatever about him before he called on me in Glasgow—I had not known his father or his family—I had no other interview with him than those I have named—I did not give any information about him, or take any steps, to the authorities in Glasgow or London—this letter of mine was the last thing that passed between us—I have had no communication with him since.

SIR JAMES CAMPBELL . I am the Lord Provost of Glasgow, and was so in 1842. The prisoner called on me, I think, in May, 1842, in the morning while I was at breakfast—I came out into the lobby, and spoke to him there—his statement was to the effect that he wished my influence to protect him against certain annoyances and persecutions that he was exposed to—he stated that he was dogged and followed—I asked by whom, but he did not make me sensible of who it was—I do not recollect his words, but he stated that he had

been all that night in the fields in the suburbs, in consequence of his apprehensions from these parties, and that he was afraid to go home, that they had an ill-will to him—he did not assign any reason—I think he said that it was personal danger he was afraid of—he did not make me understand who the parties were—his answer was an evasion to my question—he did not seem to have it fixed on his mind exactly who it was, but he seemed to have an impression that parties were following him, annoying and threatening him, but I could not make out who they were—I told him that I considered he was labouring under some hypochondriacal affection, and asked him whether he had been treated as a person that was deranged in mind—he said, "No"—I told him I thought he should consult his friends, and especially see a medical gentleman—I certainly considered at the time that he was labouring under some error of mind, that the apprehension of danger that he stated was not real—I thought that he himself was impressed with a sincere belief of the truth of the representation he was making to me—the impression produced on my mind was such that I sent to his father, and desired him to come to me to speak as to his son's state of mind—I thought it was a prudential course on my part to see his father—I am not aware that the father came—I did not see him.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDINGTON. Q. Was this the only occasion on which you saw the prisoner? A. The only occasion—I never saw him before or since, till I saw him in London—I should say he was not with me more than five minutes on this morning—he stood with his back to the door, and it was from the fan-light over the door that the light came in, and I did not see his face so very full—had it not been for what he said I should not have recognised anything wrong about him—there was nothing in his manner of speaking which was remarkable—he spoke very firmly and without any kind of nervousness—I did not apprehend any danger from his going at large—I did not think it necessary to take any further steps upon his father not coming to me.

REV. ALEXANDER TURNER . I am minister of the parish of Gorbals, new Glasgow. The prisoner called on me at my house some months ago—from my own recollection I am not able to say precisely how many months ago it was—it might have been six months, twelve months, or eighteen months ago—I believe it was within seven or eight months ago—that was, as far as I know, the first time I had seen him—he told me that he was the son of Mr. M'Naughten, of the corner of Stock well-street, who resides within my parish, and who is a member of my congregation—he told me that for some time past he had been very much persecuted by some political party, who had annoyed him in many different ways, that in order to escape their persecutions he had gone to the continent, I think he said to France, but in vain, he had not succeeded in freeing himself from their persecution and their annoyance—I think he said that they had still found him out, that he was unable to evade their persecution, and in general terms he said it had the effect of making his life miserable—I cannot recall the language he used—I do not remember the precise expressions—I think he talked of being haunted by them—I do not remember that he described how they were persecuting him—he said either that he had called, or that he was about to call, I do not remember which, on the Sheriff and on Sir James Campbell, and I think he mentioned the Fiscal, for protection, or for advice as to how he might be protected—he seemed to me at the time to be under a very great degree of excitement, which was evidenced by the drops of perspiration appearing from his brow and dropping down from his brow, at the time he was describing the supposed persecutions to which he had been exposed—I certainly thought at the time that he was

insane—my impression was such that I went to his father either the day after, or at all events within a day or two, and told him what I had seen and heard, and stated the result of my opinion—I told him that I thought his son should be put under charge or taken charge of, or something to that effect—I am not aware that when he was with me either of us changed the subject to any other.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDINGTON. Q. Do I understand you to say that you cannot, on consideration, give us the date, or anything near the date of this interview? A. I cannot from my own recollection do so, but, from other circumstances, I believe it was about seven or eight months ago—I mentioned the circumstance of that interview to my wife almost immediately after it happened, and she recollected it—I had not known the prisoner at all before—I never saw him before or since, except on one occasion, when I was taken to see whether I could identify him, for an instant in prison—I recognised him—the interview at my house probably did not last more than five or ten minutes—he stated that his object in calling on me was, that I would use my influence with his father, to see if he would endeavour to get him protected—I told him that I would see his father—that seemed to satisfy him, and he went away.

HUGH WILSON . I am commissioner of police at Glasgow. I have known the prisoner about ten or twelve years—about eighteen months ago he came to make a complaint to me, in my character of commissioner of police—after being there some little time, talking about the weather, or something, I saw, from his anxious manner, that he had something to communicate, and he said he had come to consult me on a very delicate matter—I said, "Well, what is it, Mr. M'Naughten?"—he said, in a very hesitating way, "Why, it is a sort of persecution that I am the object of"—I said, "What sort of persecution is it?"—he said, "The fact of the matter is, I-think it proceeds from Clyde-street"—I said, "Where from Clyde-street?"—he said, "Just from the chapel there, from the Catholic priests" (the principal chapel of the Catholics there is in Clyde-street) I said, "Do you mean the Catholic priests?"—he said, "Yes, assisted by a parcel of Jesuits"—I said, "What do they do to you, what is the nature of the persecution?"—he said, "Annoying me, and following me wherever I go"—I said, "Follow you? I cannot understand it at all"—he said, "Even when I retire to my bed in my lodging, I scarcely get into my bed till I see them in my bed-room"—I said it was an extraordinary thing, I could not conceive what it was or how it was; and it being eleven o'clock, on Saturday night, I said I would inquire into it, and I would know if there was anything in it—he said he would be obliged to me if I would do so, apologizing at the same time for the trouble he had given me, and asked when he should call back—I said, "Call back at any time"—he said, "When shall I call back?"—I said, "Next week"—he said, "Will you say the day?"—I said, "Very well"—he said, "Will Tuesday do?"—I said, "Very well, Tuesday"—he showed great anxiety on the subject—he was very calm when he came in, but at the time he left he was agitated from head to foot—as he spoke on he got the more agitated—his manner was such that it excited some of my family, who were in an adjoining room, who said, when he went out, "Surely that man is daft"—he came again on the Tuesday morning, about ten o'clock—I then entered into a discussion with him, and said, "Really there must be some mistake here;" I could not understand what they had to do with him, and I asked him what he had ever done to the Catholics to cause them thus to annoy him—he said he could not tell himself, he only wished they would tell him what they wanted with him; he was quite ready to do

anything they wished, if they would only tell him what it was—he still persisted in the fact of being thus annoyed—I said, "For my part, I cannot see it; give me some reason for it; the Church of Rome is an immense body; I need not tell you its constitution, and I should like to know how an humble individual such as you are in Glasgow, can be an object for such an establishment to persecute in the manner they are doing"—after reasoning for some time, he said that all I had said he would not contradict; that it was a theory, but he had the facts before his eyes, which this theory could not overturn; they were facts which he saw before his eyes—seeing that I could not be convinced that such was the case, he then said, "But there are other parties that are annoying me"—I said, "What are they?"—he said, "Oh, I think some of your police are at the bottom of it"—I said, "That is something we shall be able to get at; let us hear something about it, that is something we shall be able to inquire into"—I then asked him what sort of appearance they had—he said, just the same sort of appearance, the same sort of individuals that he saw, and he believed it was the same sort of concern, they were all in one plot—seeing that I was rather doubtful of his communication, he pressed it with greater earnestness, and said, if I knew what he suffered, he was sure I should not take his calling on me a trouble—when I got him pleased, he went away, with my promising to inquire into it—I saw him again in the course of two days—I did not intend to inquire, because I considered it nonsense; but I said, in excuse to him, that I had forgotten to make the inquiry—he again apologized for the trouble he gave me, saying that no doubt my time was very much occupied, but at the same time repeating what he had done before, the great suffering he was subject to, in excuse for his troubling me—I promised to speak to Miller, the superintendent of the police—he left me, and came back again in the course of two or three days—of course I never intended to speak to Miller—I told him I had seen Miller, that he said it was all nonsense, and I was convinced there was nothing in it—he said that Miller was a bad one, he saw it in his face, and that he was deceiving both him and me—I said that Mr. Miller had a very peculiar duty to discharge, that people might form such an opinion of him, but I believed he was telling me the truth—he then said it was hard, the way he was annoyed, and repeated what he had said before regarding the Jesuits, that if they would only tell him what it was they wanted with him, he would do it, and still pressed his complaints—I told him if he would go away, and never mind them, I would look into it myself—I did not advise him to leave the place, but just to go away for the time, and pay no attention, as if nothing was going on, and I would try to find it out myself—I said that just to pacify him—he went away, came back again in two or three days, and complained that the people who were persecuting him, were just as bad as ever—I said, "How is that, do you see them?"—he said, "Yes, I see them"—I said, "How do you see them?"—"Oh," said he, "when I look about me"—"Look about you," I said, "why you have spoiled the plan I was adopting"—he said the appearances he saw were similar to those under the first persecution that he spoke of by the Catholics.

Q. Did he say they were similar, or did he describe them in similar terms? A. No, he said they were persecuting him as before, without describing them at all—I did not ask him any description of them—he said that there was no change—he said that the Tories were the party that joined with the Catholics, that he had no rest, that he could get no sleep night nor day, that his sufferings were intolerable, and that they would throw him into a consumption—I told him that he had spoiled the scheme I had laid, and seemed very much disappointed—he begged pardon, and said I had not

given him the proper directions to follow out the scheme, or he certainly would have done it, that he would have given anything to get his object obtained, and were it possible yet to do it, he would do as I told him—I told him that he was neither to look to the one side or the other, that he was if possible not to see them by any means; that they might not see that he observed them—he said he would do so—I did not see him after that for three or four months—he then came, and said that they were worse than ever—on the first interview I had told him that he should get out of the way, and get away from the place—he said that he had done so, that he had been to Boulogne, and he said, "You have been there"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "You recollect the wooden box that is on the Quay for the custom-house officers"—I said, "Yes"—he said he had scarcely got the length of the box, till he saw them, or one of them, peeping past the corner on the Quay—I said, "Did you go on to Paris?"—he said no, it was no use his going any further spending his money, when he could get no relief—he did not tell me where he had been on that occasion—he said that they were worse than ever—I then recommended him to go into the country, work and amuse himself, and divert his mind from the thing, for I thought it was nonsense—he said it was no use his going to the country, because they would follow him—I saw him many times after this—this was after he had been away three or four months—I cannot say whether he looked worse when he came back—I do not recollect that he did—he was always perfectly quiet when he came in, but by the time he left he always got more excited, and I saw he was worse in that respect, and more violent in his language—the last time I saw him was I think about Aug. last—he then made the same complaints to me—I had a great many interviews of the same nature—he asked my advice as to where he should go to work, and the manner in which he should leave the place to give the spies as it were the slip—the last time I saw him this appeared to be stronger on his mind than ever, and his manner was more excited—I had a great many interviews, all of that same nature, consulting me how he could leave—I called on his father at this period, and told him what I had observed—that was I dare say two or three months before Aug.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR GENERAL. Q. I presume that you did not think it necessary to take any steps to restrain him, or anything of that sort, in consequence of his statement? A. I did not—I did nothing, but give him the opinion as he came to ask it—I did not know where he lived—I canvassed him for his vote at his work place—that was a year and a half before he called on me on this matter—I have not canvassed him for his vote since he called on me—I think it must be nearly three years since I canvassed him for his vote—it was to be elected Commissioner of police—the party who were canvassing for me said they thought I should call on him, as he was rather a doubtful voter—I had an opponent—mine is not a political appointment—it ought not to be—it gives us no political power whatever—I have not called on the prisoner to canvass him for his vote within the last twelve months, nor for the last two or three years—I say that most distinctly—I knew him perfectly well, when he called on me to make this complaint—I was in the habit of speaking to him when I met him in the street—I had known him for the last ten or twelve years—I had not observed any thing peculiar in his appearance at that time, only he was a little opinionated, a little stiff in his opinions, and a little sarcastic—I cannot say that I remarked anything particular about his eyes, or his appearance—I observed a change in him when he called on me the other day, a restlessness in his manner, looking about, and staring with his eyes—he was very bad, very much excited, the last time I saw him, which was last Aug., he then complained to me in the same

way, and said that he was not able to suffer longer—something must be done for him—without his speaking of any particular party at that time, I understood him to mean the same party he had before spoken of—the Catholic priests, and the police were the parties he had spoken of before, and spies—he said the police were at the bottom of it, in fact that it was a combined system, the whole were leagued against him, the police, the Jesuits, the Catholic priests, and the Tories—he mentioned the Tories—I believe he described them—I did not understand him to mean any person, but just the Tories as a body—that was what he repeated to me on several occasions.

EDWARD THOMAS MONROE, ESQ . M.D. I have had considerable experience in the treatment of lunatics for thirty years, I have devoted myself entirely to that branch of the profession—I was called on by the friends of the prisoner to visit him after he was confined in gaol—Sir Alexander Morrison, and Mr. M'Clewer went with me, on the part of his friends—Dr. Bright, and Dr. Sutherland, jun. visited him at the same time on the part of the Crown—I was given to understand we were not permitted to see him except in the presence of the other two—we all in turns asked him various questions—I made notes immediately afterwards, and have those notes, but I can tell you the substance without looking at those notes—it was on the 18th of Feb.—he commenced by stating that he was persecuted by a system, by a crew at Glasgow, Edinburgh, Liverpool, London, and Boulogne—that they pursued or followed him wherever he went, that he had no peace—he said it would kill him—that it was a grinding of the mind—I asked him if he had taken any medical advice—he said physicians would be of no use—that tons of drugs could not benefit him—that in Glasgow he had observed people in the street speaking of him—they said, "That is the man," that he was considered a murderer, and the worst of characters—that everything was done to associate his name with the direst crimes—that he was tossed like a cork on the sea, that wherever he went, whether in town or country, or by the sea shore, he was perpetually watched, and followed—that at Edinburgh he had seen a man on horseback watching him—that another person there nodded, and said, "That is he," that he applied to the authorities at Glasgow for protection and relief—that his complaints were sneered at and scouted, and Sheriff Bell might have stopped the system if he would, and if he had had a pistol he would have shot Sheriff Bell dead on the spot as he sat in the Court-house—that Mr. Salmon the Procurator Fiscal, Mr. Allison, and Sir Robert Peel might have stopped the system if they would—that on coming out of the Court-house, he saw a man scowling at him with a bundle of straw under his arm—that he knew well enough what that meant, that everything was done by signs—that he had been said to be under a delusion, and the straw imported that he should lie on straw in an asylum—that in the steam-boat, on his way from Glasgow to Liverpool, he had been watched and eyed, and examined closely by persons coming near him—that they had followed him to Boulogne on two occasions—that they would not allow him to learn French—that they wanted to murder him—that he was afraid of going out after dark for fear of assassination—that individuals were made to appear before him like those he had seen in Glasgow—he mentioned having applied to Mr. Johnstone, the member for Kilmarnock, for relief, for protection, and that he had been told by Mr. Johnstone that he was under a delusion, and he was satisfied that he was under no delusion—that he had seen paragraphs in the Times newspaper with allusions pointed at him—that he had seen things in the Glasgow Herald, beastly and atrocious, insinuating things untrue, and insufferable—that he had on one or two occasions found something pernicious in his food—that he had endeavoured to study anatomy in order

to get peace, and could not find it—that be imagined the person at whom he fired at Charing-cross to be one of the crew—one of the system destroying his health.

Q. When you say "the person," do you mean that be used the expression, or did you put any name to him? A. I did not put a name to him—I think I called him "the person"—I cannot recollect the form of the question I put to him—I have no doubt I must have asked him who he conceived the person to be at Charing-cross—he said he was one of the system, one of the crew destroying his health—that when he saw this person, every feeling and every suffering he had endured for months and years rose up in his mind at once, and that he thought he should obtain peace by shooting him—all the medical gentlemen were present at this conversation, and beard what was said—I believe Dr. Bright and Dr. Sutherland were here yesterday—I do not know whether they were here all day—they were in Court—Dr. Sutherland is here now—I believe I am able to discriminate between a case where a man is labouring under delusion, and where a man feigns delusion—I am quite satisfied that the prisoner entertained the delusions he was giving utterance to—I have not the slightest shadow of a doubt on the subject—if I had heard nothing of his past history, nor the evidence given to-day, my examination in the prison would certainly have led me to the conclusion that he was insane—coupling that with the history of the two last years of his life, I have not the remotest doubt of his insanity—I am quite satisfied of it.

Q. Do you believe, judging from all the evidence, and your own investigation, and inquiry of his state of mind, that the delusion in his mind operated to the extent of depriving him of all self-control? A. I do—it was the crowning act of his delusion—it was the climax of the whole matter, the carrying out of that precise idea which had been haunting him for years.

Q. Is it now an established principle in the pathology of insanity that there may exist a partial delusion sufficient to overcome a man's moral sense and self-control, and render him irresponsible for his actions, exciting a partial insanity only, although the rest of the faculties of the mind may remain in all their ordinary state of operation? A. Yes, it is quite recognised—the distinction between monomania and general mania is quite recognised—I apprehend that monomania can exist distinct from general mania—it can sometimes unquestionably exist to the extent of overcoming a man's selfcontrol—I have no doubt that this partial insanity may exist, and the faculty that it affects may be impaired and destroyed, and yet the monomaniac exhibit all the appearance of sanity, in all other respects—the acutest reasoners on many points, good arithmeticians, good artists, and good architects—I have known great ability on those points, co-exist with disease in others—I have heard the evidence on the part of the prosecution as to his pecuniary transactions, and heard the letter read which answered the advertisement—that does not at all impair my conviction as to his insanity—I have known many lunatics keep accounts with great accuracy—persons affected on one point, where their intelligence is clear on others—it is quite manifest that such persons carry out their designs, with great ingenuity and contrivance; and afterwards, when they have done the act, they are very frequently alive to the consequences of it—they have shown great cunning in endeavouring to escape from the consequences—I have observed it every day.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. Did Dr. Bright or Dr. Sutherland put any questions to the prisoner? A. They did not—I understood they were there for the purpose of being present at our examination, and it was intended they should not ask any questions; at the same time I believe

I mentioned to them both, that I should be happy to receive any suggestions—I think I have known that arrangement before in such cases—I have attended myself in this court—never when the prisoner has been examined in prison—I attended Oxford alone—nobody was with me—I never attended any prisoner here or anywhere else that I remember in presence of any other physician—I attended on the part of the Crown, but was not present when he was examined by other physicians—all the examination of the prisoner that took place was by myself, Sir Alexander Morrison, and Mr. M'Clewer—Dr. Bright, and Dr. Sutherland, were in the room the whole time while I put the questions; and on the last occasion two other physicians from Glasgow, Dr. Hutchinson and Dr. Crawford—they attended at the request of the prisoner's friends—they put questions to him; indeed they almost exclusively put questions on that occasion—they were only there once with us—the same gentleman attended them on behalf of the Crown—the statement I have given was in answer to questions—I have not put down any of the questions—when he said the person he had fired at was one of the crew, I think the question I had asked him was if he knew who he fired at, or one of the other gentlemen asked him that—I think one of the gentlemen asked him whether he considered he had fired at Sir Robert Peel—he hesitated about that, and at length he said he was not sure whether it was Sir Robert Peel or not—I do not think I put any question to him to ascertain if he knew who the person was he had fired at; but certainly in my presence it was asked him if he knew, and it was asked him more than once—he hesitated and paused, and at last stated, to the best of my recollection, that he did not know whether it was Sir Robert Peel or not—he did not say, to the best of my memory, that he should not have fired if he had not believed it was Sir Robert Peel—I have no note of that sort—I wrote my notes when I got home—the greater part of it the same evening, and the rest the next day (producing them)—I wrote what you will find on the second sheet in the room; that is, I wrote it in pencil in the room, and copied it afterwards—that is the last examination which you have in your right hand—I am not certain whether there is any thing in that about the person fired at; there is in one of them—I think it is at the close of the first—I do not remember his saying that be should not have fired if he had not thought it was Sir Robert Peel—I do not think he said that—he said the person at whom he fired scowled at him gave a scowling look as he passed him, and all his feelings rushed into his mind at once—all he had suffered for years, and he thought it would give him peace if he shot him, and he thought him one of the system—that was in answer to questions put—I did not say, "Did you think it would give you peace of mind if you had fired at him?"—I certainly avoided all leading questions—I should have said, "Do you know at whom you fired?"—I do not think I put the question at all myself—I think it was, "Did you know at whom you were firing?" and he stated he believed it was one of the system that was destroying his health—that was not at the same time that he hesitated, and said he did not know whether it was Sir Robert Peel—he said that in reply to another question—there was a good deal of repetition—perhaps it was difficult to avoid it; and the gentlemen who came from Scotland put the same questions, not knowing what we had asked before.

Q. Do you mean that you are capable of distinguishing a delusion of mind by questioning the party, that you can satisfy yourself, by going into a cell where a prisoner is, whether his mind is diseased at all? A. I believe I can, without knowing his previous history—in a great many instances I can, by ascertaining what is passing in his mind—I might mention a fact, in connexion with what you are asking—a few months

ago, in this very prison, I was called on to give an opinion respecting a prisoner who was convicted, and who was to be hung in two or three days—I saw him, with Mr. Lawrence and Mr. M'Murdo—I was to say whether I thought he was assuming insanity or not, and I came to the conclusion, feeling my responsibility very much, that he was assuming, in which we all concurred; and, to my great satisfaction, before he was hung the man fully confessed that it was altogether assumed—I think I can ascertain whether a man is really labouring under delusion, by merely questioning him, by questioning him sufficiently—there are often appearances about the body—I did not feel the prisoner's pulse, and I purposely abstained, because I all along wished he should not know I was a physician—I believe he did not know any of us were physicians—I thought there was a very wild expression about his eyes, a peculiar expression, but I do not lay much stress on that, and a dilated pupil—I do not in all instances assume, that a party is telling me truly what is passing in his own mind—I believe the prisoner was honest in his answer.

Q. I understand you to gay, that you considered the prisoner insane, to be labouring under delusion, do you form that opinion from what he told you himself, of his going to France and to Glasgow to avoid persecution? A. Yes, he gave me ample instances—I form my conclusions from that, coupled with depositions which I had seen—but I think, without those depositions, there was ample means, from my personal observation—I consider, that a person under morbid delusion is of unsound mind—if I am satisfied that any patient labours under delusion, I should certainly consider him of unsound mind—I believe the prisoner is unquestionably of unsound mind, because he was labouring under a morbid delusion respecting this persecution.

Q. Do you consider insanity may exist without the morbid delusion? A. I think imbecility may exist in various minor forms—I think insanity involves delusion generally—there are certainly various shades of it, and the effect it produces on the mind—I think a person may be of unsound mind, and yet be capable of conducting many affairs of life, pecuniary affairs in his own business, and yet betray some decided delusion, when my judgment would make him of unsound mind without that being detected—not perhaps all the duties of life, but many duties, especially the lighter ones—it may sometimes exist, and still a moral perception remain in the party—it is very common—there may be delusion of mind, and still a person have all his moral perceptions—a person may have a morbid delusion, and yet still know that thieving is a crime, or that murder is a crime, but his antecedent delusions lead to one particular offence or another—I consider this the crowning act of his delusion—it all tallies—it he had stolen a 50l. note, I should not have been able to ascertain at all, how that was connected with his antecedent delusion—I think that delusion of this nature carries a man quite away—I mean, that his mind was so absorbed in the contemplation of this fancied persecution, that he did not distinguish between right and wrong—I think a person may be labouring under morbid delusion, and still have the moral perception of right and wrong, in a great many respects—"monomania" is not of very modern discovery, but it has been more discussed of late years—I believe the very term "monomania" is a recent term—the fact that a person may be diseased in the mind on one point, is not a modern discovery, perhaps, but it has been more discussed and considered latterly than it used to be.

Q. There are some recent theories on the subject of insanity, are there not? have you ever read the works of Monsieur Marcs? A. I never have—I have frequently heard the terra "moral insauity"—I have heard of an insanity which irresistibly compels persons to commit particular crimes, and of

an irresistible propensity to thieve—Monsieur Marcs has written a book on the subject.

Q. Making a nice definition of insanity, which he calls "moral mania?" A. I understand what is intended by moral insanity, a perversion of the passions—it is sometimes called "pathomania."

MR. COCKBURN. Q. You say that partial unsoundness of mind may exist without affecting the moral perception? A. Yes.

Q. For instance, if a man fancies that he has got a pair of glass legs, and will not put them to the ground on that account, there is nothing in that which will affect the moral perception; but suppose the nature of the delusion be to excite the fierce and angry passions of human nature, is the morbid delusion then calculated to affect the moral perception? A. Certainly—looking at the whole of this case, I have not the slightest doubt that the moral perception of the prisoner was affected and impaired when he did this act.

SIR ALEXANDER MORRISON , M.D. I saw the prisoner, with Dr. Monroe, in the presence of Dr. Bright and Dr. Sutherland—I have been in Court the whole of the time that the evidence has been given for the prosecution, and defence—I was present during the whole of the examination to which the prisoner was subjected in Newgate—from that examination I came to a conclusion as to the state of the prisoner's mind—from what I have heard in the Court yesterday and to-day, my conclusion is the same now as it was then—I have heard the evidence given by Dr. Monroe—I concur with him in the conclusions to to which he has come—I believe that at the time the prisoner did the act with which he is charged, he was of insane mind—in my judgment, the nature of his insanity is a morbid delusion on the subject of persecution, as has been explained by Dr. Monroe—I believe that those delusions acted on his mind so as to deprive him of the exercise of all restraint against the act to which it impelled him—I do not speak with the slightest doubt on the subject—what has passed in Court, particularly the evidence adduced on the part of the defence, has confirmed my original impressions—I have had nearly half a century's experience in the treatment of persons labouring under different descriptions of insanity.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. Do you consider the prisoner to be labouring under a delusion of the mind?A. Yes; that delusion being the apprehension or belief that he is persecuted by certain persons—I formed that opinion, before I had seen any depositions, from my examination of him in prison.

WILLIAM M'CLEWER, ESQ . I am a surgeon, and practise in London; I have been practising as a medical man for thirty years; I live in Harley-street. I accompanied Dr. Monroe and Sir Alexander Morrison to Newgate on four occasions, and was present at part of the examination of the prisoner, which has been detailed—I am decidedly of opinion that the impressions stated to exist in his mind were really felt by him—I have not the slightest doubt of it—I consider that he is labouring under delusions—I have heard the evidence which has been given to-day—looking at the whole history of the case, I am of opinion that the act committed at Charing-cross flowed from those delusions, that it was within the province of his hallucination—from the whole history of the case, and from my examination of him, I consider that in the commission of the act, he was not under the ordinary restraint by which persons in general are bound in their conduct; his moral liberty was destroyed.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. Did you put some questions to him yourself? A. I did—I think I asked him if he knew who it was he had fired at—I do not remember his saying that he supposed Mr. Drummond to be Sir Robert Peel—he stated he did not know who it was

—he said had Sir Robert Peel come in his way he would have shot him—I have notes of what took place, which I took immediately after—I do not think he said that if he had known it had not been Sir Robert Peel he should not have fired—I can say that he did not say so—I was there at all the meetings—on one occasion he hesitated a good deal when the question was put to him with regard to Sir Robert Peel, and then we got out of him that had Sir Robert Peel come in his way, he probably would have shot him—I think that was at the second meeting—on the third I asked him to say aye or no would he have shot Sir Robert Peel, and he said he would—I think that was the way I put the question to him—I have notes here which were taken at the time, which I can read if you think necessary—I think he did not say, in the course of the meeting, that if he had known it was not Sir Robert Peel he should not have fired—these are my notes—(producing them)—the different days are all put together—they are not separated—I did not make them all at one time—I made the first from my memory—I think it was made on the second day after I had been there—I did not make them at the time.

WILLIAM HUTCHINSON, ESQ ., M.D. I am physician to the Royal Lunatic Asylum at Glasgow—I have been connected with the institution, first as superintendent, then as assistant physician, then as physician four years—during that time I have seen above a thousand lunatics, and treated them—I visited the prisoner on Thursday last, in the prison, in conjunction with the other medical gentlemen—I examined him by means of questions put to him—I found that he was labouring under morbid delusion of the mind—I was perfectly satisfied that those delusions were really felt by him—in my opinion those delusions were quite sufficient to account for the act with which he now stands charged.

Q. Connecting that act with those delusions, are you of opinion that at the time the man committed the act, he was capable of exercising self-control, and of resisting the impulse to which he yielded? A. He was perfectly incapable of exercising control in any matter connected with the delusion—I am decidedly of opinion that the act flowed immediately out of that delusion.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. I understand you to say that these delusions prevented him from having any control over himself; what did you mean to represent by your answer to my friend? A. That any act which flowed from his delusions was an irresistible one—the impulse was so strong that nothing short of a physical impossibility, would prevent him from performing any act which his delusion might impel him to do—the act which I understand to be referred to here, is what occurred at Charing-cross—I heard that these delusions had been formed in his mind for some time.

Q. What do you mean then by saying that he could not restrain any act that flowed from the delusion, do you mean that he would have gone out into the street at Glasgow, and shot anybody that he met? A. It might have occurred at Glasgow, the same as in London, had the disease reached the same point—I think the whole history of the case as given in evidence to-day shows that the disease had gradually increased—from what I have heard to-day I suppose that he was insane at Glasgow eighteen months ago—I take it from the time of his calling on the Commissioner of police—I think he was insane at that time—I do not think that he would at that time have been capable of resisting any impulse that flowed from his delusion—speaking in connexion with this delusion, had the same morbid notion struck him then, of doing a certain act, he would have been impelled to do it—I think that eighteen months ago he was incapable of resisting any impulse that flowed from his delusion, and as far as the evidence shows, I think that has continued up to this time—I knew that he had shot a man at the time I saw him

—if I had heard nothing more than the evidence of Mr. Wilson to-day, I should have had no hesitation in certifying that he was a dangerous lunatic—I consider him to have been so for the last eighteen months, from the date that he went to Mr. Wilson, and from that time to the present—I have heard nothing to-day to make me think otherwise—I think that it arose from a morbid delusion on his mind, that persons were persecuting him—that is a symptom of insanity which we see frequently.

MR. COCKBURN. Q. When such symptoms manifest themselves, do you think it necessary that persons should be put under restraint? A. Decidedly—it is generally the case that this disease developes itself gradually, until it attains its climax of intensity—I have known of persons labouring under morbid delusion, go on for a long time without doing harm to anybody, and then suddenly break out into a paroxysm of fury, leading to the commission of an act like this.

JOHN CRAWFORD, ESQ . I am lecturer on medical jurisprudence at the Andersonian University, at Glasgow—I accompanied Dr. Hutchinson, and the other medical gentlemen, on their visit to the prisoner on Thursday—I heard him examined and assisted in the examination—the questions were principally put by Dr. Hutchinson and myself—I have heard Dr. Hutchinson's evidence and perfectly concur with him in the opinions he has expressed with regard to the prisoner's state of mind, and in general with regard to every thing he has stated.

GILBERT M'MURDO, ESQ . I am surgeon to the goal in which the prisoner has been confined—my examination has not been reduced to writing in the usual shape by the attorney for the defence—as surgeon of the gaol I have regularly visited the prisoner, and have taken pains to ascertain the state of his mind—from my observation of him I believe him to be of unsound mind with regard to the charge for which he stands indicted—I have communicated that opinion to the prosecutors.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. What do you mean by stating that he is of unsound mind with respect to the charge? A. That he is under a delusion as to the whole circumstances which have been related to-day, as to the subject matter of this charge, that he believed he was acting in self-defence in doing that which he did, and that he acted correctly—that is my impression from continual conversations with him.

ASTON KEY, ESQ . I am surgeon of Guy's Hospital—I never saw the prisoner before yesterday—I have been in Court during the whole trial—from the facts which have been deposed to, I should refer the actions and declarations of the prisoner which have been stated, to a state of delusion which I think exempts him from responsibility—I am unquestionably of opinion from what I have heard stated, that the fatal act with which he is charged, was the result of the delusion under which he has been so long labouring.

Q. Do you think a person labouring under a delusion of this kind, and acting as the prisoner did at Charing-cross, would be under the ordinary control by which persons in general are restrained from the commission of crime? A. I think him in that particular point to have lost the control of his mind.

Cross-examined by MR. SOLICITOR-GENERAL. Q. What particular point were you referring you? A. I mean the black spot on his mind, regarding delusion—I have not seen the prisoner at all—I am judging from what I have beard yesterday and to-day—I heard the account of the mode in which he conducted himself in the ordinary affairs of life—I have not turned my attention particularly to cases of insanity, but I have been occasionally employed on judicial cases, and I was here a year or two back in the case of Oxford—I think a man may be labouring under morbid delusion, and may be entirely able to distinguish between right and wrong in the affairs of life—I believe

that principle to be recognised entirely by the profession, both medical and legal—what I mean is that if the delusion impels him to any particular act, the commission of that act is placed beyond his moral control—it is possible that a person may be under a morbid delusion that by the death of another he shall obtain a large estate.

Q. Do you suppose if that person killed the other, that it would necessarily show it was beyond his control? A. I think a case of that kind, where another motive could be ascertained to have existed, would require more clear investigation; but here such a motive appears to be entirely absent—in this case my judgment is formed very mainly indeed on the absence of a motive, but not entirely—if I was aware of the existence of any other motive I should then receive the evidence with more suspicion, and it would certainly affect my judgment as to the want of control.

MR. COCKBURN. Q. You say, that in your opinion, where the act is connected with the delusion, you believe the party committing the act would not be in possession of self-control? A. I think so—judging from all the circumstances of this case, as detailed in evidence, I am most unquestionably of opinion that the act in question was connected with the delusion existing in the prisoner's mind—I think the whole history of the case affords an illustration of that theory, from beginning to end—I think a person labouring under morbid delusion may conduct himself properly in all those affairs of life which do not at all bear on the subject of the delusion.

FORBES WINSLOW, ESQ . I am a surgeon, and am author of a work on the subject of insanity. I have been in Court during the two days of this trial—I was not summoned on either side—from what I heard in evidence yesterday and to-day I felt it my duty to communicate what the result of my opinion was, on what I heard—from the evidence I have heard I have not the least doubt of the existence of the prisoner's insanity, and that the act with which he is charged was intimately connected with the delusion of mind under which he appears to have been labouring for some considerable length of time.

NOT GUILTY , being insane.


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