The Proceedings of the Old Bailey

 

43.   MARY ELEANOR PEARCEY (24) was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the wilful murder of   Phœbe  Hogg.

  MRSSRS. FORREST FULTON and GILL Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON

Defended.

  JOHN CHARLES PEABCEY . I am a carpenter, and live at High Street, Camden Town—I did live at Piermont Street—I have known the prisoner-about five years—when I made her acquaintance, I knew her as Eleanor Wheeler—after an acquaintance of three or four months she lived with me—I lived at different places, and eventually at Bayham Street, Camden Town—I lived with her about three years—when I ceased to live with her she remained at Bayham Street—when she lived with me she took the name of Pearcey, and afterwards passed in that name—towards the latter part of the time she made the acquaintance of Mr.  Hogg, and I saw her from time to time in company with  Hogg, frequently in the shop in King Street—in consequence of that I ceased to live with her—when I left Bayham Street, I left there an old Cardigan jacket—this is it (produced)—when I left it there were three buttons on it, and the sleeves-were attached—the sleeves have been cut off, and the buttons removed—I know it by the right-hand pocket, the left-hand pocket is missing—after I ceased to live with the prisoner, I saw her from time to time, and spoke to her—I simply passed the time of day, I never visited her—I was told she she had removed from Bayham Street to Priory Street—I have frequently seen her in the street—it is a quarter of a mile from Bayham Street to Priory Street—I remember seeing her on Thursday, 23rd October—I was passing through Priory Street to my work, and saw her standing at the door of No. 2—my attention was attracted to the blinds of the-house—I asked her why the blinds were down—she said that a young brother of hers died somewhere near, and she was busy making up mourning to go to the funeral on Tuesday next—I spoke to her about five minutes, and passed on.

Cross-examined. I only know from what she told me that she was

between seventeen and eighteen when I first met her—she was supporting herself by working at a sealskin factory—I lived with her as near as possible three years, as her husband—I first saw her with  Hogg just over two years ago—that was partly the cause of our separation, not exactly the chief cause, it was one of the causes.

Re-examined. There was another cause; there was another gentleman.

  THOMAS HOLLIS (T 410). I have had some experience in preparing plans—I have made a plan of the ground floor of 2, Priory Street, it is drawn to scale of half an inch to the foot; it is correct—I have measured the distances between certain places mentioned in this case—the distance from 2, Priory Street, to 141, Prince of Wales Road is 1,650 yards—from Priory Street to the corner of Crogsland Road is 1,610 yards—from Priory Street to Crossfield Street is 1 mile "1,660 yards—from Priory Street to 34, Hamilton Terrace is 2 miles 1,360 yards—from Priory Street to the field at Finchley, where the body of the child was found, is 3 miles 300 yards—from Crossfield Road to 34, Hamilton Terrace, where the perambulator was found, is 1 mile 810 yards, and from Hamilton Terrace to the field where the body of the child was found is 2 miles 730 yards.

Cross-examined. In front of 2, Priory Street there is a doorstep and another step just on the edge of the—pavement; anybody walking by in the street could see through the window into the front parlour if the blind was up and nothing standing in the way—you could not see from the back parlour into the kitchen, you must first come out into the passage—anybody on the staircase could not see into the kitchen; unless they went right beyond the door of the bedroom, it would be impossible.

  MARTHA STYLES . I am a domestic servant in employment at Egham, the deceased was my sister—I know the prisoner—in the beginning of February my sister was ill—I went to see her and found the prisoner was nursing her—from something that took place my sister went from home to Mill Hill—I took her there—she stayed there some fourteen days—her husband visited her there—she then returned—I saw her from time to time after February—the prisoner only saw her on one day after that, when she came to the house and my sister opened the door to her; it was not to visit my sister that she came then—I never saw her in company of my sister after the illness in February—on Thursday, 23rd October, I saw my sister, I met her at the Metropolitan Finchley Road Station—I was in her company from about four till about ten minutes past six; my niece, Edith Styles, was with me—my sister had her child with her—she showed me a note written in pencil, she spoke to me about the note and handed it to me; after reading it I burnt it—we were then at 18, Albion Road, where my niece was employed; that was the last time I saw a sister alive.

Cross-examined. I do not know in whose handwriting the note was—I saw my sister four or five times between February and October—the first time after February I saw her with my father—I only went once to her house between February and October, that was in September.

  ELIZABETH STYLES . I am a housemaid, employed at the Swiss Cottage in Albion Road—the deceased was my aunt, I saw a great deal of her—I went to see her in February when she was ill—from what I saw of her condition of health I spoke to her husband, and afterwards

communicated with her relations, and she went to her sister's—at that time the prisoner was at Prince of Wales Road nursing my aunt—I know that my aunt afterwards came home—from something that was said at the time I ceased to visit the house in Prince of Wales Road from February, but she very often saw me—on 23rd October I was with the last witness when I saw the deceased, she came to my house, we were all three there together—I remember a pencil note being shown by her—some conversation took place about it—it was afterwards burnt—my aunt was not well after February to October.

  FRANK SAMUEL  HOGG . I live at 141, Prince of Wales Road—the deceased, Phœbe  Hogg, was my wife—we were married in November, 1888—I had been familiar with her before our marriage; a girl was born on 11th April, 1889, named Phœbe Hanslope—after our marriage I cohabited with my wife at 141, Prince of Wales Road—I first made the prisoner's acquaintance a little over four years ago—she was then living at Bayham Street, Camden Road, she was then living with her husband, Mr. Pearcey—I always believed that he was her husband, she went by the name of Mrs. Pearcey—at that time I was managing a provision business belonging to my mother at 87, King Street—I continued to manage that business up to 22nd March, 1888—since that time I have been a furniture mover, sometimes for my brother, and for some time I was at Shoolbred's—I remember the prisoner leaving Bayham Street and going to live at 2, Priory Street—I believe that was about September or October, 1888; that was before my marriage—I called on her there two or three times, very rarely—I was in the habit. of receiving letters from her, not through the post; she used generally to bring them herself, and leave them on the counter for me at 87, King Street, and she has left them in her house on the table for me—she took the letters back again after I had read them—I had a latchkey of 2, Priory Street, but not till months after that; it would be about twelve months ago, as near as I can recollect, about December, 1889—the prisoner gave it me so that I could go in when I liked, and have immoral intercourse with her—that intercourse first took place after my marriage; never before—I believe it was at the Christmas time, 1888, the Christmas following my marriage—it continued up to 24th October—my wife was not acquainted with the prisoner till December, 1889—the prisoner sent an invitation through me, verbally, to ask her to spend Christmas Day with her—I carried the message—my wife was not aware at that time of the relations between the prisoner and myself—she accompanied me on Christmas Day last to 2, Priory Street, and I introduced her to the prisoner—we stopped there that night and the day following, Boxing Day—I and my wife occupied one bed, and the prisoner another—after that the prisoner was in the habit of coming to visit my wife at 141, Prince of Wales Road, from time to time, as a friend, with the child—in January, 1890, my wife was seized with illness—the prisoner came to 141 and offered to nurse my wife in her illness, and take care of the child; we kept no servant—my wife could not keep about; she was sometimes in one room, and sometimes in another—she was not able to attend to her domestic duties—she continued in that condition for about a fortnight or three weeks as far as I recollect—during that time the prisoner was not an inmate of 141; she came in the morning, and went away at night; for the

first two or three days she stayed the night, but afterwards she came in the morning, and went away in the evening—I was not in good work at the time; I was on very short work; I was much at home about that three weeks—during the time her illness lasted I had some difference with my wife—Elizabeth Styles, my niece, called a good many times at 141—she never complained to me about the way I was treating her sister, only once, that was at the end of February; she had been ill about a month then—after that complaint Elizabeth Styles never came to the house-again; I forbade her the house—that was not in consequence of my being too familiar with the prisoner; she said I was not giving her sister sufficient food—Martha Styles came on Sunday; she stopped on Sunday night, and look her away with her on the Monday morning to Mill Hill; she remained there about ten days—I went there to see her the day after she left—I had the disagreement with her some few days before she went away—that was not about the prisoner—up to that time my wife had not the least knowledge of the adulterous intercourse I was having with the prisoner—at the end of the ten days she returned to 141, Prince of Wales Road—after that, to my knowledge, the prisoner never visited at our place; my wife did not object to her doing so, she never mentioned her name; I continued my visits to Priory Street all this time—on 24th October my wife's father was very ill, and expected to die; he was living at Chorley Wood, Rickmansworth, Herts—I left home at nine that morning to carry on my work—it was arranged that if my wife received any news whatever she was to go to Chorley Wood to her father—I was occupied during the whole of that day, in company with a man named Buckstone, in removing furniture for different people up to ten o'clock at night—I returned home at ten—I did not find my wife or the child at home—I saw a note on the table; I read it—I then went down. stairs and saw my mother, and then went to 2, Priory Street—my wife was in the habit of taking the child out in a four-wheeled bassinette perambulator—that was not in the house when I got home—about a week before 24th October I had a conversation with the prisoner about my wife, on one of my visits to 2, Priory Street—she asked me if I should be very much surprised if she told me Tiggy had been there to-day (Tiggy was a pet name for the baby)—I said, "Yes, I should"—she asked me if I should be angry at it—I said, "No, I should not"—it was in consequence of. what I saw in the note that I went to 2, Priory Street—I let myself in with my private latchkey—I arrived there, as near as I can recollect, at twenty minutes past ten—it took me about ten minutes to walk from Prince of Wales Road to Priory Street, at an ordinary walking pace—when I got there there was no light in the front parlour, nor in the hall—generally there was a light in the hall, a lamp against the wall—I believe it was the prisoner's duty to keep that lamp lighted—she said it was put up at her expense, for she paid for the oil, and she could light it if she liked—there was a light in the back parlour, used as a bedroom—it was understood between us that if there was a light in the back parlour it meant that Mrs. Pearcey was out, and might be late; seeing the light there, I wrote something on a piece of paper, and went at once away, and went back home to 141, Prince of Wales Road, and I slept there that night—I did not go out again that night—I got up at six in the morning—my mother and my sister Clara occupied the first floor, and I occupied the second floor—Mrs. Barraud occupied

the ground floor, in the parlour—when I got up I went to the stable; that was part of my day's work—I returned to breakfast at a quarter to eight; I saw both my mother and sister at that time, and had a conversation with them—after breakfast I went to Chorley Wood; I went by rail from Finchley Road Station on the Metropolitan Railway; before starting I gave my sister Clara certain directions as to what she was to do—I got down to Chorley Wood; I did not find my wife there, and I at once returned to London by the next train, and went to 141, Prince of Wales Road—I there saw my mother; she showed me a newspaper—that was the very first intimation I had that my wife had come to her death by violence—I had not heard or seen anything of it, in the train or anywhere—on reading the account in the newspaper I wanted to go to the Police-station to identify her—Clara was not in the house at that time—I did not see anything of the prisoner—I did not go to the station; Inspector Bannister and two other gentlemen called immediately after; that would be between a quarter and ten minutes to one in the forenoon—I had to go to the station with them, and I had to identify the body; I went from there to the mortuary, which was somewhere near; I there identified the dead body of my wife, Phœbe  Hogg—I had seen the prisoner before I went to the railway station that morning; as I was going out of the door she was coming up the steps; that was about nine in the morning as near as I can recollect—I asked her if the perambulator had been booked at the station—she said, "No"—my sister had left the house some time before that, on receiving certain directions from me—that was the only conversation I had with her; I never spoke to her again till she was in custody—the last occasion on which I saw the prisoner prior to Friday, the 24th October, was on Wednesday night, 22nd October, that was in Prince of Wales Road, I met her—nothing was mentioned about my wife at that time—on the 22nd Mrs. Pearcey asked me if I had got half an hour to spare—I said, "No," I had a little work that I wanted to be doing at home; that was the whole conversation—the prisoner was in the habit of visiting my mother and sister Clara at 141, at intervals up to 24th October—she never came there after my sister returned, because I for bade my sister coming there—the prisoner never told me why she did not visit my wife, she never gave any reason; I never had any conversation with her about it—I never told her not to visit my wife—I after wards heard that the prisoner was arrested on this charge, and on Sunday, 26th October, I identified the body of my little girl at the Hampstead Mortuary—I was not maintaining the prisoner at this time—she told me that she had a small income—I did not know then that she received the visits of another person, I did not know it till after this case—(looking at a number of letters) I believe all these to be in Mrs. Pearcey's hand writing—the earlier ones were mostly left at 87, King Street; the undated ones are those that were left on the table. for me to find—when I visited her at 2, Priory Street I did so in my own name—I was known to the Butlers as Mr.  Hogg. (The following letters were read in the opening:—"2nd October, 1888. My dear F.,—Do not think of going away, for my heart will break if you do; don't go, dear. I won't ask too much, only to see you for five minutes when you can get away; but if you go quite away, how do you think I can live? I would see you married fifty times over, yes. I

could bear that far better than parting with you for ever, and that is what it would be if you went out of England. My dear loving F., you was so downhearted to-day that your words give me much pain, for I have only one true friend I can trust to, and that is yourself. Don't take that from me. What good would your friendship be then, with you so far away? No, no, you must not go away. My heart throbs with pain only thinking about it. What would it be if you went? I should die. And if you love me as you say you do, you will stay. Write or come soon, dear. Have I asked too much?—From your loving M. E. P. 8.—I hope you got home quite safe, and things are all right, and you are well.—M. E. "" 18th November, 1888. Dearest Frank,—I cannot sleep, so am going to write you a long letter. When you read this I hope your head will be much better, dear, I can't bear to see you like you were this evening. Try not to give way. Try to be brave, dear, for things will come right in the end. I know things look dark now, but it is always the darkest hour before the dawn. You said this evening, I don't know what I ask. 'But I do know. Why should you want to take your life because you want to have everything your own way? So you think you will take that which no man has a right; never take that which you cannot give—you will not if you love me as you say you do. Oh! Frank, I should not like to think I was the cause of all your troubles, and yet you make me think so. What can I do? I love you with all my heart, and I will love her because she will belong to you. Yes, I will come and see you both if you wish it. So, dear, try and be strung, as strong as me, for a man should be stronger than a woman. Shall I see you on Wednesday, about two o'clock? Try and get away, too, on Friday, as I want to know if you are off on Sunday until seven o'clock. Write me a little note in answer to this. I shall be down on Monday or Tuesday in the morning, about nine a. m.—So believe me to remain your most loving M. E. "Dear Frank,—You ask me if I was cross with you for only coming for such a little while. If you know how lonely I am, you would not ask. I would be more than happy if I could see you for the same time every day, dear. You know I have a lot of time to spare, and I cannot help thinking. I think and think, till I get so dizzy that I don't know what to do with myself. If it was not for your love, dear, I do not know what I should really do, and. I am always afraid you will take that away, then I should quite give up in despair, for that is the only thing I care for on earth. I cannot live without it now. I have no right to it, but you gave it to me, and I can't give it up. Dear Frank, don't think bad of me for writing this. I do hope your cold will soon go away. Hoping to see you to-morrow, with love from your ever loving and affectionate" M. E. P. S.—Don't think anyone would know the handwriting."

Cross-examined. I have seen Mrs. Butler once or twice, not to speak to her or her husband, I think, or anybody else in the house; I dont think I have spoken to them—my wife wore one wedding-ring—when I saw her at the mortuary the wedding-ring was not on her finger—I have seen the wedding-rings which the prisoner was wearing, and identified them; neither of them was the ring my wife wore, I am positive of that—when I first met Mrs. Pearcey I believed her to be married; I never knew any different till this occurred—the first occasion on which I heard she was not married was during the proceedings at the Police-court since

my wife's death—I should not have raised the least objection to my wife going to see Mrs. Pearcey; they were always on extremely friendly terms—I have heard that my wife used to visit her; she never told mo that she had been to see Mrs. Pearcey during the eight months; I do not know whether she did—I do not know whether the first time she had been to Mrs. Pearcey was at Christmas—Mrs. Pearcey had not been to our house before then, to visit my sister Clara or my mother, that I am aware of—I first made the prisoner's acquaintance by her coming to the shop as a customer; that would be quite two years before my marriage—Bayham Street is just across the road from our shop—I believe she remained at Bayham Street somewhere about two years before she moved to Priory Street; I am not quite sure; I was living almost opposite to her for nearly two years; I saw her frequently during these two years—I have met her out; we were on very friendly terms, but there was no intercourse between us till September, 1888; there was no affection, I did not kiss her or anything like that; none at all before my marriage—our intimacy did not commence till September, 1888—I received the letter of 2nd October, 1888, before my marriage—there was no criminal intimacy between us on that date, only friendship (the letter was again read to the witness)—I say I had never been intimate with her before that, nothing more than friendship—I might have kissed her, but we were not intimate—I don't remember saying that I loved her; probably I have—at the time I had connection with her she was separated from her husband—I mean in December—I don't remember whether she was separated in October—she was then living in Priory street by herself—I can't call to mind the month she went there—I helped to move her things from Bayham Street—I think it was in the winter—I believe it was about the time referred to in that letter, but I can't say for sure—I can't say whether I was aware at the time I received that letter that she was separated from Pearcey—she was separated from him at the time she went to Priory Street—she went there somewhere about the time I received that letter—I mean that I had connection with her two months after my marriage, never having had connection with her before—I did not know that she was separated from Pearcey till the day that occurred—she separated from him the day before she went to Priory Street—I was always on good terms with her—I had not asked her if she was married—she told me she was married—she never asked me to marry her—I remember receiving this letter of 19th October. (Head: "Frank, dear, you said,? if I thought I loved you'—what did you mean by that? Don't you know that I do? How can I prove to you that I do love you dearly? If there is anything I can do to prove it, I promise you it shall be done, you have more power over me than anyone on earth. When I say that, I say all. Do have a wee bit for me when I come to-morrow. I hope you did not get into any bother. Good night, dear.") I don't remember receiving that letter; I don't call it to mind—I still mean to say that there was no intimacy between us till Christmas, as I have stated. (A letter of 23rd October was read: "My Dearest F.—Shall I see you about two to-morrow? Come if you can, dear, if you can't stop long. I have got such a bad headache or heartache. Hoping you are quite well, with best love from your ever loving M. E.")—"E. M." was her usual signature—I can't be positive whether I wrote to her at that

time, I used to see her; she used to come to the shop—I have written on one or two occasions; I generally called her by her Christian name. (Letter of 25th October read: "Dear Frank,—Thanks so much for the letter; it was so good of you to send it. I am thinking how selfish I am for asking you to come here to see me. Of course you don't want to be bothered with me; but, if you can come on Friday I shall be very glad to see you, as I am afraid to come to the shop. I might make mischief, so to prevent it I had better not come. People say ugly things some times, not nice to hear. So when I come into the shop again I shall be very careful, and especially if an inquisitive lady should come in—you know who I mean. Dear Frank, the time has been so long to-day; every minute seemed an hour, waiting for you. Do try and come on Friday. So good-bye till then, with good wishes from M. E. In this false world we do not always know who are our friends, and who are our enemies. We all have enemies, and all need friends.

'Can it be so, or does my sight Deceive me in the uncertain light? Ah! no; I recognise the face, Though time has touched it in its flight.'"

"1st November, 1888. My dear Boy,—Don't for get to-morrow (Friday), about 2.30.")—I did send a letter—I can't remember who the inquisitive lady was, it was not my wife—I have no notion who it was; I can't call to mind—many women came into the shop; not to inquire After me—no other woman called at the shop to see me—I did not pay any attention to that fact—I cannot call that letter to mind, I may have received it; I have received many letters from her, love letters—I did not receive letters from any other woman. (Letter of 18th November, 1888, read to the witness.)—I cannot recall that letter—I do not recollect wanting to take my life—I cannot recollect it—no, I did not; I never did talk of taking my life—I cannot think what that might be—I don't remember ever receiving that letter—I don't at all call to mind saying anything to her about taking my life—I was not married till the 22nd of November—I was engaged to be married on the 18th—I had been engaged to be married to my wife about two years before my marriage—I met my wife about the same time I had known Mrs. Pearcey—on the night in question I returned home about ten, and I got to the prisoner's house about twenty minutes past ten, as far as I can recollect—I picked up this envelope in the room, and wrote this in pencil on it and left it on the mantelpiece in the bedroom, "About twenty past ten; cannot stop longer"—there was a light in that room, but not in the front parlour—I did not go in there, but I could see if there was a light, because it would show on the blind—it is very easy to see into the room from the road when the blinds are up—there was no light in the kitchen—I went straight into the prisoner's bedroom—when I had written the note I came straight out and looked down the passage to see whether there was a light in the kitchen—I did not go down the passage only one step—I did not go into the kitchen at all the kitchen door is more than a yard from where I stood—the passage is slightly turned there—there was no light, and I turned away—I did not examine the door, or call out—I remember my wife and I going to stay at the prisoner's house at Christmas last year: my wife and I occupied the bedroom, and the

prisoner slept on a couch outside—my wife was on good terms with the prisoner—my wife never prevented me from going to Priory Street; she never knew of the intimacy—the prisoner has always expressed herself in friendly terms towards my wife—I have never had any quarrel with the prisoner—I always found her of an affectionate and kind nature—I believe the prisoner was nursing my wife altogether about three weeks; she was backwards and forwards; she paid her every attention, even supplying her with luxuries—the complaint made by Elizabeth Styles was against me alone, not of my wife or of the prisoner—I never knew what time I should return at night—I found my dinner in the saucepan ready for me when I returned home that night—I had been out working the whole day—I had not been to the prisoner's house at all on that day—I worked for my brother—I went to his place of business in the morning at 70, Castle Road, Kentish Town; that is about five minutes from where I lived, and about five minutes from Priory Street—I went to my brother's that morning; I returned there a little before ten—during that time I had not seen my wife or been home—during all that time I had been removing furniture from different places; the first place was at 142, Clarence Place, Kentish Town; I left that about twelve or a little after; I then went to Cromwell Mansions, Earl's Court Road; I left there between twenty and half-past four—then I went to a coffee shop, I believe in Silver Street, Notting Hill Gate, and had tea—I did. not leave Cromwell Mansions till twenty minutes past four; I got to Silver Street about five as near as I recollect, it might have been a little to five—I stayed there from about twenty-five minutes to half an hour; I then came home to the shop in Kentish Town—Buckstone was with me then—I got back to my brother's a little before seven—I went direct from Silver Street to my brother's house—I had a horse and van; Buckstone was with me in the van—I did not remain at my brother's shop until ten; I went on another job immediately with Buckstone; not the whole time; I left him between half-past seven and twenty minutes to eight—the person I was removing came with me; Buckstone had left—all that time I had no communication with my wife.

Re-examined. It would take me about an hour and a half to go from; Silver Street' to my brother's place in Kentish Town—I have been shown a revolver found at 2, Priory Street—this is it (produced)—I believe it to be the same—it belongs to me; Mrs. Pearcey took it from a drawer in my room when my wife was showing her some things—there were also some cartridges; we were both standing at the drawer, and she asked if she might have it, as she was alone in the house; I said, "You would not know how to use it"—I was not aware then that she had taken it—I had bought it as a lad; I have not got it now; this is the one—the cartridges were in a box of this kind (produced)—I believe these are the cartridges—I believe this is the piece of paper which I found on the table when I came home to Prince of Wales Road:" Will not be long; quarter-past three "; that is my wife's writing—this revolver was taken before my wife was ill, when Mrs. Pearcey was making a call—my wife was present when she asked for it; I can't say that she—was present when she took it away—I was not there; I left the room and haft my wife and Mrs. Pearcey together, and the revolver—I am quite sure she asked my wife for the revolver, saying that she was lonely.

  CLARA  HOGG . Hive with my mother at 141, Prince of Wales Road—

my mother and I lived on the first floor—my brother, his wife, and child lived on the floor above—I have known the prisoner for three or four years; I have always been on friendly terms with her—I remember the illness of my brother's wife in February this year—at that time the prisoner was at the house in Prince of Wales Road, and nursed her—after February she ceased to visit her—she did not tell me why; I never discussed the matter with her; she, however, visited my mother and myself, and continued to do so, and did, in fact, visit us on Thursday evening, 23rd October; it was an ordinary visit—on Friday, 24th October, I saw my brother at nine in the morning, just before he went out—I saw the deceased, and talked to her, about ten that morning—I was in the house during the day, and my mother—I spoke to her on the staircase in our house—any person coming to see us would ring a bell, and I should answer it—there was also another bell for the top floor—I did not see anything of the boy that brought the note—about three in the after noon I saw the deceased leave the house, with the child in the bassinette; she turned to the right; that would be in the direction of Priory Street—that was the last time I saw her alive—on the following morning, from something my brother said, I went round to Priory Street about nine—the prisoner opened the door to me; I said, "Did she come here yesterday?"—I meant Phoebe—she said, "No"—I said, "Did not you see anything of her yesterday?"—she said, "No"—I went into the passage and into the bedroom, and I asked her again, and then she said, "As you press me, I will tell you; she did come here yesterday about five o'clock, and wanted me to mind baby a little while. I said I could not; she then asked me to lend her some money. I said I could not lend her any, as I had but a shilling and three-half pence in my purse"—she said, "I did not tell you this before, as she particularly asked me not to let anyone know she had been"—I asked her if she would come with me, and we should go to the Kentish Town Railway Station to see if she had booked the pram—that was in case she had gone to Chorley Wood—she said, "Wait a minute, I will put on my hat and jacket and come with you, "and she did so—I did not go further than the bed room; we then came out together; we walked to Prince of Wales Road, then she left me and said, "I will take the train and go on to Kentish Town"—about half an hour afterwards I saw her again at my home—she said she had scratched her hand in killing mice, and smeared her dresser all over; they ran about the kitchen in thousands—she stayed with me at Prince of Wales Road—I went downstairs, and Mrs. Barraud, the landlady, drew my attention to something in a newspaper—that was the first intimation I had of the murder—I went into the room where. the prisoner was, and spoke to her—I said, "Don't puzzle yourself; Mrs. Barraud has just told me of such a dreadful murder at Hampstead; and from the description I am afraid it is Phoebe"—she said, "Oh, no; Frank will bring her all right from Rickmansworth"—that is where Chorley Wood is—I said, "Will you get. a newspaper?" or she said, "I will get a newspaper," I forget which—I think she said, "I will get a newspaper;" and she went out and got one: she said, "Will you read the account?" and I took the paper and read the account aloud—it contained the account just as the landlady had said—I said, "I believe it is Phoebe"—she went out and got another paper—I read that; it was fuller; it made mention of the perambulator

—I said, "I feel sure it is Phœbe from the description;" I said I would go to the mortuary; she said, "Wait a little while and see if there was-any news from Frank"—I did wait a little while, and then I said, "I cannot wait any longer; I must go and see"—I asked her to go with me; I merely said, "Will you go with me?"—I think she said she would come, and she did come; we went to the Police-station, and the police took us to the mortuary—we went in together—I said, "I cannot recognise the face, but I am sure it is her clothing"—someone washed the face, and I recognised it—before the face was washed I think the prisoner said, "Oh, that is not Phoebe"—when the face was washed I said, "Oh, yes; it is her"—I touched her hand; Mrs. Pearcey had hold of my arm at the-time, and she dragged me, and said, "Oh, don't touch her"—I said, "Don't drag me; it is her, leave me alone, you go out"—I don't call to mind that she said anything more; we came away, and went to another station, and recognised the perambulator—we afterwards went back to Prince of Wales Road—I think the conversation in the mortuary was about twelve o'clock—when I saw her in the morning, and asked whether Phœbe had been there she did not remain in the room with me; she went out and pulled the door to behind her for a few minutes, and then came back to me.

Cross-examined. I do not know whether the door was really shut when she left—I was in the bedroom—she left the bedroom to go into the passage to speak to someone, leaving me inside; she seemed to speak to someone in the passage; it might be anyone who came in from the street;. I don't know whether the street-door was open at that time—I had only been in a few minutes—I did not hear the voice of the person in the passage distinctly, there was someone speaking, I should think it was a man; I could not be sure, I could hear the voice but not the words—I don't know whether the prisoner had hold of my and when we went into the mortuary to see the body—it was when we got up close to the body that she pulled me back—it really was a very dreadful shocking sight; I was very horrified at what I saw, I could not pay attention to anything that was going on—when at our room she-went out to fetch a paper—I gave her the street-door latch-key; when she returned she gave me back the key; we went to the station after that; she gave me back the key in the afternoon, before we went to the mortuary a second time with my brother and Mrs. Pearcey and a police officer; it was then I gave her the key, and it was not returned—Mr. Bannister showed it me at the police-station the first Saturday, and I recognised it as our key, it had a chain attached—we only had one key for the first floor and one for the second.

  HENRY WILLIAM BUCKSTONE . I live at 22, Little King Street, Camden Town—I am a furniture porter—I remember Friday, 24th October—I was at work on that day for Frank  Hogg's brother; Frank  Hogg was working with me—we started on the job at ten in the morning from Clarence Buildings, Clarence Road, Kentish Town, that was where we went to load up—we went from there to Cromwell Mansions, South Kensington—I think we finished at Clarence Road about twelve or half past, and on the way to Cromwell Mansions, loaded, our shaft broke, in Robert Street, Hampstead Road—I should think that delayed us an hour and a quarter—I had to go to Kentish Town, and from there back again, with the cart; after the accident had been overcome we continued

our journey to Cromwell Mansions—we got there about four, it might be, I could not say exactly— Hogg had been with me the whole of the time, from the time we started at the house, and the lady and gentle man who had the goods rode with us in the van—we loaded the furniture there and proceeded on our way back to Silver Street, Notting Hill Gate; we stopped and had tea at the coffee-shop; I can't tell what time we left the coffee-shop; we got back to Kentish Town about a quarter-past seven; we went straight from the coffee-shop—then I started on another job—I had to go and assist  Hogg while he had some men; they had to go for a nosebag, and I afterwards went with him to take the nosebag back—I went to Gospel Oak for the other job—I saw  Hogg after that, loading up there, and I left him—the latest time I saw him that night was, I think, a quarter-past sevens—he was then loading up for the job to go to Leighton Road.

  WILLIAM HENRY HOLMES . I live at 138, Prince of Wales Road—I am twelve years old—I remember on a Friday my mother sent me to a shop about eleven o'clock—coming back from the shop the prisoner asked me if I was going up the road—she asked me if I would take a note for her—I told her to wait a little time while I took my things in—I took my things in—I gave them to my mother—I came out again—I saw the prisoner again on the opposite side of the road—I went across to her—she asked me to take a note to 141, Prince of Wales Road, and ring the top bell, and I said, "All right"—she gave me a penny and the note—she said I was to be sure to give it to Mrs. F.  Hogg—I went to 141—it was about one hundred yards—I rang the top bell—I gave a woman who opened the door the note—I went back—I saw the prisoner again in the Crogsland Road, and she beckoned me towards her—I went she asked me if I gave it to a tall elderly person with a fringe—I did not know, so I said, "Yes"—I mean I did not know what she meant—I had given the note to a tall woman—she said, "All right, thank you," and walked away—my mother was standing at the area steps.

Cross-examined. My mother was about fifty yards from me when this happened, further than the length of this Court—I walked towards my mother, the prisoner walked towards Chalk Farm—I rang the top bell; I had not seen the prisoner before—she wore a black jacket, brown skirt, and a dark blue felt hat—my father saw in the paper the boy was wanted who took the note—he read the account of the murder to me—I heard a young woman was charged with the murder—the paper said they could not find the messenger or the boy who took the note—I told my father I had taken the note to 141; that was the first time I told him about it—no one else had asked me—I had told Mr. Dancey; he is,. an agent for the Prudential Insurance Company—I do not remember when I told him, not after my father read the account to me, before that—I had heard of the murder before my father read it—my father first told me a young woman was charged with the murder—I was not told the prisoner lived in Priory Street—I saw the prisoner with about a dozen women at the station—I waited about ten minutes—there were no old women there—I looked at the others carefully—I looked all down the line—then I saw the prisoner—the prisoner's conversation only took a few minutes—she did not stop long—I should not know the woman again that I delivered the note to.

Re-examined. I knew the prisoner to pick her out by her hat and her face—I went in alone—when I came out my mother went in.

  ELIZABETH ANN HOLMES . I live at 138, Prince of Wales Road—I remember on a Friday morning sending my son to fetch some things for me—he brought them back—it was about eleven o'clock—he said some thing, and went out again—I went and stood on the top of the area steps—I saw my boy speak to a woman—I saw her give him something—I saw my boy walk to Mrs.  Hogg's, at 141—I saw the woman walking up and down—I saw my boy come back and speak to the woman again—I saw her walk away—I heard of the murder and the inquest—I and my son went to the Police-station—my son went into the room by himself—then I went in by myself—I picked out the prisoner.

Cross-examined. I swear the prisoner was the person who was talking to my son—it might be a little past eleven, not before—I did not know the prisoner—I did not speak to her—she was not within reach of my voice—my husband told me the boy was wanted who delivered the note—he read it, and my boy read it—we discussed what the woman was like—I said, "A woman gave my boy a note"—when my son read it, he said, "Mother, that's the number I took the note to"—I did not say much about it—I did not say what the woman was like, nor did my son—I thought if I saw her I was quite sure to pick her out—my son was nearer to her than I—he did not say what she was wearing—she wore a brown skirt, a dark jacket, and dark felt hat—I did not tell him what she was wearing—the prisoner was standing with others when I went in—I went in the room by myself—I misunderstood the question at the Police-court—I thought our room was meant—a policeman went in with me, but I did not go in with the boy—I did not pick her out by her dress, but by her features—she was dressed in a black skirt and cape when I picked her out—she had a different hat on altogether.

Re-examined. I corrected my first statement at the Police-court, and said, "My son went in first, and came out; it was after he had come out I went in."

  EMMA BARRAUD . I am the landlady at 141, Prince of Wales Road—the deceased lived with her husband on the second floor, Clara Hargan on the first floor—there was a different bell for each floor—the bell for the second floor rang: on the second landing—I remember, about a fortnight before the murder, the prisoner calling—I had seen her there from time to time—I heard the first floor bell ring—Miss Hargan and her mother happened to be out—the deceased woman came down and opened the door—I heard talking in the passage—the prisoner went upstairs with the deceased—she remained a short time and left—on the Thursday or Friday before I heard of the murder I heard the top bell ring—I heard some one come and open the door—no one was in on the top floor except the deceased that I am aware of—the deceased never w»re a fringe, was not tall nor elderly—that description would only apply to Miss Hargan and myself—I was in the breakfast parlour, glanced up, and saw the boy leaving the door—I had seen the deceased at eight a. m., when I took the milk in—not after that hour.

  ELIZABETH CROWHURST . I occupy the second storey of No. 2, Priory Street, Kentish Town—I lived there in October last—on Thursday, 23rd October, I received news of the illness of my daughter—I left home at 9.30 to go to see her at 231, Great College Street—I remained all night

with her—I got back the next day about seven—I live with my son "William Crowhurst—he is a carpenter.

Cross-examined. I went to bed about 10.30—I saw a light in the passage for a moment—I could not hear whether the door opened or not.

Re-examined. A light is mostly hung up in the passage—I could not say if it was that night, I did not leave my room—the light was on the ground floor—I could not say from which room—I did not look over the banisters—I saw it shine against the wall as if somebody was moving—I did not go out again.

By the COURT. It was in the prisoner's room—she knew I was at my daughter's—she saw me there on the Thursday—the prisoner went to my daughter's—that is not five minutes from where I live—my daughter asked her—she used to go into the shop at times, and she asked her to go and see the child—the baby—I did not mention to the prisoner I was not coming back—I do not know whether she knew it or not—she did not go with me—my daughter asked her to come and look at the child—that was whilst I was there—I saw her there—I do not think she knew I was going to sleep there, she might have guessed it.

  WILLIAM CROWHURST . I am a carpenter—I reside with my mother at 2, Priory Street, on the first floor—I was at work on 24th October—my mother had been away all the week—I went to work about half-past eight—I was away all day—I returned home about a quarter to eight there was no light in the passage.—usually there was a lamp hanging on the wall to Tight the passage—I went to my room—I remained the whole evening—I only went to the backyard w. c. about half-past eight—it joins the scullery—coming back I noticed glass about the court yard; it had been knocked from the kitchen window—two panes were broken—the kitchen blind was down—it was green—it was usual to have it drawn at night—I noticed the lace curtains had been taken down from the kitchen window—I saw no light in Mrs. Pearcey's kitchen—the back-parlour window also looks out in the yard—if there had been a light in either of those rooms I must have seen it—the front room looks on to the street—I did not notice if a light was there, because I came down the street; if I had come up the street possibly I should have noticed it.

Cross-examined. I am uncertain in returning home—not in the middle of the day when I am at work—I have done so at five, six, seven, and eight.

Re-examined. The last three years I have been employed on buildings—if employed on buildings, may possibly be home about half-past five—during the last twelve months the average is about seven.

  CHARLES BRITT . I live at Great College Street, Camden Town—I have a stable in Priory Mews—going from my stable to where I live I pass through Priory Street—on Friday, 24th October, coming from my stable I went along Priory Street in the afternoon about 3.30—the pavement is very narrow—I saw a bassinette across the pavement—a lady was standing with it, and knocking at No. 2—she was reaching from the perambulator across to the knocker, from the front of the bassinette across to the door—I went out in the street, and made an observation as I passed—I saw the door open—I saw some one come to the door—I

took it to be a lady—she had nothing on her head—she had something black round her shoulders.

Cross-examined. I fix the time because I bought a colt that day, and I had been home to dinner—I bought it in the morning—it was 3.30 when I was indoors—I looked at the clock—the mews is thirty or forty yards-from Priory Street.

  CHARLOTTE PIDDINGTON . I am the wife of Charles Piddington—he is-employed on the Midland Railway—I live with him at 3, Priory Street, Camden Town—that is next door to the house occupied by the prisoner—I lived there in October last—I knew the prisoner very well—I have often been to see her in her room—on Tuesday, October 21, she lent me a wicker dress stand—on Friday I had done with it, and I wanted to return it—I looked over the wall—I put it over the fence in Mrs. Pearcey's premises, and called "Mrs. Pearcey "five or six times—there is a wooden fence between the yards at the back, about three feet high—I got no answer—I was in the habit of so calling her when I wanted to attract her attention—she usually answered me—the time was about between three and four—before I put it over I heard a smashing of glass—the sound seemed to come from downstairs—I was upstairs against the landing window on the first floor—when I had put the stand over I heard another smashing of glass as I was going in—I went back into the house, and stopped upstairs till about two or three minutes to four, when I came down—I also heard a child scream as I was putting the stand over the wall—it was a sound like a child in pain, or being hurt, or something—I came out into the garden again to fetch the clothes in because it was raining—the stand had gone—I did not look at the clock.

Cross-examined. I said between three and four at the Police-court. (Depositions referred to where the witness said between four and half-past)—it was not dark, it was daylight, when I went out—it was betwixt light and dark—you cannot see into Mrs. Pearcey's kitchen window—you can see the window.

  SARAH BUTLER . I live at 2, Priory Street—my husband is a labourer—I occupy the second floor—I knew the prisoner—I had often been in her rooms—I knew Mr.  Hogg as Mr. Pearcey—I had seen him frequently there—I have seen Mrs.  Hogg there about three times—I remember about a fortnight before the 24th October seeing her there late in the afternoon—she was sitting in Mrs. Pearcey's front room—she had the perambulator—Mrs. Pearcey showed me the baby—she said it was her sister-in-law's—I think Mrs.  Hogg heard it—I was on my landing, and Mrs. Pearcey said she would show me the baby, and called me down stairs—I had seen Mrs.  Hogg there twice before that; three times altogether—Mrs. Pearcey never said on any other occasion who Mrs.  Hogg was—on Friday, 24th October, I was at home in the morning—I saw Mrs. Pearcey in her kitchen—she was reading a novelette before the fire; that was between ten and eleven—she offered it to me; I did not take it—I saw a mouse on the dresser—T said, 4' Why don't you get a trap?"—she said, "I'll go and get one," and she went out and brought one in—the last time I saw her was near twelve o'clock that morning—I was up and down stairs—I went out about three in the afternoon—she was in the house then—Mrs. Crowhurst and her son were out all day—I came home about six p. m.—that is the time my husband

comes from his work—I get home a little before him—I let myself in with my key—I noticed it was dark—usually a light was in the passage—Mrs. Pearcey attended to it—I knocked! myself against a bassinette—that was close to the hall door—on the right as you come in—I saw Mrs. Pearcey against her front sitting-room door—I could not see whether there was a light in the room—she said, "Mind"—I said, "All right, I can feel what it is"—I passed it—in going towards the stairs I passed Mrs. Pearcey—she was dressed—she-had a hat on—I went upstairs—shortly afterwards I heard my husband come in—I had only got up the first flight of stairs—in about ten minutes I came down alone—I went along the passage to go out—the bassinette had gone—that was about ten minutes past six—I returned almost directly—I went out again—I came home the last time about 10.15—I saw nothing more of the prisoner that night—the next morning, Saturday, I came down about eight—I went through the back door—I noticed a good bit of burnt paper on the mat—in the yard I noticed two panes of the kitchen window broken—I went into the little washhouse at the end of the passage—the floor was swamped with water—I saw two zinc baths there, with a black apron over them—the apron appeared to be wet—it was spread out—I went back into the house—about 10.30 I came down again—I went into the washhouse—I saw a pair of long lace-curtains with some blood on them—I had seen them in the kitchen two or three days past—that morning I had heard the prisoner go from the bedroom to the back kitchen a little after eight—at that time (10.30) I looked into the copper—I saw a" pail half filled with water, and two cloths in it—there were marks on the cloths—I could not see what the marks were—I went upstairs after that—I stayed there till the police came.

Cross-examined. I was not living there at Christmas—Mrs.  Hogg and Mrs. Pearcey appeared to be on good terms—it was about eleven when I was with Mrs. Pearcey—the passage was dark when I went in in the evening—I could not see anyone else there—her parlour door I think was shut—I am not quite sure—I could not see in her bedroom.

By the COURT. I felt the side of the bassinette—I had seen it there before.

Re-examined. I saw Mrs. Pearcey twice that morning—about ten o'clock the first time—when I spoke about the mouse-trap was the second time—meantime I had been attending to my work.

  WALTER BUTLER . I am tie husband of the last witness—I live in Priory Street—on Friday, 24th October, I came home from work about 6 p. m.—I let myself in with my key—the passage was dark—the prisoner came from the back parlour, from the stairs—she said, "Mr. Butler, there is a bassinette in the passage, allow me to hand you by"—she toot hold of my hands while I passed the bassinette, and I thanked her, and went upstairs—she did not seem to speak the way she usually used to—she was dressed; she had her hat on—I did not come downstairs again till after seven—the bassinette was gone—when I came home at 10.15—that night I saw a light under the back kitchen door—there was no-light in the passage—the following morning I came down about 8.45—T heard voices in Mrs. Pearcey's bedroom—the prisoner came out—she shut the door behind her—she said, "Mr. Butler, could you give me any information what time it was last night when you came home when the

bassinette was in the passage?"—I said, "Between six and ten minutes past"—then I went out—she returned to the bedroom.

Cross-examined. I could see her face—I could see it was Mrs. Pearcey—I could recognise her by her speaking—the lamp opposite reflects into the passage—it is not immediately opposite—lower down in the passage it was perfectly dark—I could distinguish her features, because when I opened the street door she was coming along the passage—the conversation took place in the passage—there was more light when the street door was open than when shut—I could not see whether her parlour door was open—I could see the back bedroom door was not open—the kitchen door lies right back—I could not see unless there was a light there.

  ELIZABETH ROGERS . I live at 7, Priory Place, with my husband, William Rogers, a bricklayer—I know the prisoner very well—I have done her mangling for about six months previous to 24th October—that week I never had any—on the evening of Friday, 24th October, I was turning out of Bonny Street into Priory Place a few minutes past six—I had to pass under a railway arch—before I passed the arch I saw the prisoner wheeling a bassinette perambulator in the middle of the road—it was very heavily loaded—it was covered over with some black stuff—it was higher at the head than at the handles—I was coming in the direction of her house—she was going the other way—when she saw me she dropped her head over the handles, and she had a difficulty in pushing it up the hill—the road is narrow at that spot—I looked round—she turned to the left—that would lead her into the Prince of Wales Road.

Cross-examined. I had seen her once or twice walking in Priory Place the week before this—she wore a green hat with green ribbon round, and a dust cloak—on this night she had a light ulster with buttons—I could not see a dark brown dress and black jacket; the ulster was buttoned—the hat looked green, not blue—the place is dark—I was at the kerbstone—nothing was said by either of us—the police spoke to me first about one o'clock two days afterwards—I have not picked her out.

Re-examined. I saw her once a week, when I took home her mangling—I did not go further than her street door, where she paid for it.

  ANNIE GARDNER . I live at Crogsland Road, Kentish Town—that is close to the Prince of Wales Road—on Friday evening, 24th October, I was crossing the Crogsland Road, and going into the Prince of Wales Road, about half-past six—I saw a woman pushing a bassinette in the road in front of her—she had a difficulty in pushing it; it seemed heavily loaded—the Monday week after the murder I went to the Police station and picked the prisoner out from a line of women—the contents of the perambulator appeared to be covered with a black shawl.

Cross-examined. I had never spoken to the prisoner—I was walking close to the pavement—the prisoner was dressed in dark clothes—I am positive of that—a dark jacket—a black turned-up hat—it did not look like a blue hat, nor green; it looked black at night—I saw her face—I picked her out at once—she was in dark clothes then, and a turned-up green hat—I identified her by her face.

Re-examined. it looked like velvet at night—it was turned up at the back and the side.

  SOMERLEA MACDONALD . I reside at Belsize Park, Hampstead—I am a clerk—on 24th October I was passing along Crossfield Road, Hampstead, about 7.10 p. m.; it was very dark—I noticed something lying by the side of the road—a house was being built there—it was a woman lying with her face covered—her face was across the path towards the road—I passed on, but walked back—I found the body still in the same position—in consequence of what I saw I went to Swiss Cottage Railway Station to find a policeman—I found Sergeant Gardner, who came back with me—I saw him lift the cover from the face of the body—from what I saw I went for a doctor—I fetched Dr. Wells to the spot—then I saw that the head was nearly severed from the body.

  ARTHUR GARDNER (S 654). On 24th October, about 7.25, I was-spoken to by Macdonald—from what he said I went to Crossfield Road—I there saw the body of the deceased woman lying across the pathway on her back, with her head towards the road and her feet towards the wall—the face was covered with the Cardigan jacket which has been produced—on removing the jacket I saw a quantity of blood and that her throat was cut—Macdonald went for a doctor—I sent to the station, for an ambulance—Inspector Wright came—the body was removed.

  THOMAS WRIGHT (Inspector S). On Friday evening, 24th October, about eight o'clock, I was on duty at Hampstead Police-station; I received a communication from a constable, in consequence of which I went to Crossfield Road, and there found the dead body of a woman lying on the pathway outside a building in the course of erection; the ground there was rather rough—the head of the body was towards the road, and the feet towards the hoarding; the right leg was perfectly straight, the left leg was drawn under the body, bent up at an angle; the right arm was extended, and the hand clenched—the left arm was drawn up above the shoulder—the face was covered with this brown Cardigan jacket—I waited there till Dr. Wells arrived; he examined the body—I then sent for the police ambulance and took the body away; it was taken to the Hampstead Station, and then to the mortuary.

  ARTHUR POULET WELLS . I am a registered medical practitioner, and live at 3, Belsize Park, Hampstead—between a quarter past seven and a quarter to eight on Friday, 24th October, I was fetched by Macdonald to Crossfield Road, to see a woman supposed to be in a faint—I found the head practically severed from the body, and life extinct—I tested the warmth of the body; the legs being covered with petticoats were warm, the arms were not quite. cold—I should say life had not been extinct many hours, I don't think one can give a very definite judgment as to the warmth of a body, it depends very much upon how it is covered up—I cannot go further than I have done.

  WILLIAM BROWN (Police Sergeant S). On the night of the 24th of October, about a quarter past eight, I searched about the spot where the body of the deceased was found in Crossfield Road—there were some bricks there which had marks of blood on them—on looking round the spot I found this brass nut—I was afterwards shown this perambulator, and found that the nut corresponded in every way with the nut of the wheel which is on it now—on 28th October, after the inquest on the bodies of Mrs.  Hogg and the child, I took five parcels to Mr. Pepper—the first parcel contained the clothing of the child, the second contained the clothing of the prisoner, the third the carving-knife, the fourth an

iron poker, and the fifth a skin perambulator rug lined with red cloth, and an American cloth apron; I got them from Inspector Miller.

  ELIZABETH ANDREWS . I am cook at 34, Hamilton Terrace, St. John's Wood—on Friday, 24th October, I was coming out of the house at half-past seven, and close to the gate I saw a bassinette perambulator—I went where I had to go, and returned about twenty minutes to nine and saw the perambulator still there; I noticed that the handle was broken; I have seen the perambulator since, this is the one.

  JOHN ROSER (S 434). On 24th October, about half-past ten at night, I was on duty in Hamilton Terrace; my attention was attracted to a perambulator standing against the wall of 35; I went and looked at it; I found the handle was broken, there was a brown skin rug over it with a red cloth lining, I removed the rug, the perambulator was stained with blood, I took it and its contents to the station—I then found in it a waterproof apron, a piece of butter scotch in paper, and the steel part of the handle, and a piece of string—the perambulator was more closelyexamined by Inspector Holland—I saw that the articles had stains of blood on them.

  JOHN HOLLAND (Inspector S). I was on duty at the station on the night of 24th October—I saw the perambulator when it was brought in—I made a close examination of it, and round the seat I found a quantity of partially congealed blood, some hairs were adhering to the side—I examined the rug and other articles in it; the blood on the rug was not dry—there was a considerable quantity—I afterwards handed the rug and the waterproof apron to Sergeant Brown, the hairs I handed to Mr. Bond.

  OLIVER SMITH . I am a hawker—I now live between Barnet and St. Albans—at half-past six, on Sunday morning, 26th October, I was on some building land at the side of the Finchley Road; I was inside the hedge—my attention was attracted to something lying in some nettles; on looking at it I found it was the body of a child, it was lying face downwards—it was thoroughly dressed, with the exception of one boot and sock; I at once went to the police; a constable came back, and the body was taken to the police-station.

  JAMES DICKERSON (S R 54). At half-past seven, on Sunday morning, 26th October, I was spoken to by the last witness; I went with him to a field by the side of the Finchley Road, and he pointed out the body of a child lying in the nettles inside the hedge, five or six yards from the foot way; I sent for Dr. Biggs, and the body was taken to the Hampstead. Mortuary.

  JOHN MAUNDY BIGGS . I am a registered medical practitioner at Child's Hill—on the morning of 26th October, about eight, I was called by a constable to see the body of this child; it was about five or sis yards from the road; it was lying on its left side with its head bent on its breast—the body was stiff and cold.

  EDWARD NURSEY (Police Sergeant S). On Saturday, 25th October, I was on duty at the Hampstead Police-station, when Clara  Hogg and the prisoner came there about eleven a. m.; Clara  Hogg spoke to Inspector Bannister, and said they had come to see the body of the woman that had been found—I accompanied them to the mortuary—Inspector Bannister was inside with them; I remained at the door till. they came out—I then took them to Portland Town Police-station,

where they were shown the perambulator, the rug, and a piece of oil cloth—Clara said, "Yes, that is hers;" the prisoner said nothing—I then took them to 141, Prince of Wales Road, where they saw Inspector Bannister—I then went with Frank  Hogg, Clara  Hogg, and the prisoner to Hampstead Station again, and shortly afterwards I went with the prisoner to 2, Priory Street—I walked there with her—that was in con sequence of instructions from Inspector Bannister—the prisoner opened the street door with a key, and showed me first the front room; it was locked—she unlocked it—nothing passed then; I looked round; we then passed into the room adjoining, used as a bedroom; she unlocked that—there was nothing there that appeared unusual—she then unlocked the door of the back kitchen behind the bedroom; that room was dark, caused by a green blind being pulled down; I tried to pull it up by the cord, but it would not act—I pulled the blind on one side, and saw that two panes of glass were broken—I noticed what appeared to be marks of blood on the panes; the walls appeared to be in a similar condition, blood spots—the hearthrug was saturated with paraffin—as to the panes of glass, the prisoner said to me, "I was trying to catch some mice, and broke them—I then said, "I believe you saw her yesterday"—she said, "I know, I should have told you before this; she called about six o'clock and asked me to take care of the child, and wanted some money, but she did not come inside. I told Clara about it, and she said I had better not say anything about it, as it would seem a disgrace to ask for money"—she was very much agitated when I said, "I believe you saw her yester day, "and her voice trembled; she was not so calm as she had been during the prior part of the day—I was accompanied by Detective Parsons—in consequence of what I saw at the house I left Parsons in charge, and went out and sent a telegram to the station; shortly afterwards Inspector Bannister came, and I was present during the time the premises were searched; I assisted in the search, and I was present when Bannister arrested the prisoner.

Cross-examined. When the prisoner and Clara  Hogg went to the mortuary the body of the deceased was inside; I remained outside; I went from the mortuary to the station, then to 141, Prince of Wales Road, and then to Hampstead Station; about four hours elapsed between the time the prisoner saw the body at the mortuary and going to Priory Street—she unlocked the rooms there, and showed me over the rooms—when her voice was agitated, that was the first time the deceased's name was mentioned in the house; it might have been mentioned in the previous conversation.

  EDWARD PARSONS (Detective S). On the 25th October I went with Nursey from the Hampstead Police-station to 2, Priory Street—while lie went out to send a telegram I was left alone with the prisoner in the front room—she said, "I have not told a lie" (that was with reference to what she had said to Nursey, when he said, "I believe she was here")—she said, "She did come here about six o'clock, and asked me to lend her two shillings, and to mind the child. I told her I could not lend her the money, as I had none, and could not mind the child, as I was going out. I told Clara of this, but she advised me to say nothing about it, as it would be such a disgrace if people thought Frank kept her short of money"—some time after, in the same room, she said, "I do not enjoy very good health; on Thursday night when I

came home my nose bled violently"—I made no answer to that—after that Mr. Bannister arrived—on 30th October I assisted him and Sergeant Nutkins in searching Priory Street, and I was given certain articles found there to take to Mr. Pepper, which I did, also a piece of hair, which I took from the deceased's head at a later period; I also took some clothes and some rags, which were stained with blood.

Cross-examined. Nursey had gone out to send the telegram when I had the conversation with the prisoner; she volunteered the statement in consequence of what Nursey had just said.

  CHARLES NUTKINS (Police Sergeant Y). I assisted Inspector Bannister in the search he made of the house in Priory Street on 30th and 31st October—in the front parlour behind a tea-tray on the sideboard I found a very sharp-pointed knife; I also found a tin box containing pin-fire cartridges beside the knife—I saw Bannister find the revolver in the dresser drawer in the kitchen; the cartridges exactly fitted the revolver—in a black box in the bedroom I found this large white envelope, containing a number of letters and notes; I produced them at the Police-station, and I produce them here: these are the originals, and these are my copies.

Cross-examined. On the sideboard where the knife was found there was crockery and a number of other things—the knife was in the box containing the cartridges; they were not in the same room as the revolver;, that was not loaded—I found a grey skirt; I examined that; there was no blood on it.

By the JURY. There was a wicker dress stand in the kitchen.

  SARAH SAWTELL . I am employed as a female searcher at Kentish Town Police-station—On Saturday, 25th October, about twenty-five minutes past seven in the evening, I received instructions to search the prisoner, who was then in custody on this charge—while searching her she said, "I met Mrs.  Hogg accidentally in the Kentish Town Road on the Wednesday afternoon; she passed me by and took no notice of me. On the Thursday I wrote a note to her, and gave it to a boy, who was to wait for an answer; it was to invite Mrs.  Hogg to tea on the Friday afternoon"—I said, "Did she come on the Friday afternoon?"—she said, "Yes, between four and a quarter past, and as we were having tea Mrs.  Hogg made some remark which I did not like; one word brought up another," and she then made a stop, and said, "Perhaps I had better say no more," that was all that was said—acting on my instructions, I took off the clothes she had on, and provided her with other garments; I gave the clothes I took off to Inspector Bannister.

Cross-examined. I first told this conversation to Inspector Anderson on the following Thursday—I had not made a note of it in the meantime—I do not know whether I thought it important or not, it came out accidentally to Inspector Anderson—I had occasion to go to the station to search a prisoner, and after I had my name put down in a book, Mr. Anderson and myself were talking about it, and then it was I told him—I did not tell Inspector Bannister, because I did not see him, that is the reason I did not tell him—I remember the night I searched the prisoner giving the clothes to Inspector Bannister; he was there, and took the things from me—I only saw him when I was giving him the clothes, that was immediately after I had searched her—I took the clothes to him, and he told me to go back to the prisoner—I had had the conversation with her before I took the clothes to him—I knew

that the prisoner was charged with the murder of Mrs.  Hogg in her house—I heard the charge read to her—I have been a searcher about five years or more—I had never been in such a case before—I don't know exactly the meaning of the word "important"—yes, I do know—I did not exactly know that the words were of some importance—I did not know what to think—I did not tell Mr. Bannister, because I was instructed to keep talk to myself, I was to take notice of what the prisoner said, and on no account to tell anyone else—if I was to tell no one, of course I thought I was to keep it to myself—I was told to tell no one—I told Anderson because it came out quite accidentally; I was very sorry afterwards that it did; I meant to keep it secret; it was my duty not to tell it to the Inspector—I thought perhaps I should have seen Mr. Bannister, and if I had I should have told him—I believed it to be my duty not to tell any one; if Mr. Bannister had asked me I should have told him when I gave him the clothes, but I had not time; he took the clothes from me and told me to go back to the prisoner; if I had had time I should have told him there and then—I did not see him between Saturday and Thursday; I made no endeavour to find him—I had not heard all about the case between this and Thursday; I had not heard anything about it; I had had no papers—I am continually at the station—I never discussed the case or heard anything about it; I had not been near the station from the Saturday when the prisoner was charged till the following Thursday; I had been home; I had had no searching at all to do—I am called in when there is anybody to search—I am in constant communication with the police—when I searched the prisoner there was nobody stationed at the door of the cell; there was no policeman there; there was one there after I had done with the prisoner; there was a policeman stationed at the door; he was there when I went back; the door was very nearly closed when I searched her.

Re-examined. I live at 16, Falkland Place, Kentish Town—I only go to the station when I am sent for—I received my instructions from Inspector Bannister.

By the JURY. I can read and write.

  THOMAS BANNISTER (Police Inspector S). On 24th October I took charge of this case, and have had the conduct of the inquiries connected with it—the persons acting in it have acted under my instructions—on Saturday morning, 25th October, a little after eleven, the prisoner came with Clara  Hogg to the mortuary where the body of the deceased was—Sergeant" Nursey brought them to me, and said something to me—I took them into the mortuary and showed them the body—the prisoner said at once, "Oh, that is not her"—Clara looked at the clothing and said, "It is her clothing, but I don't recognise her features"—I took them outside the door and said, "Surely, if she is a relation, and you have been living together, you can form some reliable opinion as to whether she is the person"—the prisoner said, "I am no relation, I am only a friend"—I said, addressing them both, "When did you see her last?"—the prisoner said, "I have not seen her for several days"—Clara said "he left home yesterday afternoon at three o'clock"—I took them back to have another look at the body—Clara again expressed a doubt—the prisoner immediately took hold of her arm and dragged her from the body—Clara said, "Don't drag me"—I then got them to turn their

heads whilst Mr. Bond washed the blood from the face; it was very much smeared with blood—Mr. Bond was in the room all this time—he could not hear the conversation about how long it was since they had seen her; that was outside the door—I don't think he could have heard that—he might, I don't know—I took them out and brought them in again—I got them to look again, and Clara said at once,' "Yes, that's her"—the prisoner seized hold of her arm again and dragged her away!—Clara again said, Don't drag me, "and I said to the prisoner, "Don't drag her; she can bear it if you leave her alone," meaning that she could bear the shock—I then sent them to Portland Town Police-station with Sergeant Nursey, and I went on to 141, Prince of Wales Road with Superintendent Beard and Mr. MacNaughton—I there saw  Hogg, and searched his lodgings, and those of his mother and Clara—whilst there Clara and the prisoner returned from the mortuary—I should say I also searched  Hogg's person, and upon him I found this key, which is the door-key of the prisoner's residence; I then had  Hogg, Clara, and the prisoner taken to the Hampstead Police-station for convenience in making the inquiry; whilst there I said to the prisoner, I think it is desirable to search your lodging; I suppose you have no objection?"—she said, "Oh no, not the slightest, "and she gave me the keys of the rooms—I had at that time, as she knew, the latch-key, which I have just produced—she was present when I searched  Hogg and found the key upon him, and heard him tell me it was the latch key of 2, Priory Street—a short time afterwards I called Nursey into the same room (I had been out of the room), and the prisoner jumped up and said, "I should like to go with them, because I don't think they will be able to get in"—I said, "I was going to suggest to you that you could go if you liked," and the prisoner and the two officers then left—about half an hour afterwards, according to arrangement, I received a telegram from Nursey, and I then went to 2, Priory Street—I saw the prisoner sitting in an arm-chair in the front parlour; I went into the kitchen, and there I saw that the two panes" of the kitchen window were broken; the walls and the ceiling were bespattered with blood, and I found this poker (produced) it appeared to have blood just in the crevice, and it also appeared to have some hairs on the top of it—these two carving knives were in the dresser drawer, one being stained with blood; there was no blood on the other—in a bonnet-box in the bedroom I found this card-case with one card in it, with" S. H.  Hogg "on it, and I found this cigar-case with four cigarettes—in the kitchen I found a black skirt and an apron; they had marks on them of what appeared to be blood; the apron had the appearance of having been washed; on the front parlour table I also found this purse, containing ten shillings in silver, sixpence-halfpenny in bronze, and a duplicate, with the name of Ann Pearcey on it—it is the practice of pawn brokers to put almost any Christian name—the state of the kitchen was seen next day by Mr. Bond—I took the knives and the poker into the parlour where the prisoner was—she then commenced to whistle; she was still sitting in the chair—she was not whistling tunes, she was whistling to herself—I then went upstairs and saw the other inmates of the house; I spoke to them and took statements from them—I thon returned to the room where the prisoner was; she was still whistling—I said to her, "I am going to arrest you for the wilful murder of

Mrs.  Hogg last night, and also on suspicion of the wilful murder of the female child of Mrs.  Hogg"—she jumped up out of the chair and said, "You can arrest me if you like, I am quite willing to go with you, I think you have made a great mistake"—she handed me this key and said, "This is the key of 141, Prince of Wales Road, Clara gave it to me to-day"—I then took her in a cab to Kentish Town Police-station; on the way she said, "Why do you charge me with this crime?" I said, "On account of the evidence"—she said, "Well, I would not do such a dreadful thing, I would not hurt any one"—she was wearing gloves at the time; I told her to take them off at the police-station—I noticed that her hands were very much scratched and torn about—they were seen by Mr. Bond next day—her clothes were handed to me by the female searcher; I directed her to search her, and gave her directions as to what she was to do, and the prisoner was supplied with other clothes; she was charged at the station; she made no statement there—on 30th October I went to the house again and found there a number of articles which were afterwards submitted to Mr. Bond and Mr. Pepper—I saw a pair of lace curtains in a bath in the wash-house, they were stained with blood—I made a very complete search of the rooms and also of the place outside and of the ash-pit—in the fire-place under the copper I saw a number of novelettes partially burnt; they were quite matted together with blood—all the contents of the kitchen were seen by Mr. Bond—in the dust-bin I found this button, it was among the ashes—I saw the jacket on the body of the deceased the night the body was found, one of the buttons was missing from the right arm of that jacket—this is the jacket (produced)—it is in two pieces—it was cut in order to take it off the body—the button on the left sleeve is still on it; it is exactly of the same pattern and size as the one found in the dustbin—I did not take the prambulator that was found at Hamilton Terrace to Priory Street; I got one exactly like it it could certainly be taken along the passage into the kitchen; to look at it I thought it could not be done, but I wheeled the one exactly like it into the kitchen—there is a curve in the passage just by the kitchen door; it is a very narrow passage, but wider than the bassinette—I experimented with the perambulator that was found as to whether it would bear the weight of the body—one of these knives is very sharp; subsequently, on the 30th, I found this small carving knife in the dresser drawer—one of the knives is a small carver, and one is a dessert knife, that has blood stains; it is very sharp—I also found a portion apparently of a burnt hat or bonnet under the kitchen fireplace among the ashes; these are the charred remains of the outside—the hat of the deceased has not been found—the things I found in the kitchen, except this portion of the hat, have been seen either by Mr. Bond or Mr. Pepper.

Cross-examined. These are ordinary table knives—the conversation that took place at the Hampstead Mortuary depends entirely on my own memory; I did not take a note of it, it was heard by others—I examined the grey skirt that was found in the prisoner's bedroom—I could find no traces of blood on it; I examined it for the purpose of seeing if there was any blood.

  THOMAS BOND . I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, and am lecturer on Forensic Medicine at Westminster Hospital—I live at 7, the Sanctuary, Westminster—I was communicated with in reference to this

matter by the police on the morning of 25th October, and in consequence I went to the mortuary at Hampstead between eleven and twelve; I was there shown the body of the deceased woman, and made an external examination of it—the scalp was very much broken at the back—the bones of the skull wore fractured, and some of the fragments penetrated the brain—the throat was cut, and the spinal column was divided, so that the head was adherent to the body only by the muscles at the back of the neck and by some skin—those cuts had been made during life, or immediately after death—the skin and muscles were much retracted from the cut; that would indicate that the cut had been made either during life, or very soon afterwards, while the body was still warm—there was a bruise on the forehead, and a cut on the forehead, and I also-found on the right forearm, in front, a large ragged cut, which appeared to have been done by glass—I formed the opinion that the scalp had been first injured there was a large quantity of matted blood all over the hair, and great extravasation of blood under the scalp—I was present at the post-mortem examination made by Mr. Pepper—in my opinion the cause of death was the fracture of the skull and the cut throat—the fracture of the skull alone was enough to cause death, but I do not think it would have caused death immediately—the poker produced is such an instrument as might have caused the fracture—there might or might not be convulsions as the result of such a blow—I think there were convulsions, because the motions and faces had passed on to the clothes; that would ordinarily occur in convulsions; I did not see that, I was told by one of the doctors in attendance that that had occurred—the cuts on the throat must have been made by more than an ordinarily sharp knife—there was one fracture on the skull cap which was oblong in shape, and when I compared it with the round part of the handle of this poker, it corresponded as nearly as I should expect a fracture through a bone to correspond—on the 26th October I went to 2, Priory Street, and there examined the back kitchen—I saw where the panes of glass were broken; they were apparently broken from the inside; the fragments had all fallen on the" outside—there were splashes of blood on the panes that remained in the window—I examined the glass that had fallen outside I found one spot on a fragment which had fallen outside; but I found two spots and a little streak on the broken glass which remained in the pane that was outside—the ceiling and walls of the kitchen were splashed with blood, and the different articles in the kitchen had spots-of blood on them—it was not such blood as would be produced by spurting from an artery; they were round is spots, similar in shape to splashes of mud that you see on walls or windows, such as might be caused by striking with some heavy instrument—I took away some pieces-of the ceiling with marks of blood upon them—I saw some lace curtains there with blood on them; I took away a part; also pieces of drugget and floor-cloth; I saw blood on them at the time—I examined the poker at the time and afterwards; there appeared to be a little blood in the crack by the handle, and on the shaft there were very faint hairs adhering, as if it had been rubbed with a bit of flannel; they were not human hair; they were very small; I could hardly see them; I had to hold them up to the light to see them—the floor of the room appeared to have been recently cleaned or attempted

to be cleaned, and some of the articles of clothing in the kitchen showed signs of having been recently washed—I did not find any blood in the passage; I looked in the passage, and in the front room, I found no blood—on 26th October I saw the prisoner at Camden Town Police-station and examined her hands; on the right hand I found scratches on the backs of the second and third fingers, and on the third finger there was also an abrasion of the skin—the scratches were about half an inch long—on the left hand there were three abrasions on the back of the thumb, and on the back of the little finger of that hand there was a scratch and abrasion, and on the front of the little finger opposite the last joint there was an abrasion deep and ragged—those wounds were all recent, they might have been caused by glass or any hard substance; some of them looked like the marks of finger-nails—the hands were not swollen, and I noticed no injuries about the wrists—the hands of the Prisoner were strong, well-shaped hands—I saw the bassinette perambulator on the Sunday—there was a large quantity of blood on the inside of it; I saw some hairs adhering to the lining—I examined those hairs with some hairs taken from the head of the deceased, they corresponded in colour and microscopic appearance; I afterwards examined them with a microscope of more power, and they corresponded in size, colour, and general appearance—the body of the deceased was that of a woman about thirty; I did not measure her, but I thought her height was about five feet six; that was the impression I formed—I think the bassinette would take the body of the deceased, by doubling up, of course; the severing of the head would facilitate its being placed there; it would allow of the head being doubled under or over the to-day, so as to shorten it to that amount—the deceased appeared to be a woman in good health, and well developed.

Cross-examined. I did not try the weight of the body with her clothes on; I should form an estimate it would be between nine and ten stone, that is a heavy weight—a person of that weight, dead, or insensible I do not think would be heavier than a person in their senses, it depends upon how the parts fall about—I have seen all the knives, and examined them; one of the knives I do not remember to have seen, that is the knife found behind the tea-tray in the front parlour; the others are all ordinary knives—the blow from the poker on the back of the head forced some of the skull into the brain—that must have been a blow of considerable violence, great force, must have been used to almost sever the head; to a great extent it depends on the instrument used; it cut through a bit of the vertebrae.

By the COURT. There is only one knife which I thought capable of. doing it (pointing it out)—I have not seen this little one, I did not find blood on that; the big one is the one I found blood on—this other I found no blood on, that is the smaller carving knife—I saw that directly after, when I went into the kitchen on the 26th—I don't think the large knife would be capable of inflicting the cut on the throat, it is so blunt.

Re-examined. There would be no difficulty in washing off the blood—I do not think the smaller of the carving knives would have been capable of inflicting the wound—either of the other two I think might.

  THOMAS BANNISTER (Re-examined). I was present when the largest of

these knives was found in a dresser drawer in the kitchen—the marks of blood were only on one of the knives—I am not able now to say for certain on which, it was one of these two; the second one was found in the same place at the same time—I was present when the third knife was found on the 30th, that was also in the dresser drawer—that had what appeared to me to be blood upon it—the blood on the large knife was very apparent, that on the small knife was merely superficial—the other knife was found by Nutkins—I did not see any blood on the little one.

  CHARLES NUTKINS (Re-examined). I found this knife on the 31st on the sideboard in the front parlour, behind the tea-tray; there was no sign of blood on it then.

  WILLIAM CLACKWORTHY . I am an undertaker, of 92, High Street, Camden Town—before the burial of the deceased, at the request of Inspector Bannister, I weighed the body, head and all; it weighed, without the clothes, 118 lbs.; that would be 8 stone 6 lbs.—the child weighed 18 lbs.—I should say the height of the woman was about 5 feet 7; it was difficult to tell exactly, on account of the head.

  AUGUSTUS JOSEPH PEPPER . I am a Master of Surgery of the University of London and am an F. E. C. S.—I was instructed to make a post-mortem examination of the body of Phœbe  Hogg; I did 60 on 26th October, in the presence of Mr. Bond and another medical gentleman; I have my notes of it—I found on the left side of the head at the back part two lacerated wounds near together, each about two inches long, and beneath those wounds the skull was smashed in, and fragments of the bones had penetrated the brain; about two inches in front of this there was a smaller wound in the scalp, and the bone was broken beneath that; the brain was not injured there—on the right side of the head, near the front, was a wound in the scalp, very much like the other; the bone was not broken there—there was a very largo bruise over the left eyebrow, and several small wounds about the face, and numerous bruises on both hands and wrists, and on the front of the left forearm there was a jagged incised wound—the head was nearly severed from' the body—the cuts had been made with a sharp instrument, made from left to right, and from below upwards—in my opinion the wound in the throat had been produced during life; there is no doubt about that I think—there was no blood in the heart, or very little, just a trace, and scarcely any blood in the internal organs, showing how much had been lost from the body, showing that bleeding had gone on, which will not take place after death—any one of the wounds on the scalp would be likely to cause unconsciousness almost immediately—one of them was on the left side; the one on the back part would certainly do so immediately, because it had driven the bone into the brain—that un consciousness would very likely be accompanied with convulsions, particularly so on account of that portion of them which was injured—it is quite impossible that any of those injuries could have been self-inflicted—the wounds on the left side must have been inflicted by the person standing a little at the side, but the position must have varied with other of the wounds—as to one of them, the person must have been standing behind and at the side—it is quite impossible to form an opinion as to the order in which the blows were given—I think all of them were inflicted during life, speaking of the wounds on the scalp, because there

was so much blood extravasated into the scalp, and beneath that a very large quantity of blood had been extravasated—I have examined these knives; I do not think this one could have inflicted the wound in the throat—I tried this myself on the bone where the head was nearly severed from the body; a portion of one of the vertebrae was cut off, sliced off; I tried this knife immediately above the cut place, and I could not succeed in making a similar wound—I say the same as regards this other knife—I don't think it possible that either of those knives could have done it—I think this (another marked C) might possibly have done it, but I should say doubtful; it is sharper than the others—this one found in the front parlour I have not seen before; this is very dull except at the end, it is sharp there—I don't think that would make the sort of wound—the organs of the body were healthy, with one exception, there was a very large abscess in the pelvis, behind the womb, that had been forming for some months—that would diminish vitality, and would weaken the person very much—the chief cause of death was the hemorrhage—I also made a post-mortem examination of the body of the child—I think it died either from smothering, or from exposure to cold—I was shown the perambulator on the same day—there was a large quantity of dried clotted blood inside—there were numerous hairs attached to it, some human hairs, and some not—I compared those with some 'of the deceased's hairs, they wore as nearly alike as could be—it is almost impossible to say that they came from the same person—I examined the clothing of the child—I found no blood on that—if the child had been dressed as I saw it, it could not have been in the perambulator, unless it was wrapped up in something—the perambulator was literally covered with blood, and there was not a spot of blood on the child's clothing—a number of sealed parcels were handed to me for the purpose of analysis—they contained in all thirty-five distinct articles—I found blood on most of them—I examined the poker—I found just a trace of blood in the crevice of the handle, and in the lower part of the shaft a mere trace—in parcel number two there was a black cloth jacket said to be removed from the prisoner; on that there was a small blood spot just above the left pocket—I cut it out for analysis; all I can say is that it was the blood of a mammal; I can not say that any of the hairs were human; there was a small stain on the left sleeve—there was no blood on the brown petticoat; there were blood stains on the red flannel petticoat, and those might be reasonably caused naturally—there were no stains on the black-and-white striped petticoat—on the dark striped dress body there were blood stains in four places, washed or wiped stains; I found they were blood by the micro-scope, and, a better test still, I obtained blood crystals from them—on the white cotton bodice there was a very small blood stain in front; there was no appearance of washing; this was very minute indeed; it might be produced by a scratch from a pin; on the white chemise there were no blood stains; on this light or white grey skirt there was a quantity of blood, numerous blood spots and stains; I cut the greater part of it out for the purpose of analysis; there was a big blood spot here, and numerous spots and stains and patches on the right side and left side, and on the flounce; these all looked as though they had been splashed or smeared with diluted blood, evidently not blood intact—on this dark striped skirt there were slight stains, on the frill of the foundation—on

the skin perambulator rug lined with red cloth there was a large quantity of blood, and on the apron a largo quantity of clotted blood—these two articles were removed from the kitchen, a black striped apron and a black alpaca dust coat; there was blood on both those—altogether there were twenty-eight articles upon which I found blood.

Cross-examined. The articles which the prisoner was wearing upon which I found blood were the black cloth jacket, only a small spot, the dark body, the brown petticoat, the red flannel petticoat, and the black-and-white striped petticoat—on the dark dress body there were four stains; that on the white body was scarcely worth considering; on the light skirt there was a small quantity of clotted blood; all these articles were found on the prisoner—the deceased was suffering from an abscess, and was not in a very strong condition; I have heard that it was her habit to wheel the baby out in the perambulator every day; to do that a person must have fair strength—the knife by which I say the cut might be done is not jagged in any way, neither of the two knives—I should not expect to find it jagged in cutting through the bone; the bone varies very much; the part cut through is very soft and very porous; I don't think it would make any or very little difference whether it was done by a person skilled in surgery or not.

MRS. BARRAUD (Recalled). The deceased did not wear a fringe; only Miss  Hogg and myself that could answer the description of a tall, elderly person with a fringe.

GUILTY .— DEATH.