MARY ANN HUNT, Killing > murder, 16th August 1847.

Reference Number: t18470816-1797
Offence: Killing > murder
Verdict: Guilty > with recommendation
Punishment: Death > no_subcategory
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1797. MARY ANN HUNT was indicted for the wilful murder of Mary Stowell; she was also charged on the coroner's inquisition with the like murder.

MESSRS. BODKIN and CLERK conducted the Prosecution.

CHARLES BATTERSBY (policeman D 124.) On Wednesday morning, the 2nd of June, about a quarter-past four o'clock, I was on duty in Adam-street, Marylebone, and saw the prisoner put her head outside of the door of No. 40—she looked round, looked on each side, till she saw me, and directly with-drew her head, and closed the door—in consequence of this, I watched the house till about a quarter to five—I then saw the prisoner coming out with two large bundles, one under each arm—she merely came outside the door, I suppose not half-a-yard, before she saw the shine of the leather at the top of my bat, as I was watching round the corner on the opposite side of the road, from fifteen to twenty yards from the door—on seeing me, the prisoner

directly threw the bundles behind her into the passage, went in, and closed the door—I waited a few minutes, then went over to the door, tried it, and found it fast—I continued to watch the house till saw the door open about an inch or an inch and a half—that was about a quarter-past five—I put my fingers inside, and tried to open it, but found some one pushing against me—I then put my shoulder to the door, forced it open, and saw the prisoner standing behind it, with the two bundles by her side—I said, "Do those bundles belong to you?"—she said, "Yes, they do"—I said, "Had you been an honest woman you would have taken one of those cabs in the street, and not have watched till the policeman was out of sight"—there was a cab-stand fifteen or twenty yards from the house—she did not make any answer to that—I said, "Did you," or "have you lived in the house?"—she said, "Yes, I have been living with an old lady on the first-floor, up stairs"—I said, "I must trouble you to show me this old lady up stairs"—she said, "You can go, and I will wait here"—I said, "Certainly not, I shall not part with you, nor yet the bundles, until I have seen the old lady"—she went me up about four stairs, then suddenly turned—round, and said, "I suppose it is no use telling you a lie?"—I said, "No, nor a thousand will not satisfy me until I see the old lady"—she said, "The truth is, I have been living with the old lady in the front kitchen, down stairs"—I said, "We will go down stairs and see the old lady"—she was very unwilling to go down—I insisted on her going down with me, and she went down—I went to the door of the front kitchen—on going down she said, "It is of no use for you to knock, for she is as deaf as a stone"—I knocked repeatedly without receiving an answer—I said to the prisoner, "Is there not a window to this kitchen?"—she said, "Yes, in the front area"—I went into the front area—the prisoner went with me, after a good deal of hesitation, I took hold of her by the arm—I looked through the window of the kitchen—there was no shutter to the window—I found the kitchen quite empty, and said to the prisoner, "This is the second falsehood you have told me, when are we coming to the truth?"—she made no answer to that—I then went towards the back yards—the prisoner offered me half-a-crown, and said, "This will do to get you something to drink, or I have a crown; or, I think I have 20s."—I said, "This looks blacker still"—I had hold of her at the time, and said I should not part with her till I had seen the lady in the front shop up stairs—I said that, because I suspected something was wrong, by her offering me the money—she said she wanted to get away without paying her rent—she gave me no other reason for offering me money—I then tried the back kitchen door with my shoulder, and heard the lock make a noise as if the door was coming open—the prisoner directly turned round and said, "You have come to the truth; do not say I did it, for I have not seen her since last night"—I felt in the keyhole of the door, and not finding the key I said, "This looks very suspicious," I directly took the prisoner up stairs to the door of the shop, which is on the ground-floor, knocked, and asked to be admitted—there was a female in the room who declined to admit me, as she was undressed—I asked her if she knew the party I had outside—I asked her whether she knew her by her voice, and I asked the prisoner to speak—I believe the words she said were, "It is me, Miss Smallbone," on that Miss Smallbone said, "It is Mrs. Hunt she is living with, an old lady in the back kitchen down stairs"—I then said to the prisoner, "It has come to the back kitchen, has it? you must go with me"—I went down with her—as she was going down she said, "As I told you before, it is no use for you to knock, for she is as deaf as a stone."—I knocked at the door repeatedly, but received no answer—I inquired for the key—the prisoner said she had not

got it—I said, "This looks very suspicious"—she said, "Do not say I did it, I have not seen her since last night"—I said, "Where is the window to this kitchen?"—she said, "In the back yard"—I took her dress, about six inches in extent—it appeared to have been recently washed, the arm of the grown was wet—I have the gown here—there was a small area in front of the window, about two feet wide and three feet deep—there was no railing round it—I got down into it, to look in at the window—while doing so P✗ heard a noise, and on turning round I saw the prisoner attempting to get upon a wall about seven or eight feet high—she got on a place where the water-butt stood, about six feet high, and attempted to raise herself up by the water-pipe—I pulled her back, and said, "What are you doing?" or "What is this?"—she directly pointed to the water-closet, and said, "I want to go there," and appeared to be very much agitated, and her tongue was protruding from her mouth—I allowed her to go to the water-closet—the door was not closed, I put my hand in to prevent her closing it, fearing she might do some injury to herself while there—she was there I suppose about two minutes at the most—I opened the door directly, and saw her with her clothes up round her neck, and hands behind apparently twisting her clothes, and as I supposed attempting to strangle herself—I said, "What the devil are you doing? come out"—I took her out, and said, "I must give you into the custody of another constable—I took her with me to the street door, and opened it—I directly saw constable Jackson passing on the other side, called him in, and gave her into his custody, and said, "I have found the body of the old lady, take care of this party"—I had seen the legs of the old lady in the kitchen—I said, "This is a very suspicious affair; I suspect I have seen the body of the old lady"—and wished him to take care of her till I came back—she made some remark on that, but I do not recollect it—I then went down to the back kitchen again, got in at the window, and saw the body of the old lady with her head under the fire-place, and her neck bent—her head was, apparently, as if she was looking through the bottom of the grate—there was a cord several times round her neck—I drew the body out about six inches, and remained in that position till the surgeon saw it—there was a quantity of blood under the head—it had run from the head to the right, and formed a small pool near the centre of the room—Dr. Moat came in about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes—I went to him directly after sending the prisoner to the station—there was a table by the window, and a turn-up bedstead—it was turned up at the time—the door was locked and the key was out—I came out by the window—Jackson was still in the house with the prisoner at that time—I said to her, "I have found the body of the old lady"—she made some remark, but I did not hear it—I directed Jackson to take the prisoner and bundles to the station, and then went for Dr. Moat—after he had seen the body, a constable named Killingback had charge of the room—the premises were constantly watched till to the inquest—after I had put Killingback in charge of the premises, I went to the station, and charged the prisoner with murder—she said, "I did not do it, I have not seen her since last night"—I opened the bundles at the station—there were several petticoats, aprons, night-gowns, and shifts—they were marked "M. S."—they all were afterwards shown to Elizabeth Wills, the deceased's daughter—I afterwards went back to the house in Adam-street with Mr. Hunt—a poker was found by the body—I returned to the station-house, and searched a reticule and other things which the prisoner had with her—she was searched a reticule and other things which the prisoner had with her—she was searched by a female—I found four letters in her reticule, one partly torn up in her hand, a glove, and 1l. 1s. 6d., all in silver—these are the letters—(produced)—the inquest

was held on Saturday, the 5th—I had searched in the dress of the deceased on Thursday, the 3rd, and found two watches, 6 1/2d., and a watch-key in her pocket—there was a chest of drawers in the room; when I first went into the room one drawer was partly open, and the key in it—it was quite empty—I did not see a bag found in either of the drawers—on Wednesday, the day the murder was discovered, I went with Major Wills, the son-in-law of deceased, and showed him the body—he identified it—Mrs. Drenchfield, another daughter of deceased, likewise identified it.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. Did you put your hand on the body? A. I Did—it was quite cold.

JAMES JACKSON (policeman D 29.) On the morning of the 2nd of June, about half-past three o'clock, I was on duty in the neighbourhood of Adam-street, and saw the prisoner walking along Upper Seymour-street very quickly—it was perhaps 500 yards from the place where she lived—she was going in a direction towards it—nothing passed between us—she was on the opposite side of the road—she was carrying nothing—about two hours after I was passing by the house she lived in, and was called there by Battersby, who gave the prisoner into my custody—I asked her if she lived there—she said, "Yes"—I asked her how long she had lived there—she said, "About eight weeks"—I asked her where she was going so early—she made no reply—she speared excited very much, and trembled—this conversation took place whilst Battersby was down stairs—he afterwards came up and joined us again, and desired me to take the prisoner to the station—I took her there in a cab, and the bundles—she said nothing going along.

MARY ANN PORTER. I am the wife James Porter, a policeman, and am a searcher at the Harcourt-street station. I recollect the prisoner being brought there on Wednesday morning, the 2d of June—I was called on to search her—I observed some blood on the sleeves, skirt, and bosom of her gown—I said, "Your dress is in a mess"—she said she was taken poorly in the street, and she could not be off making herself in a mess—I examined the state of her clothing, and found she was in that condition—her under clothing had stains on it—I cannot say how much—there was a good deal—I saw blood on the strings of her bonnet, and a good deal of blood on her cloak—she said her nose had been bleeding, I think she said "last night"—there was nothing about her dress by which I could trace the blood from the lower part to the upper part of her clothing—when she was in the cell at the time the policeman was looking at the bundles—she said, "There are some things in the bundle belonging to the old lady which I have given 5s. for."

Cross-examined. Q. I suppose you have got the cloths here? A. Yes—(the witness here produced the cloths, and pointed out the marks to the Jury.)

COURT. Q. On which sleeve of the gown is the blood? A. The right and on the bosom—there are stains at the bottom of the bonnet strings.

JURY. Q. Have they been washed? A. No—there seemed to be a very great deal on the cloak when it first came to the station

SUSANNA NISBET. At the time this matter occurred I lived on the first-floor of the house, No. 40, Adam-street—the deceased, Mrs. Stowell, lived in the back kitchen of that house—the prisoner lodged there with her—the front kitchen was empty at the time this happened—there was no one on the lower floor of the house on the evening this happened but the old lady and the prisoner—the last time I saw the prisoner was on the Tuesday night, about ten minutes to nine o'clock—she was coming along the passage then—I knew Mrs. Stowell—I remember on the Monday night, before this matter occurred, between nine and ten o'clock, hearing her and the prisoner quarrelling—I

heard the prisoner say to the old lady that she would do for her—she repeated that over different times—the last I heard her say was that she would do for her, and that before long—that alarmed me, so that I went and fetched Mr. Hayman, the landlord—he came, and I told him what had passed—they were then in the back kitchen—he went down to them, and I remained on the landing—before I fetched the landlord I heard the prisoner call the old lady an old hypocrite, and I heard the old lady say to the prisoner that she was the first lodger she had ever had, and she should be the last, and she should not remain there that night—I have lodged in the house since the 24th of March last—I rather think I was there before the prisoner came to lodge there, but I am not quite certain—it was nearly at the same time I should think—I have occasionally spoken to her, and seen her—she always appeared to conduct herself quite like other persons in their senses.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. How long had you lived in the house with her? A. From the 24th of March up to be the time she was taken into custody—I used to see her sometimes more frequently than others, but not very frequently—there was no familiarity between us, more than speaking when we met, passing common conversation—I understood that the quarrel was about nine week's lodging that she owed the old lady, but the prisoner said it was about a petticoat hanging in the yard—that was when Mr. Hayman came to enquire about it—that was on the Monday night—I did not see her on the Tuesday morning—I made sure that she had left the house, from the conversation I had heard on the Monday night—I did not see her till the night of Tuesday, at about twenty minutes to nine o'clock—I cannot say where the old lady was then—I had been at home all the Tuesday—I heard no quarrelling on the Tuesday—I saw the old lady at about three or half-past three o'clock—when I saw the prisoner about nine o'clock she was going out of the house—she passed me at the door.

JURY. Q. Was the old lady in any way deaf? A. She was—she could hear the threats the prisoner used—I could not distinctly hear what she said, as I was up stairs at the time, but it was said to the prisoner—I could make Mrs. Stowell hear—she could converse with me at times—she could her if I called loud; if I exerted my voice as I do now, she could hear what I said.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. Where were you when you heard the prisoner say, "I will do for you," or words to that effect? A. Up stairs in the first-floor back room—my window was open—the door was shut—it is my belief that the voice I heard was the prisoner's—I could state so positively—I believe it was her voice—I am not certain of it.

MR. BODKIN. Q. You had your window open? A. Yes; it was the room immediately over the back kitchen where the old lady and the prisoner were, and the window of the back kitchen was open—I have not the slightes doubt whatever that it was the prisoner's voice that I heard.

CHARLES HAYMAN. I am an oil colour-man, living at No. 43, Adam-street, I am also landlord of No. 40. I remember Mrs. Nisbet coming to me on Monday the 31st of May—in consequence of what she said to me I went to the back kitchen of the house, No.40, and found the old lady sitting in a chair, at the kitchen-door, in the passage—the prisoner was in the back kitchen—the door was open—the prisoner was near enough to hear what I said to the old lady—I asked her what the matter was, what the row was about—she said that the prisoner had been abusing her, because she had asked her for some money—I then went into the kitchen, and the old lady followed me in—I asked the prisoner what she was making a noise about; she said the old lady had been making a noise about a petticoat that was hanging in

the yard, she said that the lodgers had been making remarks on it; and she wished her to take it in before she went to bed, if it was hers—the prisoner told me she had told the old lady it was not hers, that it belonged to a person in the first floor—the old lady said the prisoner had been abusing her very much, and said that she would do for her—upon that the prisoner said, "You lying old wretch, I did not say any such thing"—Mrs. Nishet was standing on the stairs, and she said, "You did say so; for I heard you say so two or three times"—upon that the prisoner said, "And so I will"—I asked her what she meant by it—she said, "In the estimation of her friends;" for she would either write or go to the house where she was in the habit of going for her broken victuals of a morning, and tell them of her dissatisfaction; for her she was a nasty, covetous old woman, she was not satisfied with what she had—the prisoner shook her fist in her face; and said, "You old wretch, I should like to have my revenge of you"—I said, "Surely, you would not injure an old woman like that?"—she said that the old lady's daughter had been there to borrow sixpence of the old woman, and she had denied her, and said she had nothing; and she said she knew it to be a lie, for she had money in the corner-drawer, for she saw it herself—she pointed a drawer at the time she said it—she acknowledged to owing her nine weeks rent, that she had not got no money then to pay her, but she could get some by writing for it, she was too ill to take a situation at the time, and she would pay her every farthing before she left—she was rather excited, and she cried—I told her she had better get into bed and not have any quarrelling there, for I could not allow it in my house; and unless she did keep quite I should be obliged to put her out—she promised me she would not say another word that evening, and I wished them good night and left—I saw the body of the deceased on the following morning—I was there when the body was removed—I found the key of the door under where the body lay, and gave it to Inspector Hunt—Mrs. Stowell's rent was 2s. a-week; but I allowed her 1s. a-week for doing little odd jobs about the place—I do not know what rent the prisoner was to pay her.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. You do not know whether she was to pay her any? A. I do not—when she cried, I said I hoped she would not injure the old lady, and she said no, she would not—I do not know that she said she would not hurt her, although she had abused her very much and very shamefully—I do not believe she did say so—I do not believe that I have said so before—she said she would not hurt her—this is my name to the deposition—(looking at it)—it was read over to me after I made it, and before I put my name to it—I cannot charge my memory as to whether I stated that—I have no doubt but it was said, as I find here the words, "She said she would not hurt the old woman although she had abused her very much and very shamefully"—the prisoner appeared to be in an excited state—my attention had not been called to her, more then being called in that evening—I suppose that was about ten o'clock—it was on the Monday evening, and it was the next morning that I saw the old woman's body.

Q. Why, the next morning was Tuesday, when the old woman was prefectly well. A. I cannot say exactly to the day—it was on the following morning that I saw the body.

COURT. Q. Do you remember the day of the week when you went and bad this interview? A. On the Monday evening I think, or Tuesday—I cannot remember the day on which I saw the body, I rather think it was on the Wednesday—I cannot charge my memory whether it was two days after interview.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Do you remember whether, in point of fact, this quarrel took place the night immediately before you saw the dead body, or was there a day between? A. I cannot charge my memory—it might have been that this took place on the Monday night, and that I saw the dead body on the Wednesday.

JURY. Q. Was the old lady in arrears of rent with you? A. No, not since her husband's death.

COURT. Q. On the 1st of June did she owe you a week's rent? A. Yes, 1s.—not more than that—her day of payment was Monday—I think she did not always pay exactly on that day, but she kept it up pretty near to the week.

MR. BODKIN to MRS. NISBET. Q. Are your sure it was on Monday that you fetched Mr. Hayman? A. Yes.

ANN SMALLBONE. I live at No. 40, Adam-street, and did so on the 1st of June last—I am shopwoman to Mr. Baylis, who keeps a baker's shop there—the deceased lived in the back kitchen—the prisoner had been lodging there with her for about nine weeks—I last saw the deceased alive between seven and eight o'clock on the Tuesday morning—I had seen the prisoner on the Monday morning, and on Monday night she came to my parlour and knocked at my door—I opened it partly, she said that she and the old lady had been quarrelling, and that the old lady had very much abused her and insulted her—nothing else particular that I recollect passed on that occasion—I saw her again the next morning (Tuesday) between eight and nine, nearer nine than eight—I did not look to see what the time was—she begged my pardon for intruding the night before into my apartment—she said that the old lady had been saying that she had said she would do for her, but she meant that she would do for her in the estimation of a lady of the name of Wyndham, who was charitable to her—I saw the prisoner again about ten o'clock on that Tuesday morning—I had no conversation with her then—she was conversing with another lodger in the wash-house—I saw her again between four and five o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, in the back kitchen—I had received a letter from the postman for the prisoner, and I took it down to her—I had no conversation with her, I knocked at the door, I did not get an answer, I stood at the door for, as near as I can say, a minute or a minute and a half, and I was just going to knock again, when the prisoner distinctly unlocked the back kitchen door and opened it a small space—she stood opposite the space and received the letter out of my hand—I believe it was nearer five o'clock than four—I was not able to see into the room—I next saw the prisoner at twenty minutes to six—she came into my shop with a piece of writing paper—whether it was the letter or not that I had delivered to her I cannot answer, but she said "he" (alluding to a person I suppose that was in the habit of visiting there as a suitor) "wishes me to meet him at half-past five or six o'clock, and what time is it now?" looking at my clock—I said, "I am ten minutes too fast, I am ten minutes to six, therefore it is twenty minutes to six"—she asked me if I would allow her to go through my apartment to go down, as I supposed, to the back kitchen, and I said, "Yes"—she did not say "back kitchen"—she said, "Will you allow me to pass, Mrs. Smallbone?" and I said "Yes"—she did not come out of the house to my apartment, but she was frequently in the habit of coming through the shop and going through my apartment, as other lodgers frequently do, when they have forgotten their key, without opening the street-door—I saw her again that evening, as near nine o'clock as possible, but I cannot tell to a few moments—she stood and conversed with me

at my shop-door—she then came from the street—she again asked to pass through my apartment—she did not say where she was going—she came to me again shortly after, and asked me for a Lucifer-match—I gave her three—she then went beck again towards her own apartment—I did not see her again that night—I was awoke on Wednesday morning, about five o'clock, by Battersby knocking at my door—I was asleep—I recognized the prisoner's voice outside the door—I told Battersby who she was—while the prisoner lived with the deceased in the house, I have been in the habit frequently of seeing and conversing with her, almost daily—I always thought her at all times truly sensible and truly collected, quite like other people—I never detected anything peculiar in her manner or way of talking—on the Monday and Tuesday when I saw her, she spoke in the same way as she had done previously—her manner was as usual, but she looked much paler than on ordinary occasions.

COURT. Q. Was there any other difference in her manner or conversation? A. Not any.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. You never were examined before the Magistrate about this, I believe? A. No, nor before the Coroner—I was first questioned on the morning that the deed was discovered—that was by Superintendent Hughes—I believe he took down from me in writing what I had to say—I summoned to attend before the Magistrate, and was called into the witness-box, but then the old lady's daughter was called, and I was not required to speak—I was examined at the office of the Solicitor of the Treasury, at Whitehall—that was some two or three weeks since.

Q. Did you know that the prisoner had been affected with an irregular discharge, and was ill in consequence at times? A. She once made an observation to me that she had an obstruction of that kind, but she afterwards told me that she had had a renewal—I never saw her in fits in conesquence of that—she told me the time that she had the renewal—I believe it was first of all on the Sunday week before the deed was discovered, and like-wise on the Tuesday morning, the day before it was discovered.

COURT. Q. When was it she told you she had an obstruction in a certain respect? A. I cannot say exactly, but I believe shortly after she came into the house, and then she told me, I believe, on the Sunday week, that she had had a renewal, a return—she told me on the Sunday week that she had had a return of this matter, and on the Tuesday that she had had a return of that illness; that she had become ill; not that she had a return of the obstruction, but a return of the periodical complaint.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. And that was she occasion when you observed her to be so much paler than usual? A. Yes, I observed her to be very pale on the Tuesday, more so than I had ever done before—I am not married—I have not know any instance in my own family where this obstruction has violent results.

COURT. Q. Did you see the prisoner at the time you say the door was unlocked and she took the letter out of your hand? A. I did see he—she was then dressed—she had her bonnet on and her cloak—I did not see the old lady—I had no opportunity to observe anything more about the place—the prisoner appeared at the crevice made by the partial opening of the door, and she had her bonnet and cloak on—she opened the door and stood opposite the opening of the door—she did not throw it wide open, she only opened it a small space.

JURY. Q. Does the fire-place face the door? A. Not exactly—a door-way face the door, I think—the side of the fire-place faces the doorway—I

did not stop to see whether she shut the door again—I turned round, and ran up the staircase—I heard no unusual noise.

SAMUEL WATKINS. I am a waterman at a cab-stand in Adam-street West—I was not examined before the Magistrate—I heard of the death of the old woman on Wednesday evening, the 2nd of June—the night before that, about twenty-five minutes to nine o'clock, the prisoner came to make an agreement with Mapleston, the cab man, who stood first on the stand, to go to the Brighton Railway—she spoke first—I did not hear what she said then—the first thing I heard was her wanting to know what time the last train went from the Brighton Railway—Mapleston asked me if I knew—I said I did not, but if she would wait a minute I would go and inquire—I went across the street and inquired of another cab man, who said the next train went at eight o'clock—that was the mail train—I returned back to her, and found her waiting where I had desired her to wait—I told her that she was too late for the last train, for it went at eight o'clock—I looked at a clock in a public-house, and found it wanted nearly twenty-five minutes to nine—when I told her the train went at eight, she said she thought as much—she asked Mapleston what he would take her to King's Arms-yard, Whitecross-street, for—he told her for three shillings—she said, "You must take me for less than that"—Mapleston said, "I can't take you for less, you have got luggage to carry"—and she said, "No; I have only got two or three bundles"—she had nothing with her at that time—she said she had got a friend at King's Arms-yard, and she could sleep there, and she would be nearer the railway in the morning, in the room of going away from Adam-street—Mapleston asked her when she was going—she said, "Directly"—he asked her where she was going to take up—she said, "Just down below"—she said she would be back again in about ten minutes—she went away and did not return any-more—I saw no more of her—she had a kind of lavender-coloured gown on, and a black mantle you might call it, and a light straw bonnet with a kind of plaid ribbon.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. Has the mantle, the dress, the straw bonnet, and the ribbon, been shown to you by anybody? A. No—I have never seen them since that time—I have not seen them in court, nor any-where else, nor been spoken to about them—there was no blood on the ribbon, or the cloak, or on the dress, to my knowledge—I was not examined before the Magistrate or the Coroner about this—I went to the Home-office on the 28th of May, that was all—they found me out through a constable named Lovett, who carried the prisoner from the station-house to High-street office—he is not here.

HENRY MAPLESTON. I was not examined before the Magistrate and the Coroner about this inquiry—the first time I was examined was by Mr. Hayward—I am a cab-driver—I was at the stand in Adam-street on Tuesday night, the 1st of June—I was first cab—I recollect a woman coming up to me that evening and speaking to me—she asked me what time the last train went to Brighton, or the early train in the morning—I told her I did not know about the trains, and referred her to the waterman, Watkins—I am not able to identify that person—being first cab the job did not suit me, and I did not pay any attention to it.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. How far is your cab-stand from the house, No. 40, Adam-street? A. I suppose about as far as from here to the cab-rank in the Old Bailey—I did not look at the clock, finding it was half-past eight I understood that the last train was gone—I referred her to the waterman—it was after he returned that I found out that the train was gone—I heard the waterman say it was half-past eight—I cannot say whether he had looked at the clock—I saw him go into a public-house opposite.

COURT. Q. Was anything said about your taking her to any other place? Yes—she said she wanted to go by the early train in the morning, and if she could get down by the King's Arms-yard in the morning, she should be near for the early train—I said, "I suppose you have some luggage?"—she said, "Some bundles"—I said, "Three shillings"—she said, "I will let you know in ten minutes"—she went away, and I never saw her any more.

MAJOR WILLS. I am porter to Messrs. Bedham, upholsterers—I married a daughter of the deceased Mary Stowell—I identified her dead body—I went down to the place where it was—the policeman was there—it was the dead body of Mary Stowell—I had last seen her alive on the Sunday previous—she dined with me—she was in the habit of so doing every Sunday when it was fine—she then appeared to be in perfectly good health—she was seventy-eight or seventy-nine years old—I know the prisoner by seeing her there lodging with my mother-in-law—I know had seen her four or five times—she paid one shilling a-week, as I understood from my mother—she became acquainted with my mother from being servant to Mrs. Wyndham, and my mother about her leaving the lodging—that was about three weeks previous to her death—it was in consequence of something going forward which she did not approve of in the prisoner—they were both together—I told my mother, in the hearing of the prisoner, that she was to go down and see her brother in the City—in consequence of that, my mother told the prisoner that she must get a lodging—I shook hands with my mother, and bid her good night—the prisoner made no reply to what I said to my mother—nothing transpired after that—I then left—this was on the Sunday three weeks before her death—she dined with me on the next Sunday—I cannot say what time I saw her next in the prisoner's presence—it was one evening part, but I had seen my mother previous to that, I should think nine or ten days before my mother's death—no conversation took place in the prisoner's presence about my mother's living in the kitchen—about four weeks previous to her death, I called in to see her—she asked me to have something to eat—I said, "Yes, and you had better send for a drop of porter with it"—she said she had not got anything to send for it—the prisoner said, "Your mother has got money in that corner drawer, and she won' send for it"—I said, "Never mind, she always was a little old screwish"—I turned it off in that way—she was of a very saving disposition—she would find fault when she had lighted two matches at being so extravagant as to light two instead of one, she was so penurious in her ways.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. You were tolerably well off, were you not? you were not in any difficulties for money? A. No—my house is about three quarters, or a mile from where my mother lived—my mother used to walk there with me of a Sunday, although elderly, she was a fine, hale, strong old lady.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Had you any reason to believe she had not sufficient to maintain herself? A. She had—she was allowed 3s. a-week from St. James's parish, and sometimes something by her brother.

JURY. Q. Was she deaf? A. Very deaf, indeed—she decidedly did not hear the conversation between me and the prisoner respecting where the money was, therefore she had no opportunity of denying what the prisoner said.

ELIZABETH WILLS. I am a daughter of the deceased—I have been shown some articles of wearing-apparel by the policeman, and recognize several of them as having belonged to my mother—here is a new flannel petticoat, a shift, two aprons, a morning gown, and two yards of calico—I was with my mother when she bought the calico, a short time before her death, at Mr. Laking's, in Cross-street—this pocket handkerchief and other things belonged to her, and I fancy this other petticoat did form the width round the waist.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. I suppose these articles are not of great value? A. The flannel petticoat is a bran new one—it is worth 3s. 6d.—the sliver watch has "James Stowell" round it—the other is a pinch-back or metal, and there is also a brooch—I believe some of the things in the bundle bear my mother's name on them.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Had you seen much of the prisoner while she lodged with your mother? A. No—I never saw her—there is a gold brooch with hair in it, marked "Catherine Cooper."

MRS. DRENCHFIELD. I am the wife of Edward George Drenchfield; a tailor. Mary Stowell was my mother—I was acquainted with the prisoner—I recollect her coming to live with my mother—I went to Colonel Wyndham's the night she came there, and helped her with her things to my mother's—I believe it was on the Monday before Easter—I had some conversation with her that night—she said she had been very ill, that she had fainted away once that day—she said she had been in that way once before—I knew her to be very poor while she was living with my mother—I had a conversation with her on the subject—she said she had been out of place a very long time before she went to Colonel Wyndham's, that she had only been there a month, and that she had been very poor before, she had even wanted bread—she did no needle-work for me—I made a gown for her—my mother was a person of very penurious habits—she used to keep her money in the righthand corner drawer—she always kept it locked, and kept the key in her pocket—I never had any conversation with the prisoner about that—I have met her ten or eleven times at my mother's—I have staid at my mother's five or six different days, and the prisoner has been there during the greater part of the day—I have done needlework on those occasions, and was then in the habit of conversing with the prisoner—there was nothing different from other people in her manner of conversation—I observed nothing the least peculiar in her manner—she had no firs while she was living with my mother.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. Did you know anything of the family of Mrs. Wyndham at all before the prisoner came away from the family? A. No—I was not examined before the Magistrate or the Coroner—I was first called on to give evidence at the State-office, about a fortnight ago—I never was examined on any occasion when the prisoner or any representative of hers was present.

JURY. Q. Was the old lady in the habit of wearing tow pockets, or of carrying the key on any other part of her person? A. She had a pocket on each side—I cannot exactly say which pocket she carried the key in—my father's name was on one watch—it was "James Stowell," and there were the twelve letters of his name, instead of twelve figures round the face—the hours could be learnt by the letters—I believe there were small figures as well—the name on the brooch was that of a lady where my mother lived.

JOHN IRESON. I am a water-gilder, and live in King's Arms-yard, Whitecross-street—the prisoner lodged at my house—she came first last December,

and continued to lodge there till she went to Mrs. Smythe Wyndham's, which I think was at the latter end of Feb., or the beginning of March, I cannot say exactly—I have seen her twice since she left to go there—she came to my place twice, and I called on her twice, at Mrs. Wyndham's, to see her—to the best of my recollection the last time I saw her was three weeks before this happened, or it might be a day or two longer, I cannot say—that was at my own place—I never saw anything in her manner different from other persons in their senses—I conversed with her when I saw her—while she lived with me she took her meals with me several times—she did so generally, if there was no one in the place at the time—I have a wife and two children—when she did not take her meals with us, she took them in the parlour—that is my room—we take our meals on the first floor—she did not pay when she had her meals with us—I am not the landlord—I am only a lodger in the house—she found her own victuals when she eat and drank at my table—she made that arrangement when she came—she was to pay 3s. 6d. a week for the room, and to find her own food—she did not make that arrangement with me—it was with Elizabeth Andrews, who was lodging in the house, that made that agreement for her—she took the parlour for the prisoner, and then the prisoner came—I saw her pretty well every day—I understood she came from a place at the west-end of the town, of the name of Mrs. Robinson—I do not know whether it was in Harley-street—I did not understand how long she had been there—she said she expected some money from Brighton, and she had got a letter written to some friend at Brighton, but she was disappointed, and did not have any money from Brighton—she told me that, somewhere about the middle of Feb., as near as I can recollect, before she went to Mrs. Wyndham's—she said several times that she should like to get to Brighton by the beginning of June, she said she could do better in Brighton than in town—the last time she called on me I had very little conversation with her myself—my wife had—I was present—she then said she should get to Brighton by the beginning of June, that she expected money from another party, as well as from her friends at Brighton, and that friend's name was Andrew Wyness—it was about the beginning of Feb, that I heard of it last, she then said that he had been going to Paris after some robbery, that he came there one part of the week before he went to Paris, and left her a trifle, and promised he would send her some more money in the course of a week, and no money was forth-coming, neither was there a letter came for a fortnight or three weeks afterwards, and then a letter came to say he had taken the party, that he had gone 300 or 400 miles more than he expected, and he was short of cash, and be could not send her any—this was spoken of at my house when she called—she had nothing to live on, and she was almost starving at the time, till she went to Mrs. Wyndham's place—I think she had been gone about a fortnight or three weeks when this letter arrived from Andrew Wyness—I saw her after that letter had come—she told me that she was disappointed in the money again—she was not in my debt—I think she owed the landlord 19s. 6d., or something to that effect—the 3s. 6d. a week was not payable to me—she did not hire the room of me.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. Did she come to stay with you after she left Mrs. Wyndham's? A. No; I visited her at Mrs. Wyndham's—I did not learn that the reason of her leaving Mrs. Wyndham's was that they thought it not safe that she was about to quit—I learnt that she was going to Brighton about the beginning of June and she did not mean to stop at

Mrs. Wyndham's—I do not know of her being subject to violent fits—she never said so to me, but she has said so to my wife, not in my presence—I was not examined before the Magistrate—I was at Whitehall, nowhere else—I have seen this Wyness—I understand he is one of the detective force of Marlborough-street—he used to come after the prisoner and Elizabeth Andrews.

COURT. Q. You say "and Elizabeth Andrews," do you mean that you do not know which of the tow he came after? A. Yes, both of them; one came a week beforehand—he used to come after the prisoner—I used to see him two or three times a week.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. Where is he now, do you know? A. I do not know—he is the person that was to have sent her money—he sent a letter, but no money—I never saw her in this house in Adam-street, and cannot say whether the same party was in the habit of visiting her there—the letter was not spoken of as having been received while she was in Adam-street, but while she was at Mrs. Wyndham's—the letter came to out place, about a fortnight or three weeks before she went to Colonel Wyndham's—I never heard her complain to my wife in my presence of the deranged state of her person consequent on certain irregularities, and that her head was very much affected—the only thing that I know of is that when she first came to our place she was poorly for a time, and had the doctor, and I asked her one morning at the door, "How do you do this morning?" and she said she had got the headach very bad, that is all I know—I never saw anything the matter myself—I never saw any alteration in her, further then being in low spirits at having no money coming to her.

MR. IRESON. I am the wife of the last witness. In Dec. last the prisoner came to lodge at the same place as I did—she remained till the beginning of March—I saw her every day—she spent a considerable portion of the day in my company—I never knew her have a fit while she was lodging there—I never saw anything in her manner or way of talking that attracted my attention—she behaved like other persons—she once told me she frequently had hysterical fits—that was shortly before she went to Colonel Wyndham's—she was to fill the situation of cook there—she said she had formerly been kitchen-maid there—at the time she told me about the fits, she said she could not stop on account of the fire, it caused her to have fits, and she could not stand the fire—she gave that as the reason why she came away—she called on me afterwards—at the time she was living at our house she was in a state of poverty, very much so—she had two sister at Brighton, and she wished very much to go back there—she did not go, because she had not the means—she said she wanted to go back by the beginning of June, if it was possible—I asked her why she wished to go back at that time—she said she should get a job place if she went back at that time of year—she said she must get back somehow or other by the beginning of June—she said that several times—I saw her twice after she left Colonel Wyndham's—the last time I saw her she said wished to go back—I heard of the death of the old woman on the Friday as it was done on the Tuesday—I had last seen the prisoner three weeks before that—she was with me I think about two hours on that occasion—she told me she had not been well—I understood her that she had had an hysterical fit since she had left Colonel Wyndham's—she said she expected some money from the country, but she did not have it—she told me she was disappointed of it—I do not recollect that she said anything else—she

was disappointed of money more than once at the time she was lodging with me—I did not see any one bring her to my house; she came there by herself, by the wish of Wyness, the policeman—he was in the habit of coming to see her there.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. Was he keeping company with her there? A. I suppose he was—he was backwards and forwards—I understood he was there as a friend.

COURT. Q. Was he keeping company with her, intending to marry her, or as a man keeps company with a mistress? A. He was keeping her there, because she was expecting money from him.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. Was he keeping anybody else there at the same time? A. He kept one there before that—he is in the detective force—I did not know anything of the prisoner at Adam-street—I never went to see her at Mrs. Wyndham's—she told me she left there on account of fits, that she was not able to stay, she could not stand the fire—she did not state to me that they were afraid at Mrs. Wyndham's that she would fall into the fire in those fits—I did not learn from her that they considered it unsafe that she should stay there—I do not know that she is now in the family way—it was in the parlour of the house where I lodged that she was kept by Wyness—I cannot say that he slept there—he has come very late at night, and gone away very early in the morning—of course I did not watch him.

WILLIAM SMITH. I am butler to Mr. Robert Gillespie, of York-place, New-road. I have known the prisoner seven or eight years—I knew her while she was living at Brighton with Lady Elizabeth Parsons—I do not know when she left Brighton—I lost sight of her for the last two or three years, until last summer, when as I and my wife were passing along Adam-street, the prisoner called across the road to me by the name of William-during the time she was living at Brighton with Lady Elizabeth Parsons I was in the habit of seeing her very frequently indeed—she used to come in most evenings to our place to see Mrs. Pearce, our housemaid, and sit along with us in the servants' hall—that happened three, four, or five times a week for about five years—during that time I did not observe anything in her mode of talking or in her conduct different from ordinary rational people.

Q. Do you know whether she ever had any fits during that time? A. Yes, two or three dreadful fits—I have seen her in them, and a dreadful palpitation of the heart—I can scarcely tell what kind of fit it was—it took four men to hold her, it was so violent—I was myself one of them—it required strength to hold her down—she used to be rather delirious after these fits—she seemed quite to lose herself—I mean she was quite absent.

Cross-examined by MR. BALLANTINE. Q. For how long after the fits did you observe that state of absence? A. It might be half or three-quarters of an hour—except when my attention was attracted to her by those fits I did not notice her manner particularly—she seemed a very good kind-hearted person indeed—every body that knew her while she lived at Brighton used to speak of her with the greatest praise—I cannot say that I have know her complain very much of her head.

ANN JONES. I am a milliner, and live in Margaret-court, Oxford-market—twelve months ago I lodged at 25, Great Marlborough-street—the prisoner came to lodge there about six weeks afterwards, and staid there about eleven weeks—I saw her frequently during those eleven weeks, and conversed with her a little—I saw her every day—she lodged on the same floor, but in a different

room—I saw her in the winter time since she left, but not within the last few months—I never noticed anything extraordinary in her conversation or manner—she always conducted herself well in my presence—I have never seen her in a fainting fit—the last time I saw her was on the Monday before the old woman's death—she called on me in Margaret-court, in the early part of the afternoon—she merely came to pass an hour or two with me—it was merely a visit—I did not work for her—she appeared to be then just the same as I had always seen her—she staid with me about three hours altogether.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. Am I to understand, when you say that she seemed on that Monday to be as you had seen her, that she was a kind-hearted, good, amiable person in whom you detected nothing particular? A. Yes—I get my living by millinery—I never had my attention called to the prisoner more than to anybody else—I do not pretend to form any judgment upon any ailment with which she was afflicted—I never saw her in a fainting fit—I cannot undertake from my own observation to say that she is not a person of unsoundmind.

COURT Q. Have you conversed with her a number of times? A. A great many times—I never noticed anything peculiar about her.

SCSANNA CRESSWELL. I am the wife of Charles Cresswell, who is butler to Sir Alexander Woodford—I first became acquainted with the prisoner about four years ago—she was then living at Brighton—I sometime saw her there for about an hour, an hour and a half, or two hours—I lost sight of her soon after our acquaintance began, until within the last four months—about that time ago, or some time last spring, I went to live at No.42, Adam-Street, two doors from where the prisoner lodged—she recognized me in Adam-street, and we renewed our acquaintance—after that, I saw her sometimes every day, and sometimes two or three times a week—she always came to me—I have sent to her, but it was generally at my house that I saw her—she sometimes staid an hour, sometimes two hours, and sometimes a little more—she has occasionally taken tea with me—during the time she used to visit me I observed nothing peculiar in her manner of speaking or acting—she behaved like other people—the last time I saw her before the old woman's death was on the Tuesday evening before the murder, I think about half-past eight—she did not stay more than five or ten minutes with me at that time—her manner was then rather different to what I had seen before—she appeared wilder—her speech appeared wild, rather incoherent.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. When you have observed her on other occasions, and when you have noticed nothing peculiar about her, have you always observed and found her to be a person of humane and affecttionate disposition? A. Yes, that was the character she bore at Brighton—she was a harmless person, not given to violence of any kind.

COURT. Q. Can you say what she came to you about on the Tuesday about half-past eight? A. I do not think she came about anything particular, merely running in to say, "How do you do?"—she knocked at the door, and said, "It is me, Mrs. Cresswell"—I said, "Walk in, Mary. I am busy"—I do not think I turned my head to look at her, but I heard her voice—she was not sitting, but standing up, and what she said was rather behind me, but I did not see her face at all—I said "Take a seat," or something to that effect—she said she would come in again presently—she did not return—I do not recollect the precise words that passed on the occasion—I do not remember I saw her face at all

WILLIAM CROPTION MOAT. I am a surgeon, and live Upper Berkeley-street.

About five O'clock in the morning of the 2nd of June, I was called to see the body of the deceased—I found the head lying under the grate, partly across the fender, the right shoulder and neck across the fender, the head being under the grate among the cinders—the legs were slightly bent, the hands were stretched out under the grate, a little beyond the head, and just beyond the hands was lying a thimble, under the grate—there was some blood lying under the head and under the shoulder—I noticed a string round the neck—it was passed six times round the neck—I also noticed that the string was quite loose—I did not see the ends then—it was loose enough to admit the hand of person, or two or three hands—no bruise was visible in that position of the body—I did not shift the body on that occasion—I noticed a mark of violence, that had occurred from an injury inflicted since death—the bone was not fractured, nor the skin broken, it was dried or red—it was a dry red, harsh and greasy—it would not result from fire—it would result from the application of a blow shortly after death—a blow before death would produce a very different appearance—it would produce a blackness.

Q. Could you judge whether that was a blow of any violence or not? A. I could not tell whether it was an actual blow, or merely pressure, but there was considerable force—I think the woman had been dead for about eight hours—it was half-past five when I made my notes—I had gone home and dressed before that—I think it was about a quarter-past five when I saw the body—it was fully dressed, with the exception of the head—the cap was off, lying underneath the grate, and the false front of hair with it—there was no fire burning—I did not then trace from what part of her person the blood came that I saw about the head, but it came from the mouth—it might also have come from any wound which I had not then seen, as I did not lift the body up; but it was also flowing from the mouth—on the same day I proceeded to make an examination of the body—for that purpose it was lifted from the floor on to a shutter—a halfpenny and the key of the room door was found underneath the body when it was moved—I then noticed that a very extensive bruise had been given over the socket of the right eye, inflicted during life—there was a slight mark of pressure on the bones at the back of the neck, and a slight mark of pressure on the top of the head—both those marks appeared to have been made after death—I examined those marks immediately, to see whether they were of any importance, and found them to be of none—I then proceeded to make an internal examination of the body—I found the brain perfectly healthy, and the skull very sound—I found the ribs broken on both sides, very extensively, eight on one side, and six on the other—I found that those ribs had been broken during life—I found that the lower rings of the wind-pipe had been pressed from each side towards the middle, so as to break them in the centre—there was no evidence whether that injury had been inflicted during life—I could not tell one way or the other—the right lung having been diseased for many years, was broken up in its diseased false texture, which it had acquired from disease for a number of years, and was lacerated by the projecting piece of one of the ribs, so that the blood flowed from out of its texture into the air-vessels to a considerable extent, and that was the source, and the only source of the blood that was found lying on the floor—the blood having flowed into the air-vessels, escaped by the mouth—that was only the case with the diseased lung, the left lung was slightly diseased—I think that injury to the right lung would not of itself have been mortal—the left lung was much more healthy

than lungs are usually found in persons of her age—it was slightly diseased—it had been inflamed at times, there was no laceration of that—I found everything else extremely healthy—I ascribe the death to the same power that broke the ribs—the same power being continued would inevitably stop the person's power of breathing—the same, or even a less pressure than that which broke the ribs, would stop the power of expansion of the chest, and cause death, but how soon death would ensue would depend on the age; with a young person not very soon, in a woman of her age I suppose a minute and a half.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. You say the injury you found on the ribs of the deceased might have been inflicted in about a minute and a half? A. It might have been done instantaneously—the circumstances I saw about the deceased's body do not warrant me in concluding that the injuries must have been inflicted by more than one person—I think that one person could stop the circulation of the air-vessels of the wounded person by a string, by the fists, or by the knees; and, at the same time, break the ribs on both sides of the body—it could be done by sitting on the body and squeezing the throat—that is quite speculative—you asked me to imagine how it was done, and I have done so—I cannot imagine how it is possible that blows could have produced such a state of circumstances—it is quite impossible.

CHARLES BATTERSBY re-examined. I was present when the poker was found by Inspector Hunt—there was blood and hair on it—it was found lying by the wall, but it possibly might have rolled into the hair and blood—it was lying by the side of the body, with the handle towards the head—I saw a quantity of blood about the top—I could not speak as to the hair till next morning—next morning I saw several hairs sticking to it previous to my putting it in the piece of paper in which it now is—it is in the state in which I left it.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. Did you see the poker with blood and hair on it that night, or the following morning? A. I saw it that night with the blood on it, but I will not say that I saw the hair on it, because I did not take that notice.

COURT. Q. Did you keep it in your possession? A. I did—it is an impossibility that hair could have been brought to it between the time I saw it in the night, and my seeing it in the morning—it was on the handle of the poker.

MR. CLARKSON to MR. MOAT. Q. On the presumption that a poker had been used by any person or persons seeking to destroy the life of the deceased, do you now think that you can account for the possibility of the death being caused by one person and one only? A. The breaking of the ribs by blows would not necessarily have done any mortal injury, but that the ribs might have been broken to all that extent by one person, there can be no doubt—if a body were fixed in a position, very difficult to imagine, namely, tied ready for it, and one person was to go about with a poker beating it all over, taking excellent aim at each rib, they might, seriatim, break every rib—in my opinion it is quite impossible that the ribs could have been broken by the poker, but I am taking your hypothetical case—I think it quite impossible that the use of a poker would account for the appearances I found about the body—the blow below the orbit of the eye would not be likely to be occasioned by a poker—I believe the poker was not used at all—the only way in which I can imagine this to have happened, is by the sitting on the body, and by the pressure of both sides the ribs were broken—I believe the woman to have been lying on her back on the ground—I assume

the ribs to have been broken by the bumping of the assailant on the chest of the deceased, and at the same time assailing the throat as I have represented—I am not driven to assume that that was the mode of death, because I am otherwise unable to account for it—the compression of the throat was not necessary to death—I believe the compression of the throat had no effect in extinguishing vitality—I form the same opinion with reference to the rope round the neck—the bumping would be unnecessary after once the ribs were broken—the first bump might break the ribs, and after that the sitting on the chest would be sufficient to prevent the deceased breathing—the mere lying of the weight of a corpse on the chest would have been sufficient—I do not think that one bump would produce the breaking of all the ribs—the power of bumping is merely the rising up of a body and sitting it down again—I cannot describe that as considerable, but previous to the bump she must have received the blow over the eye, that was a blow given whilst the woman was alive—I examined it—I did not lay it open—I am quite certain that that injury had no reference to the death—the bone immediately under the spot where the blow was received was not fractured, or driven in—the bone is very thin there, and it might be driven in to a considerable extent, and yet produce no injury—the blow was immediately over the frontal sinus, the vacant space in connection with the cavity of the nose, that was not broken in—there was no injury about the head inflicted whilst life remained—there was a mark over the forehead of an injury that had occurred after death, at the root of the hair—the head was very bald, but not quite bald—it was much easier to ascertain that the fractured rib driven into the deceased's lung had produced the discharge of blood that escaped from the mouth, than it was to account for the means by which the broken ribs had been fractured—it was occular—I could trace the stream of blood from the spot—I consider that suffocation produced death, and that suffocation was caused by pressure on the chest, and preventing its expansion—I believe the hemorrhage had nothing to do with it—death from hemorrhage would have occurred in three or four hours perhaps—I form my opinion of the woman having been dead about eight hours, from experience, and from the rigidity of the muscles, I am chiefly guided by the rigidity of the muscles, making allowance for the heat of the weather, it was very hot weather at that time—she might have been dead six or twelve hours—I might be as much out as that, but it is not likely.

MR. BODKIN. Q. You have said that the blow on the eye had nothing to do with the death; by that I apprehend you mean that the blow was not in itself mortal? A. Yes, that is what I mean—that might have been a blow of sufficient force to have felled her to the ground, and it might have produced insensibility.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. By what do you suppose that blow to have been inflicted? A. There was a hearth-brush lying in the room, which might possibly have inflicted the blow, but I should say it certainly was not inflicted by a body of less than two inches in diameter—it might possibly have been by a fist.

JURY. Q. Was it possible for the deceased to have fractured her ribs from any fall or accident? A. Quite impossible, I should think—I am firmly of opinion, as a surgeon, that external violence from some other person operated to produce those fractures—the hearth-brush was standing by the side of the fire, in the usual place for the poker or tongs—the room altogether is very small.

GILBERT M'MURDO, ESQ. I am surgeon to the gaol of Newgate. The prisoner has been under my notice from the commencement of her imprisonment, in June last—I have been desired to pay particular attention to her, with

a view to ascertain the state of her mind—I have done so—I have had conversation with her continually—I have not noticed anything which, in my judgment, justifies an inference that she is otherwise than of sound mind—she complains occasionally of headaches—when I speak to her, she generally says she is pretty well; but when I ask her more particularly after her health, she says she has headaches—she has complained to me of symptoms of certain inconveniences, which led me to put further questions as to her condition, and my belief is that she is pregnant.

Cross-examined by MR. CLARKSON. Q. You have no doubt had considerable experience with reference to the diseases of women? A. I have had some—I am aware of disorders, more or less mischievous, arising out of irregularity of the menstrual discharges—the interruption or temporary stoppage of those discharges sometimes affects the brain—I have not known of women becoming permanently mad from that state of disorder—I have known of their being so for a considerable time—I have read of permament derangement of intellect arising from that cause in combination with others—the instances of temporary derangement arising from that are frequent.

COURT. Q. Do you follow the question, that temporary insanity is a frequent consequence of irregularity in that matter? A. I must accompany my answer with an explanation; I should not term it insanity, but that the mind was not acting as it had acted before, that it was not sound during that time.

MR. CLARKSON. Q. Have you not known frequent instances of what is called unsoundness of mind, by which I mean derangement of intellect, so that a person would temporarily, be incapable of responsibility, arising from this cause? A. No, I have not known frequent instances—I have not read of frequent instances—I have read of some instances of the mind being deranged by the interruption of the secretion—I have known that derangement preceded by hysteria, hysterical fits—I have known them require bleeding, and they have generally terminated as we could wish—I have not known insanity, preceded by hysterical fits or convulsions, continuing for a period of years, and increasing in those years—I should expect that a long continued attack of epileptic fits would affect the mind, but hysterical fits would not produce it so decidedly—I should say when the patient was not affected by that interruption, that she would be in a perfect state of mind, although low and desponding—there might be at times temporary derangement of those functions, and temporary derangement of the brain, and at other times there might be healthful action of those functions, and also healthy action of the brain—of course with continual attacks the brain would become worse—I have not seen such a result—the prisoner is not a woman of slight frame—I should call her a well grown woman, and rather strong—as far as I can ascertain I think she is from three to four months gone in pregnancy—in some cases of stoppage of the periodical discharge there is a slight discharge, and in other cases it is entirely stopped—I have known instances where there has been none, and in those cases the health is generally exceedingly interrupted, bodily as well as mentally—a partial discharge occurring after an interruption, and then not re-occurring, is genarally supposed to proceed from mental excitement, or bodily fatigue or injury—of course it would be the result of an effort of nature; but, generally speaking, a sudden discharge after an arrest of that kind, is the result of mental excitement or bodily fatigue—I do not practice as an accoucheur.

MR. BODKIN. Q. During the time your attention has been directed to

the prisoner, has she been attacked by any hysteria or any fit of any kind? A. She has not, to my knowledge, nor have I observed any tendency to such an attack.

Q. Supposing a person, after some interruption, to have had a resumption of the discharge at a particular time, and a week after that to have another recurrence of that discharge, and at that time to be pursuing their ordinary calling, apparently as usual, down to nine o'clock of the evening of any particular day, according to anything that you have met with in practice, or read of, would you expect that in the course of the night following, at nine o'clock, a paroxysm would come on which would deprive the party of her intellectual faculties? A. I should not.

COURT. Q. Have you had experience in cases of insanity arising from irregularity in respect of that function? A. I do not myself practice as an accoucheur, and am not likely to have these cases brought under my immediate notice—I am speaking partly from experience in cases that I have had under my notice attended to by others, and from books—I have had under my eye, for short intervals, cases of temporary derangement of the faculties of the mind, arising from irregularity in respect of that function—in those cases healthful action of the brain generally returns simultaneously with the healthful action of that function—I consider the one as the consequence of the return of the other.

ANDREW WYNESS (policeman D 43.) I have known the prisoner for about twelve months.

ANN SMALLBONE re-examined. Mrs. Sinclair lives in the same house with me—she is unable to attend, having been confined on Monday morning.

MR. CLARKSON stated that he considered the evidence of this witness material for the prisoner, and requested that her deposition might be read. The COURT was of opinion that this might be done, the Counsel for the prosecution not objecting. MR. BODKIN suggested its being used as the prisoner's evidence, and it was so read, as follows:—"Sarah Sinclair, the wife of Thomas Sinclair, a tailor, living at No. 40, in Adam-street West, on the second floor, being sworn, saith; That she saw the deceased woman at three o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, the 1st of June, 1847, and then in good health; that she was going down stairs, and that the witness did not see her or hear her again, and knows of no person who did, unless it was Mary Ann Hunt, who witness saw at half-past nine o'clock on Tuesday evening, June 1st, 1847, lying on the kitchen stairs, leading to the room of the deceased, with her head on the top stair, without a candle; her bonnet was by her side; she was moaning as if not well; she was not in the habit of speaking to her; she knows of no one that saw her after that night, and that at three o'clock on Tuesday afternoon she spoke to the deceased at the yard-door, when the deceased said, after alluding to quarrelling with Mary Ann Hunt on the Monday night previously, that she was afraid to go to bed, because she said Mary Ann Hunt had said that she would do for her; witness advised the deceased to lock Hunt out; the deceased said she feared personal violence from Hunt, and then the witness left her."

Witness for the Defence.

LUCY GIBSON. I am the wife of Thomas Gibson, the landlord of the Rising Sun, at Twickenham. Eight years ago this July I was housekeeper to Mrs. Garrow, at Brighton—the prisoner was then a servant under me— —she was with me between five and six years, nearly six—I always found

her very kind, and a very well-disposed young person—she was very ill at that time, and suffered a great deal—I do not know that she ever had good health—the cause of her illness was suppressed menstruation—she told meso—I know of her having fits several times—I saw her in one once—I know that she had them several times—I saw how that fit began—she had been out for a walk and came in, and she had a very bad fit then—it was just as she came in—it lasted, I suppose, an hour—she was not violent—she fainted and remained insensible—it was an hysterical fit—she fainted and went into hysterics—she laid quite insensible, like a dead person, till we restored her—I did not see her fall off a dresser, but I know that she did—I saw her after that, in bed, ill—she went to bed directly—the servants in the house told me she had fallen off the dresser—I saw her in bed about an hour after I had seen her in the fit—I have seen her ill many other times—I cannot say how often she had these fits—I perhaps saw her ill in bed two or three days—it is so long ago I cannot recollect, but very frequently I saw her in bed—I should think she must have been about seventeen years old when she came, and she was with us between five and six years.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Where did she come from before she came into Mrs. Garrow's family? A. She had been living in London—I did not inquire about her character—Mrs. Garrow did—she was the kitchen-maid, I acted as house-keeper and cook—she had been there a year or two when this fainting fit occurred—I did not perceive anything the matter with her at first—she had been ill before—she had this fainting fit after coming in from a walk—she had been there about a year and a half before she began to show any symptoms of being unwell—she used to faint frequently after that—the fainting fit which I saw was near the expiration of the time—I should say she must have been in the service five years before that fainting fit occurred—it was in the last years of her service—she had been out for a walk that day—she had not been out very long—she went out perhaps because she felt poorly—I do not recollect that circumstance—she was very poorly—she went alone—it was in the evening, I think it was in the autumn of the year—Mrs. Garrow is still living, but I do not know where she is, I am not living with her now—I have left her these eight years—the prisoner and I left together, the establishment was broken up—Dr. Price, who resides at Brighton, was the medical man who attended the family—this occurred at Brighton—I sometimes attended her when she was in this insensible state—on this occasion I was in the room—I applied hartshorn and vinegar; she revived and went to bed, she was very ill.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. I understand you had seen her ill in bed previously? A. Yes, many times, from weakness.

ROBERT YOUNG. I live at 35, Temple-street, Brighton. I was fellow-servant with the prisoner, nearly four years, at Lady Elizabeth Person's who lived at Brighton—I left her four years ago, and it was the four years preceding that that I and the prisoner were fellow-servants—she was cook there—she never was in good health during the time she was there—when she had been with us about twelve months, she had a fit—she fainted in the first place—the fit lasted two hours, and she raved very much—I assisted her, and got her into a chair—I was not able easily to keep her there—she recovered in about two hours, and went to bed, and I did not see her for two or three hours after—she was then very weak and low, very low spirited—she was very poorly and low for several days—I had not seen her in the same state of spirits on other occasions—she did her work in the morning, but not before breakfast—she never did anything until she had her breakfast—she bore a

very excellent character—she was a kind humane person as far as I am able to judge, and she bore that character.

MR. BODKIN. Q. She staid in the situation three years after this, as I understand you? A. Yes—it was not a hard place—she had to cook for the family—the heat of the fire did not make her faint sometimes—I never heard it said so—I never saw it.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. I believe that after she left the service she lodged with you for some time? A. For about three weeks, that was about three years ago, she was in better health then—I did not notice her spirits at all then.

MR. BODKIN. Q. In what part of the house was it where she fainted away? A. In the kitchen—I was the only servant there besides herself at the time—there were two nurses, but they were both out of the house—I got her some cold water—I did not sluice her with it, she drank it—I recovered her in that way, after some time—I did not take her up to bed, she was in the kitchen some time—the cook at the next door came in and took her up to bed—I saw her two or three hours after—that was not in bed, she had come down stairs again, and had her tea—I saw her next morning—she cooked the dinner the next day, and so on, as she had been in the habit of doing—the next day she expressed herself to me as thankful for my attention to her when she was ill.

JANE RICH. I am the sister of the prisoner, and live at Brighton—the prisoner is thirty-three years old—I am younger than her—I have seen her from time to time for the last twelve or fourteen years—I do not know the period when the monthly discharge commenced with her—she has been long in suspense and very faint, with great lowness of spirits, and she would sit down and cry for half an hour at a time—she has done that frequently—when I say she was faint, I mean that she felt very faint and was obliged to go and lie down on the bed—I have not known her to have fits at any times—she has been living out in service form time to time—my mother is not now living—she was very subject to fits—I have a brother also, who has been out of his mind.

MR. BODKIN. Q. When did your mother die? A. About eight or nine years ago—my brother is living and is here, the one that has been out of his mind, but he is recovered—he is nearly forty years old.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. Was your brother in confinement a any time in any hospital or any place? A. In the infirmary at Brighton for about a month—he is now better, and has been induced to come here to-day.

MARY RICHARDSON. I live at 21, Charles-street, Brighton—I have known the prisoner for seventeen or eighteen years—she was a very nice young woman indeed, a very nice character and a very hard-working girl—at one time she staid in my house for two months—she left my house, and then lived along with Mrs. Garrow—she had a very bad fit indeed while with me, which frightened me very much indeed, for I was alone with my daughter in the house—my husband had died with the same complaint—I did not like to say it was so, because my daughter is very nervous, and I kept it to my-self—I saw her in the fit—she was some time in it—I cannot tell you what time—it might be ten minutes or so—when she came to, she looked very wild in her eyes, and that was what made me so frightened—she scrunched her hands very much—she took hold of my arm when she recovered—but I kept away from her—a few days after that, she went to her place at Mrs. Garrow's—Mrs. Garrow has gone abroad.

MR. BODKIN. Q. What was she in you service? A. She was stopping at my house, not as servant—I respected her—she left me shortly after she had this fit—I did not give her a character to Mrs. Garrow—I knew Mrs. Garrow—I did not recommend her to her—I knew she was going there—this was about eight years ago—I have seen her several times since, while she was living with Lady Parsons.

ELIZABETH RICHARDSON. I am the daughter of the last witness—I recollect the prisoner staying with my mother for a week, thirteen years ago—that was the first time I can remember, and she was with us nearly two months as far as I can remember, about eight years ago—she left us then to go to Lady Elizabeth Parsons, and thirteen years ago she left us to go to Mrs. Garrow—she was never in good health to my recollection—I have seen her very often—she did not appear to he in a very good state of health—she was always in a tremble and in very low spirits, land deadly pale—she had very bad fits—I have seen her in one very bad fit, that is very likely the one my mother has spoken of—I have seen her mother also in very likely fits, I was very young at the time, but I recollect my father, mother, and as many as four or five men holding her.

MR. BODKIN. Q. How old are you now? A. Nearly twenty-eight.

CHARLOTTE JENNINGS. Between thirteen and fourteen years ago I was living at Mrs. Garrow's, in Brunswick-square, Brighton—the prisoner was in her service as kitchen-maid—during that time she was constantly subject to fainting fits—I was accustomed to sleep in the same room with her—on first getting up in the morning she used to begin to dress herself and could not finish—I have frequently got up to get her water to drink to enable her to continue her dressing—I know of nothing more than the fainting fits—she quite fainted away till I got the water and sprinkled her face, and got her some to drink—that was frequently the case in the morning—I knew her altogether between three and four years—I think this state of health did not continue all the time—I cannot exactly say at what period she was better—it was at different times—there were periods when she was better—since then I have known her to be dreadfully low spirited at times—I did not notice that at all at the time she was at Mrs. Garrow's—she has lodged with me since then when she has been out of place, two or three different times—the first time was after she had been with Lady Elizabeth Parsons—she had pretty good health then, I think, but she was dreadfully depressed at times—I have asked her about it at times, but she never would say what was the cause of it—I do not know anything about her monthly discharges—I did not make any inquiry with respect to it—I know of her crying frequently during the whole time that I have known her, particularly the latter part—I have asked her what was the matter with her, and she has not given me any reason for it—she never gave me any particular reason—I have heard her complain of constant pain at the stomach, and frequently of a languid feeling, with a palpitation of the heart at different times; not anything particularly about the head—she bore the character of a most humane creature, a more humane, kind creature I never knew—she has been with me at different times, and when I have been ill she has been a most kind creature.

SARAH ROBINSON. I live at No. 35, Broad-street, Golden-square. The prisoner resided with me from the 1st of July to the 16th of Dec., 1846—during that time she had very bad spirits indeed—she was very low spirited constantly, and had very ill health indeed—I do not know exactly what that arose from—she went to the doctor, and got medicine—she was not at

all regular in her discharges—she was not so when she ought to have been—that was the reason she went to the doctor—I noticed her crying very frequently—I have asked her what was the matter, and she has said she was very unwell indeed, from what cause I cannot I cannot tell—I once knew her to be in a fit—it lasted a quarter of an hour or an hour or twenty minutes—it was an hysterical fit; she struggled very much, and was insensible likewise; my two sons were present, and they were obliged to hold her down—I can hardly tell when that was—it was some time in 1846—she was always particularly kind in her disposition in every way.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Did she go from your house in Dec. to White-cross-street? A. Yes, on 16th Dec.—I did not see her again till the 26th of the same month—a man of the name of Wyness came once to my house—that was a long time ago, while she was stopping with me—that was the only time I saw him—I never heard that he had a lodging in Whitecross-street—I saw the prisoner on the 26th of Dec.—she did not tell me where she was living, I did not know for some time—I knew she went to Whitecross-street from what I was told—I believe she told me—when she went away she did not say what she was going to do—we were rather friendly, I was kind to her and she to me—she was out of place at this time—she left my house without giving me any notion as to where she was going to—I had seen Wyness last in July, when she first came to me—while with me she employed herself in mending her clothes and looking after a situation—she went out for that purpose, I suppose—I do not know that she went out for any other purpose—I had no reason to suppose that she was conducting herself at all improperly—when she came back she gave me a satisfactory account of where she had been—when she was taken ill and went to the doctor, she got some medicine and got better.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. Was that after or before she had this fit? A. She had it before she went to the doctor—I persuaded her to go to a doctor in Welback-street.

MR. BODKIN. Q. I believe she was very much pressed for money? A. She was very poor indeed, all the time she was with me?

EMMA BAILEY. I am in the service of Mrs. Smythe Wyndham—her town residence is No.14, Connaught-place—I have come up from the country now—I remember coming from abroad and finding the prisoner in the house—that was on the 11th of March in the present year—she had a very violent fit on the 13th of March—I was sent for after I had gone to bed, and found her on the floor in the kitchen, quite insensible—at that time she required one person holding her, and two or three maids with her—after that, she required two or three men to told her, the fit was so violent—I found her in the fit between eleven and twelve, and she was not perfectly sensible until four o'clock in the morning—she had one interval or two—she was sensible for a short time, but replaced—she was very violent, and quite insensible—this was on the third evening—on the evening of the fit she boiled an egg that was not required, she continually expressed her sorrow for having so done, after I had assured her that it was of no consequence, until her repetition of it was quite wearying—I can scarcely express her manner at the time, she was constantly alluding to her stupidity in having done so—she was afraid some fault would be found with it, and repeatedly said, "I am sorry for boiling that egg"—I was then housekeeper, and had the control of those matters—she was kitchen-maid under me—I was the only person to blame her—for two or three days afterwards she was very ill, and kept her bed on the Sunday—she had a very

wild look during the fit—very much so, and there was a wildness in the expression of her eye for two or three days afterwards—she did not do her work fully or regularly for two or three days after that—she remained at Mrs. Wyndham's twenty-eight or twenty-nine days—she complained very much of pain in the chest through to the back—on the day after she left, she came back for some of her clothes—I left her standing in the kitchen, and when I returned, I found her in a fit in the servants' room—it was the same sort of fit which I had previously seen her in, but not so violent—I had restoratives at hand, and gave them to her—they appeared to relieve her—she called on me again some time after—I inquired after her health, and she told me something—there was the sort of wildness in her look which I had observed after the preceding fits—I knew that she was suffering from an irregularity in the menstrual discharges.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Did you know the old person whose death are inquiring about? A. Yes; she used frequently to come to my master's place, and was an object of charity there—she had things given to her—when the prisoner left the service I did not recommend her to go and stay with the old woman till she got another place—I was not aware where she was going to—she did not tell me, till a short time previous to her leaving the house, and then she said she was going there for a night or two—while she was in the service she slept in the top bedroom, with three other maids—I did not sleep in that room—one of the maids slept in the same bed with her, and continued to do so until she went away to the decreased place.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. I believe you have come up a very great distance at very great inconvenience. A. Yes; the prisoner bore a very good character for humanity and kindness of disposition, and her manner of expressing herself even to the poor woman was kind in the extreme—as far as I had an opportunity of judging, she was a kind, humane person—the second housemaid slept with her—Margaret Fraser slept in the same room, but not in the same bed with her.

JOHN HANCOCK. I was in the service of Mrs. Wyndham at the same time as the prisoner—I was present when she had this fit, and was the first person that went to her—she was standing in the kitchen at her place by the dresser when it took place, it happened quite suddenly—her manner was very strange two or three days after that.

WILLIAM PRIEST. I know the prisoner by living with her at Smythe Wyndham's, Esq., Connaught-place—I was a fellow-servant of Hancock's. I remember the prisoner having two fits—the conducted herself very violently in the first; she tore the skirt of her dress from the body entirely—I and Hancock held her—it was a very difficult task; she attempted to strike us, and was quite violent.

COURT. Q. Do you mean that the convulsive action nearly struck yon; or that she had powers of mind about her, and intentionally struck you? A. She was violent towards the parties round, struggling—in struggling she struck us.

MR. BODKIN. Q. Did she fall to the ground? A. No; she was supported on a chair; I saw she was faint, and came forward and prevented her falling—she was on a chair when I first saw her—the butler was the first person to run to stop her from falling—I think I was the third—there was the nurse-maid there—there were several persons about her—they prevented her falling on the ground, otherwise I think she would have fallen—she was quite in a senseless state—I gave her water first; she did not get better, and I went for Mr. Hardwick, a surgeon—I cannot tell whether he is here—he

wrote down something which I took to the surgery, and brought some medicine back, which was given to her—she did not get better—she was on a mattress which was laid down on the kitchen floor—the surgeon staid till the medicine came, and gave it to her, and remained an hour or more after that—she was on the mattress on the kitchen floor all night—I and the butter staid with her till about two o'clock in the morning, and the maids stopped the rest of the time—she was quieter when I left—about eight o'clock next morning I saw her again; she was then on the bed in the servant's hall—her place of sleeping was up stairs at the top of the house—she was not able to be carried up to bed—we could not attempt to do such a thing in the state she was—she appeared to be very weak and low next day—she did her work as well as she could—I cannot tell whether she cooked the dinner.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. I believe you are here by the desire of your master and mistress, who are aware of these circumstances? A. Yes; and the other servants likewise.

MARY HOLLETT. I am single, and live with Mrs. Smythe Wyndham—I was there with the prisoner, and live there now—I was there three years ago, when she was first engaged as cook during our stay in Brighton after the family—she was taken into the service again, her conduct was so perfectly satisfactory—on the first occasion she was with us she suffered very much from bilious headache—she frequently took calomel, and acted very imprudently afterwards, she would kneel on the cold stones during her work after taking it—I am not positive whether she took it without advice—as far as I know she did, and she afterwards exposed herself to the cold—that was on more occasions than one—I believe I prevailed on her to take it less frequently—she appeared to suffer in her general health, from the chest, and from lowness of spirits, and palpitations of the heart when she went up stairs—when she came on the second occasion she was much worse—her legs were very much swollen, and she appeared to do her work with great difficulty—her spirits were very low—I was not present when she had the fit—I was three flights of stairs up, and I heard her scream violently—I did not know it was in the house, I thought it was outside—I have not noticed any wildness or anything particular in her appearance—as far as her conduct and disposition go, she is a humane, well-conducted girl, extremely so—she would give away all she had, and borrow to give to the poor woman.

MARGARET FRASER. I am in the service of Mrs. Wyndham, and have been so more than three years—I was there on the second occasion that the prisoner was in the service—I slept in the same room with her—I was present when she had two fits—she was very violent on the first occasion—she screamed once or twice—it continued for more than two hours, I think—I noticed her manner after that fit—she looked very wild in her eyes for some days afterwards—I do not know that she had been suffering from any particular disease incidental to women—I think she was poorly once while with us, but I did not know anything particular about it.

WILLIAM VERRALL. I am surgeon, practicing at Brighton—I attended the prisoner's brother at two different periods—his complaint was delirium on both occasions—it was very slight on the first, but much more severe on the second—I have never attended the prisoner professionally—I am a general practitioner—I have attended many cases of suppressed menstruation—I am senior surgeon at the Lying-in-Institution, that is an infirmary in which all the diseases of women are likewise treated—fits of different character are occasionally the consequence of suppression of the menses—I believe that a

continuation of those fits for a number of years might contribute to a permanent injury to the brain—I have heard the whole of the evidence in this case—I should describe the fits, from which the prisoner is said to have suffered, as hysterical fits—a person would not have a fit without the brain being affected—the proximate cause of the fit would be some operation on the brain—if these fits were repeated over and over again, it might superinduce disease of the brain—I have know persons suffering from these fits, arising from the same cause, who have lost their reasoning powers for short periods while under the influence of the fit, and for a short period afterwards while the brain was recovering itself—I do not believe that a person would be able to distinguish what she was doing, or the circumstances surrounding her, during the fit; she would be gradually coming round after the fit—the continuance of these fits would operate prejudicially to the health in every respect, and I should say it would operate upon the mental powers—that is the case with every disease that has its origin in the brain, or by which the brain is at all affected—where there is disease in one member of a family, it is likely that there would be a predisposition to it in others, in some diseases particularly—if there was such a predisposition in a family, any exciting cause would be likely to produce insanity.

MR. BODKIN. Q. I suppose in the course of your experience, your attention being particularly directed to the diseases of women, you have met with innumerable cases of women suffering more or less inconvenience from an obstruction of this kind? A. I have—it is a complaint to which very many young women are subject—if a person is in a situation that requires them to work or exert themselves for their livelihood while labouring under this obstruction, of course they will have fainting fits—during those fainting fits the patient would be quite insensible, and incapable of any determinate action; during the fainting fits, but not during the struggling—I should describe the fits which the prisoner is said to have had, as fainting fits—I have heard it stated that on one or two occasions she screamed and was violent, with a convulsive action of the muscles—those I attribute to hysteria, but I attribute both to the same cause, the obstruction—I do not recollect ever meeting with a case in the course of my practice in which a woman became permanently insane from fainting fits or hysteria—in a fainting fit the patient would be perfectly quiet and insensible—persons are very violent in some cases of hysteris, but equally incapable of determinate action—I have know the fit last for many hours—with proper applications persons would recover earlier than they would without—it is followed by lassitude and depression of spirits, until nature recovers herself.

Q. Suppose a person to have been subject to occasional obstruction and irregularity of this kind, would any successful effort of nature causing a discharged, have a tendency to relieve the inconvenience that would be felt by the want of it? A. I have noticed that at the time the discharge comes on they are rather more inclined to have fits—if a person suffered from suppression, and had a return, they are nearly sure to have a fit at the period of the return—the return is the consequence of an effort of nature, and is curative as far as it goes—the fit would mark the crisis—if it were followed or accompained by a return of the natural action, it would be curative for a time—there always increased irritation in the female constitution at the time the discharge commences, even where they are in good health, but not such as to cause fits—I am speaking of a case where there has been suppression for a considerable time.

Q. I will put the case of a woman who on one Sunday had a discharge, and on the following Tuesday week had a return, would your observation as to the probability of a fit occurring, at all apply to such a case as that? A. It is plain that the first discharge did not relieve the system, or nature would not have brought it on again so soon—great anxiety or fatigue might bring it on—it might either be an imperfect effort in the first instance, or it might be a renewed secretion—I can give opinion as to whether the attacks of hysteria or faintness would be indicative of greater intensity of the obsruction or the reverse—hysteria is not in all cases accompanied with loud screaming—I have seen many patients that do not scream at all—it is very loud in some cases—I should expect that a person after an attack of that sort, would show want of power, energy, and self-possession for a considerable time afterwards—I have not seen the prisoner's brother here—I was called to attend him for one attack on the 16th of December, 1844, and for the order on the 4th of February, 1845—the first attack was very slight—I do not know his age—he was then between twenty and thirty, I think—I believe he was single, he was living in lodgings at the time—on the first occasion I saw him for about a week—he then got better—I did dot bleed him, I gave him medicine—his habits were rather irregular, he was given to drink, I believe—the delirium was not incidental to any febrile attack—it was a morbid action of the brain—I should say drink was the predisposing cause—I cautioned him, when I attended him for the first attack, against drinking in future, and told him of the conesquence—the second attack was of the same chararacter—I have reason to believe that it was induced by the same means—that did not yield to my treatment—he was so had that I was obliged to have him removed to the Infirmary, not the Infirmary over which I preside—I have seen him since he came out, in the town, but have not attended him professionally since—his complaint was delirium-tremens.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. Do you mean that the predisposing cause of this delirium was drink, or that the drink, superadded to a tendency to delirium, brought it on? A. I knew nothing of the man until I found him ill—it is not usual for so young a person to suffer from delirium-tremens unless there is a predisposition to insanity—I cannot form the conclusion that there must have been a predisposition to insanity in his constitution, but I seldom see it in one so young, brought on solely by drink.

Q. Supposing the prisoner to have been enduring fits of the kind described, arising from the obstruction of the menses for the last fourteen years, do you believe that that would have a material effect upon her constitution and upon her mind? A. I do—it would weaken the powers both of mind and body, and that without reference to the particular attack.

RICHARD RUGG. I am a surgeon, living at Brighton—I am surgeon to the Infirmary there. The prisoner's brother was brought there on the 9th of Feb., 1845—I agree with Mr. Verrall in opinion that his disease was delirium-tremens—it is more than two years ago since I attended him, but I have a distinct recollection of the case—it arose from taking too much beer, not to any large extent, but still sufficient to produce that disease—that would certainly be more likely to arise to a person disposed to it than not—another person might take ten times—the quantity, and not produce ot—I have a memorandum of his age—it was thirty-four—I do not recollect having attended him before—thirty-four is an early age for that disease, unless a person is much in the habit of drinking, or there is a predisposition to it—if there was

anything like insanity in the family, drink would be more likely to promote those appearance—I have heard the evidence that has been given in this case, with reference to the fits and the obstruction of the menses—there is no doubt that is continuation for a long time might affect the brain, and that affection of the brain might be exhibited, by melancholy, or violent excitement—I mean excitement of such an extent, that I have a person labouring under such an obstruction, and she is obliged to be put under restraint—that continues for a few days—I should say during the period of that excitement, they would not be capable of knowing what they were doing, and would not be answerable for it; and during that violent paroxyam they have a greater hatred to their immediate friends than to other people—I have known females of a naturally kind and humane disposition who have exhibited those symptoms of ferocity under such circumstances—it is a very common symptom.

MR. BODKIN. Q. If I understand you, assuming that the brain has been so far acted upon as to induce mania, those are the consequences? A. Not in all cases, of course—I should think it very likely under excitement—these are consequences that would very possibly follow.

MR. BODKIN being about to examine Dr. Sutherland as to his opinion of the prisoner's state of mind, MR. BALLANTINE contended that the proper time for so doing had passed; and that as the nature of the defence had been anticipated by the prosecution, it was not now competent to them to give fresh evidence in contradiction of the prisoner's case. MR. JUSTICE ERLE was of opinion that the evidence was admissible: the learned Judges (in answer to the questions submitted to them by the House of Lords after the trial of M'Naughten) expressly stating, that after all the witnesses had been examined, and after all the facts had been stated, persons of skill might be called upon to give their opinion whether, assuming the facts deposed to to be true, the accused was sane or insane at the time.

MR. BODKIN called

ALEXANDER JOHN SUTHERLAND, M.D. I have had considerable experience in diseases of the mind—I have lately turned my attention to that exclusively—I came here at half-past ten this morning, when Battersby was being examined—I was desired by the Solicitor of the Treasury to attend—I have attended to the evidence in the case since my arrival here—I have particulary attended to the evidence of the witnesses called on the part of the prisoner—assuming that all the facts spoken to by the witnesses are literally true, they do not, in my judgment, indicate any unsoundness in the prisoner; not in any degree whatever, in my opinion.

MR. BALLANTINE. Q. You mean to infer that the prisoner has all those powers that nature gave her, in a perfect state? A. I mean that she is not in a state either of insanity or unsoundness of mind; that her mind is in as perfect a state as nature gave it to her—I believe it has not been affected in any way by disease—I mean to apply that opinion to her state at the present moment, as far as I can judge from what I have heard—of course it is hardly fair to say so, because I have not examined her person—I can only form an opinion from what I have heard—I could still only give an opinion, if I had examined the party, but it would of course be more satisfactory if I had had an opportunity of examining her—I am generally able to form an accurate opinion in these matters from an examination of the party—I received diretions from the Government at ten o'clock this morning to attend here—I am the son of the gentleman who has the management of a large lunatic asylum—I

have known insanity produced by defective menstruation, and by hysteria consequent upon it—in all cases of insanity, when we can find out the cause, we can generally apply a cure—those patients whose insanity is superinduced by hysteria, are as easily, or probably more easily cured than any other insane patients—the attacks are sometimes very sudden—I have known persons whose disposition has been naturally very mild and humane, to become almost ferocious when under those attacks—they are sometimes incapable of judging between right and wrong; but those sort of case are usually accompanied with delusion—perhaps the delusion may be imagining a person who is really a friend to be the bitterest enemy, but that is not the common delusion that accompanies that species of the disease; it is a delusion that occasionally accompanies it—they sometimes require restraint—the continuation of hysterical fits arising from imperfect menstruation for fourteen or fifteen years is not calculated to affect the brain—epileptic fits are—in epilepsy the patient bites the tongue, foams at he mouth, and goes to sleep immediately after the fit—they do not both arise from pressure on the brain—in hysteria the brain is secondarily affected from the uterus—the brain is not primarily affected in epilepsy either.

MR. BODKIN. Q. You have been asked whether, in order to form an opinion of the present state of mind of the prisoner, it would have been more satisfactory for you to have examined her personally; you say it would? A. Yes—I do not require any personal examination to form a judgment upon the facts which have been deposed to by the witnesses—I say it would have been more satisfactory to me to examine the prisoner, as it would in every case—according to the descriptions given by the witnesses, I believe the fits to which the prisoner has been subject, to have been hysterical fits.

Q. Seeing the periods at which they occurred, her manner and demeanour afterwards, her habits and pursuits of life, and the way in which she has been reported by the evidence to have conducted herself, can you discover any circumstance whatever upon which you can found a belief that her brain is in any degree injured? A. No, I cannot—I have known cases where unsoundness of mind has been produced by obstructed menstruation—I am acquainted with innumerable instances in which it has produced no such effect—it is not at all an uncommon affection—these attacks sometimes come on suddenly.

Q. Have you ever known, or read, or heard of a case among those to which you have alluded, in which a woman, apparently in the possession of her senses at about nine o'clock on one night, and apparently in her senses on the following morning, between four and five o'clock, making preparations for a journey, had in the interval been seized with an attack which had deprived her of her intellectual power, and caused her to commit a violent crime? A. I never knew of such a case, nor have I ever read of a case exactly parallel to it.

COURT. Q. According to your opinion, as a man of skill in this disease, supposing a sudden attack of insanity, from, suppressed menses, to occur, do you suppose that attack would appear between nine o'clock at night and four o'clock the following morning, without leaving some trace? A. No, I do not.

GUILTY. Aged 30.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury, in conesquence of the humane character that she sustained for so many years.

DEATH .


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