Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org, version 8.0, 02 December 2021), May 1898, trial of JONATHAN LOWE (52) (t18980516-390).

JONATHAN LOWE, Killing > murder, 16th May 1898.

390. JONATHAN LOWE (52), was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's inquisition with, the wilful murder of Margaret Byrne.

MESSRS. CHARLES W. MATHEWS, HORACE AVORY and BIRON Prosecuted; and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.

JAMES DAMERAL (Police Officer) produced and proved plans of the premises, 28, Red Lion Square.

JAMES BYRNE . I live at 28, Red Lion Square—it is a private lodging house—I manage it—the deceased (Margaret Byrne) was my sister—she was a single woman, forty years of age—under my direction she managed the house, and lived there with her mother—we had another house—9, Dyott Street—that was a common lodging-house—registered—my sister assisted me in the management of that house for a number of years up to March, 1836—I have known the prisoner seven or eight years—he had been in our employment there, but had left over two years—he went into the employment about 1894, I think at the commencement, during my sister's management—I cannot fix the time he left—he acted as night deputy—a man named Taylor was also employed there—as day deputy the last time—I had not seen the prisoner there for about two years, about 1896, he had been dismissed before that—my sister had spoken to me about him, and in consequence of what she said I chastised him—that was after he had been dismissed—I told him he had no business to be coming abusing my sister, and I kicked him off the step of the street door—he came again after that, and I complained again about his annoying my sister, and I said if he had any manliness in him, I would give him half-a-sovereign if he would take off his coat—she said in his hearing that he was in the habit of coming there and annoying her, and making use of blasphemous

language to her—he then walked away—I last saw my sister alive at eleven o'clock on Sunday April 16th—I am in the habit of spending my Sundays with my wife and family at 183, Lancaster Road—I was with them that day—I was called to Red Lion Square by telegraph—I went and found that my sister had been removed to the hospital—I afterwards identified her body there that same evening—I knew that she had received certain letters from the prisoner—I searched for them on my return from the hospital, and found them in a drawer of the chiffonier—I think there were seven or eight—I know the prisoner's writing, only by seeing it—they are his writing—I have read them all—I handed them to the police—I had read them all previously, Rome of them even before my sister read them—after her death I went back to Red Lion Square—I did not read them then—I found this letter, dated April 12th—I believe the envelope was written by the witness Hunter. (The letters were put in by Mr. GEOGHEGAN, and taken as read.)

Cross-examined. Besides Taylor, the day deputy, there was another man employed, named Darkin—my sister was a most chaste and virtuous woman, a teetotaller for sixteen years—she took a great interest in her lodgers—she had Divine service at 28, Red Lion Square, every Sunday afternoon, and at Dyott Street also—at times she would speak to her lodgers on religious subjects if she so thought she could convert a man, or do any good for him, or help him in any way—she would help them with money—she did not use Scriptural phrases out of the Bible, she would speak more worldly to them—I burned some of the letters which I found—they were not of the same character—they were earlier than these—they were burnt in her lifetime—she always said she was willing to give a man a chance—I find she has lent her lodgers various sums.

Re-examined. I have not heard her say to the prisoner that she would give him another chance—I have heard her speak to him with regard to his drunken habits—I have heard her use that expression "giving a man a chance" in speaking to the lodgers—the other letters were simply asking her to have him back, and saying that he would be a teetotaler, and would attend his church—I thought they would have no motive, so I destroyed them.

JOHN HUNTER . I was an inmate of the Strand Union Workhouse at Edmonton—I have left there now—I have known the prisoner about fourteen years—I was at 9, Dyott Street the whole time he was employed there—Miss Byrne was the landlady—I remember a man named Taylor being there as day deputy—I was employed in the kitchen at the work-house and the prisoner was employed in the same way as I was from April 13th to 17th—he has frequently talked about Miss Byrne during the last two years, and since he left Dyott Street—on April 11th he showed me a letter, and I told him he had better not send it, because of the language—I read it—it was in ink—it was addressed to Miss Byrne—it was not an indecent letter, it was saying that he would come and force her to have some conversation with him—the letter was torn up in my presence—I said, "I will pencil you out another letter, and if you send that, in all probability you will get an answer from Miss Byrne"—I did that, and he copied it in ink, and showed it to me—this is the envelope, it is in my writing—I directed it for him—that is the

letter (produced)—I had never directed any other envelope for him—he said he had written lots of letters, and never received a reply—he seemed agitated and excited, and very much annoyed—I remember on the Friday seeing him sharpening this knife—it is one of the workhouse knives, used for cutting meat at table—it is a table knife—I saw him sharpening it—I don't know on which side it was, it is sharp on back and front—there are many of these knives in the workhouse, but they are not like this, this has been sharpened to a point—he touched it up again on the Saturday on a piece of slate which the kitchen men use for sharpening their pocket-knives—on Saturday I saw the knife, and saw it was a table knife, and that he was sharpening it at the point—I do not know on which side—in the evening of that day, the 16th, he said, "I am going out to see Maggie. I am going to settle the case one way or the other." On Sunday he said he was going to see Miss Byrne, and he was going to settle the case, as he had said before—I next saw him about 7.15 on Sunday evening, April 17th, in the day-room of the workhouse—he said, "I went to see Maggie this morning, and she banged the door in my face. I went back again during the afternoon and settled the matter"—I said, "I don't believe you"—he said, "You will believe it presently, when you see the coppers come here"—I noticed he had a fresh cut on the palm of his left hand—he said, "I got it in the scuffle"—he said he had thrown the knife down one of the areas in the square—I saw he was under the influence of drink and very excited, and advised him to go to bed—he went up the stairs, and that is the last I saw of him that evening.

Cross-examined. In the kitchen I was cutting up meat and carrying food—bones are disjointed in the kitchen—it was not part of his duty to disjoint bones—there was another man to do that—the prisoner had to cut up meat—I have not seen the inmates carrying knives about them, only pocket knives—I have never seen them carry table knives about with them—we are supplied with knives at table—the prisoner had a sheath for this knife—I did not see him make it—I first saw the sheath when he was sharpening the knife—the slate is about three or four inches square—it is not fixed—I never saw the men sharpen the table-knives—I did not ask the prisoner what he had the sheath for—I did not ask him why he had the knife—during the time I have known him he has constantly been harping upon Miss Bryne, saying that he had written letters to her, and she would not answer them, and when he spoke of her it was in an agitated, excited, and insane manner—he said on the Sunday morning, "I am going out to get a reply from Miss Byrne"—the knives used for cutting up meat in the kitchen are large butchers knives—the female cook is the head of the kitchen—there is a male cook as well—the knives are put in a drawer—it is not locked—sometimes the meat comes in on the Sunday morning, and would be cut up about nine o'clock—when the prisoner came back and said he had settled the matter he appeared very excited—I did not see him when the officers arrested him.

Re-examined. The man who disjoints the bones was there from the 13th to the 17th, and discharged his duty—he used a curving knife, not an ordinary table-knife—I have never seen the inmates carrying table-knives, only pocket-knives—the table-knives are kept in a separate room

and two men are told off to clean them—they are left on the table, and then cleared up by the dining-room men—I told him he would not get an answer to his letter, because it was not a fit one, and he adopted the letter I had written.

By the JURT. The prisoner added a few lines to this letter.

By the COURT. I read the letter he wrote himself, and which he intended to send, and I advised him not to send it on account of the objectionable expressions in it—I handed him the copy I wrote for him, and he read it, and it was torn up after he read it—I think there are only about two lines which were not in the draft—I have not read this carefully—I have not read the whole of it. The letter was then read, as follows: "To Miss Byrne, April 12th, 1898. I trust you will not think I am impertinent in again troubling you, but if you only knew my thoughts regarding you, I am sure you would write a line and grant me a few words personally. I am really very much upset thinking of you morning, noon, and night, in fact I do not really know wat will be the result as far as my health goes if you do not do me this favour. I can assure you it is most urgent, I know I have not been very very polite, and have used very strong language towards you, but I hope they will all be forgotten, and I only regret that I have not taken your advice, and have taken no notice of him, he caused me to drink, and that hadded to my troubles I wish to God I had never seen you, or it would never have left me in the state I am in. I implore you to grant me this interview or send me a line, so that I know I am forgiven, as you hope to be in the great and last day. I do not want anything from you only a few soothing words to settel and soothe my troubled mind, and then I will be at rest; if you do not you will have a great deal to answer for. I firmly believe if I do not get a suitable reply it will cause my death or loss of reason, which will be worse, for as it is I feel almost distracted, so do drop a line or two if not I must call once more to see you, so do not put me off under any consideration, or you will drive me mad, and then I do not know wat might happen, so as you profess to be a cristian woman just show me one spark of Christianity by getting a sheet of paper and writing a few lines, and if you don't do that I will know by your silence that you will see me when I call and grant me a few words, and that will soothe my minde. You neede not be afraid I will not harme you in the least. I have tolde you before now that I will never offend you again. I am sorry this as ever happened for your sake as well as my own; anything I have put in my former letters that as hurt your feelings I am very sorry for. Before drawing to a close hopeing you are quite well, as this leaves me at present only downhearted, and alow me to subscribe myself yours respeckfully and ever indetted Jonathan. I freely forgive you, its my own fait.—Mr. J. LOWE, Strand House, Silver Street, Edmonton, N., anxiously awaiting your reply"—the words: "I freely forgive you it is my own falt" are the prisoner's own words—the last two lines are mine.

HENRY SIBLEY . I live at 9, Dyott Street, and am a travelling stationer—I know the prisoner—I saw him on April 17th, about ten minutes past three, at the corner of Broad Street and Shaftesbury Avenue—he came up and said he had been to see Maggie Byrne in the morning, and she had shut the door in his face—I said, "Why did you go and annoy the

lady?"—he then produced a letter written in pencil; he showed it tome—I read it through and gave it back to him—he then left me—I remember a portion of the contents—he went towards Holborn, and I went towards Dyott Street—he was in a maudlin state.

Cross-examined. He was apparently very much upset because the door was shut in his face—I think I remember the words, "I do not want anything from you except a few words to sooth my troubled mind"—it was written in pencil—and the words, "I firmly believe if I do not get a suitable reply it will cause my death," I remember—I cannot say I know his writing—I remember words equivalent to, "Or my reason, which will be worse"—I read it to myself—he was standing by my side—I did not know that he was in love—I think it was more rage than love—I was with him about five or six minutes.

Re-examined. He spoke in the first instance about the door being slammed—he did not look very amiable; he was rather angry.

GEORGE BAYLISS (266 E.) On Sunday, April 17th, I was on duty in Southampton Row about 3,15—I saw the prisoner standing opposite the Albion public house—it is about 120 yards from Red Lion Square—he stood there about two or three minutes—I did not see him move off, or again that day—I next saw him at Gray's Inn Road Station.

JOSEPH HANCOCK . I live at 28, Red Lion Square—I am day deputy there—I was there on April 17th, about 3.30—Miss Byrne was sitting at the top of the stairs leading from the kitchen—there was a service going on in the kitchen—the outer door to the house was open—the inner door does not shut the passage off from the stairs—it goes across the passage—coming from the street to the right you get to the second door, and if you want to go down the stairs you turn to the left—you must go through the second door to get to the stairs—there is a cupboard, which is on the right-hand side coming from the street—Miss Byrne was sitting a little further to the left of the head of the stairs than the cupboard—I could not see her from where I was standing in the kitchen—while I was down below I thought I heard a scuffle—I went upstairs, and saw Miss Byrne lying against the cupboard in a corner—I went to her, and she said, "I am stabbed, pick me up"—I picked her up and took her into the front room—a man named Wallis afterwards came in—two people went for the doctor, and then she was taken to the hospital—the front door is always open while the services are going on—they begin about 3,15 as a rule.

Cross-examined. When I gave my evidence before the Magistrate I used the expression, "There was a little scuffling"—I heard no voices.

JAMES WALLIS . At this date I was living at 29, Vere Street, Clare Market—I am a waiter—on April 17th, about 3.35, I went to 28, Red Lion Square—the front door was open—I went in and saw Miss Byrne on the left-hand side of the lobby, near the door of the passage—I lifted her up and said, "How did you come by this?"—she could give me no answer—her mouth was wide open and remained so—I took her to the hospital in a cab, and half way there she died—she could not speak.

JAMES BRODIE WILLIAMS . I live at 28, Red Lion Square—on April 17th I was in the back parlour reading and smoking with some other persons when the missionary arrived, about three o'clock—I heard Miss

Byrne speaking about that time—the service was then begun—a hymn was sung, and then I heard a scuffle outside the door—I heard no voices—I heard a sound like pattering against the side of the panelling in the room, and a further sound of scuffling along the passage and in the direction of the front door—I went towards the door of the room and the scuffling ceased—I opened the door and saw Miss Byrne lying on the floor outside—I helped to get her into the front room and then went downstairs again.

Cross-examined. I heard no voices at any time—I did not hear Miss Byrne say a word.

Re-examined. I heard her speak when the missionary came—that was the only time.

PAUL TATLOCK . I am a porter at the Strand Union Workhouse, Edmonton—I remember the prisoner returning to the workhouse on Sunday evening, April 17th, about 7.15—he was recovering from the effects of drink—I told him he had been drinking, and I told him to go to his ward—he made no reply—he left me—I cannot say if he went to bed—at 10.12 Serjeant Blight and Constable Walters came to the workhouse—they went with me to the dormitory where the prisoner was asleep—the clothes he had been wearing were lying on the bed—the serjeant woke him, and charged him—I did not find a knife on the prisoner's bed.

Cross-examined. Last Friday there were 925 inmates in the house—the average is about 1,000—we have had 1,300—this knife bears the words "Strand Union" on the blade—it has been sharpened—occasionally the inmates steal the knives—it is not a well-known fact that a great many of the inmates carry knives; some do, at the utmost fifty—the prisoner was first admitted to the house on November 13th, 1894, and has been there ever since, on and off—he came in again on March 26th, 1895, and left on March 6th, 1896—he was not there from January, 1896, to April, 1897—he came in again on April 29th, 1897, and left on May 12th, 1897; re-admitted June 26th, 1897, and left again July 10th, 1897; re-admitted July 17th, 1897, and discharged August 13th, 1897; re-admitted August 17th, 1897, and apprehended April 17th, 1898—from August 17th, 1897, to April 17th, 1898, he was in the house—he was employed in the kitchen, and had been for some considerable time—I cannot give dates—it was more than four days—I do not know what his duties were—I have not been shown a sheath for a knife—the prisoner was sound asleep when we went up to the dormitory.

Re-examined. I have seen the prisoner the whole time I have been speaking of, and spoken to him from time to time—this knife is not the shape of those used in the Workhouse—it has been ground down.

VICTOR HENRY NASH . I live at 37, Red Lion Square, and am an errand boy, of 21, Theobald's Road—I have seen this knife before—I first saw it on April 18th—I went down into the area at 21, Theobald's Road, and found it there—I handed it over to the police.

ALEXANDER MILLER . I am a divisional surgeon to the police—I saw the prisoner when he was brought to the station on April 18th—from his manner, his speech, and his staggering gait, I came to the conclusion that he was then suffering from drink—that was 2 o'clock on the morning of April 18th—he was not charged at the station in consequence till the

following morning—I examined his hands the same night, and he had a small incised wound on the palm of the left hand—it was recent—within a day or two—I was shown a knife on the Monday evening—I found fresh blood on the blade—I was also shown some workhouse clothes—I found blood on the left sleeve of the coat—blood on the waistcoat and on the handkerchief.

COLSON TAYLOR LEWIS . I was house surgeon at King's College Hospital on April 17th—on that date the deceased was brought in between 3 and 4 in the afternoon—she was dead then—two days after I made a post-mortem examination—I found on the body eight punctured wounds, one on the right shoulder, one on the left in the front, one going through the left arm and coming out at the back, one over the breast bone, one above the left nipple of the left breast; that went through the right ventricle, and was the cause of death—this knife is such an implement which could have caused the wounds—it is sharp—the woman was dressed at the time of admission, and I found cuts in her dress which corresponded with the cuts on her body—I made an examination to see whether she was a virgin, and the result was to convince me that she had had no connection with a man.

WILLIAM BLYTH (Police Serjeant, E). On the night of April 17th I went to the workhouse at Edmonton, and after seeing Tatlock I went with Walters to the dormitory, where the prisoner was sleeping and arrested him—he said nothing—I took him into a room downstairs, and while there he said, "Miss Byrne, eh? A Christian lady. I hope she knows it now. I am done. I am guilty. A bleeding cow. I hope she is dead"—I then took him to the station—on the way he said, "I have brought the knife away with me from the workhouse. It has 'The Strand Union' stamped on it. You will find it in one of the areas in the square"—he was calling her all manner of names and abusing her all the way to the station—I received the knife, with his clothes, from Tatlock, and gave them to the inspector at the station.

Cross-examined. When he said "Miss Byrne, eh? A Christian lady" he did not say it in a sneering tone; it was rather sincere by the tone, as if he believed she was a Christian lady—I did not think it was sarcastic—I did not see him in the bed.

PAUL TATLOCK . I should say he was actually asleep when I saw him.

ARTHUR WALTERS (Detective Serjeant, E.) I went with Serjeant Blyth when he arrested the prisoner—I heard all that passed—I have heard his evidence at the Police-court, and corroborated it—when changing his clothes at the workhouse the prisoner said, "Miss Byrne! oh, what a Christian lady; I hope she knows it now. I am done now. The bleeding cow, I hope she is dead"—on the way to the station he said, "I brought the knife from the workhouse, it has 'Strand Union' on it—you will find it in one of the areas in the square—my mind is much clearer to night than it was this morning, when I was coming along this road—now that I know she is dead I feel satisfied now whatever happens. I am sorry I destroyed the copy of the letter I sent to Miss Byrne last Tuesday, as that would explain all"—I made a note of the statement at the time it was made.

ALFRED LEACH (Police Inspector, E.) On Sunday afternoon, April 28th

at 6.30, I went to Red Lion Square, and noticed stains of blood on the staircase, beginning at the back parlour door, about two yards from the top of the stairs going towards the cupboard, just by the middle door, and then they stopped—Byron handed me a number of letters—I read just a little of them, made further inquiry, and sent an officer to Edmonton—he was not charged till ten o'clock on Monday morning with wilful murder—he said, "It is right"—that was at David Road station—I received a knife from the little boy Nash.

JAMES BYRNE (re-examined). It was in 1894 not 1896 that the prisoner left my service—I had two persons, both called Jack—I believe he left in 1894—it was in the same year.

Witnesses for the Defence.

HENRY CHARLTON BASTAN , M.D., F.R.C.S. and F.R.S. I am physician to the Hospital for Epileptics and to University College Hospital—I have frequently been consulted by the Treasury in cases of insanity—in connection with Dr. Scott, of Holloway, I have examined the prisoner on two occasions as to his mental condition at the request of the Treasury—I have heard the evidence given before the Magistrate, and have seen the letter of April 12th, 1898—I have had two interviews with the prisoner—on May 13th and 16th—I had a conversation with Dr. Scott concerning them—I have been here nearly all day, not the first hour—I have heard and read the whole of the evidence—I have heard an account of himself—I have some notes I took at the time of the interviews—he told me he had been in the Navy nearly six years, and was discharged on account of his having a doable rupture, and that he had been a barman, a hawker, a night watchman, and for some long period had been in the workhouse; that he first had an attack of delerium tremens twenty years ago, and several other times; the last time, four years ago—he also said that he lived in the house of Miss Byrne for seven years, either as a lodger or servant, and acted as night porter from May, 1893, to October, 1894; that after his discharge he called twice on Miss Byrne, and wrote one letter to her; that he met a man named Taylor, who bad been a long time in her service, but was discharged, who told him that he had constantly been in the habit of having connection with Miss Byrne, and that certain lodgers also told him that they had had connection with her, and he came to have a different view of her character; he formerly thought she was a religious Christian woman, but now had a different view, and put a different construction on certain events; that she wished him to understand that he might have connection with her, and he became convinced that she wished him to have connection with her; although he did not appreciate it at the time, he became filled with the suspicion of the rumour on account of his lost opportunities, and on account of the offence he must have given her, that at the time he called at the house and said that he had now seen the light—that was a reference to one of the newly-interpreted statements made to him when he had been in her service, and he would not oppose her for one minute—in his letters to her I have more than once seen the expression, "I now see the light"—in one letter he says, "You know in your heart I did not see your meaning. Could I have treated you so? Reason with yourself"—he has told me

the meaning of those letters—the interpretation he put upon "Have seen the light" was that he then understood the meaning of certain remarks which she had previously made; he thought that certain things she had said to him were that she wished to convey the impression that he might have immoral intercourse with her after he saw Taylor, and then he put that construction upon it, and then he said that he had seen the light—I have presented a copy of this report to the Treasury solicitor—I should like to say I am asked to give my impression—(MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS (directed the witness not to interfere as a partizan)—I am not a portizan, all I want to imply is that I was asked to give my opinion—I incorporated the impression on my mind in this scheme—I asked him how he had been sleeping—he said, "For a few weeks badly, and I could never get that woman out of my mind"—I judged from the expression that from November the feeling seemed to have been increasing—in those letters he makes frequent allusion to offending her—he told me that the offence was his in not comprehending her when she made solicitations for immoral intercourse, that he had failed to understand her—he said that the knife was one which he had kept in his possession while he was in the workhouse, and he had been accustomed to carry it in his pocket in a sheath, and he carried it in his pocket on previous occasions to April 17th—as to the door being slammed in his face he said, "I walked about the street after in a state of madness, I could not hold myself, I was so much upset. I had a few pence, with which I bought a drink, a small quantity of beer, my mind is much clearer to night Now I know she is dead my mind is much clearer"—I have been a practioner thirty-five years, and have come to certain conclusions—(MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS declined to admit the witness's conclusions at present)—I have an opinion as to his sanity or insanity at the present time, and have sent those conclusions to the Treasury, contained in the report which you hold in your hand, and am prepared to give them.

Cross-examined. It was on May 13th that I first saw the prisoner, and he was then in prison—I have no reason to think he knew for what object I had come to examine him—he had no indication even that I was a medical man, until near the end of the interview—I did not give the indication—I felt his pulse and examined his eyes, and he may have come to that conclusion—he told me a great deal about his life, that he had an attack of delirium tremens twenty years back, and of the last attack, and I particularly asked about the date—I could not obtain his family history—I should say his father died when he was twelve, and his mother has been dead for thirty years, and he had a number of brothers and sisters, whom he had not seen for years—there is no history of his family to be given by anyone with whom he has come in contact, so far as I know—my impression is that he was speaking the truth—his memory was good—he did not make any reference to the knife on April 17th—he only said that it was his custom to carry the knife—I think there is no doubt that he knew that the act had been committed with this knife—he told me that it was one which he used while he was in the workhouse, for the purpose of disjointing bones, and always kept it for his own use—I thought that statement was true—one

could only judge from the behaviour of the man—it would influence my opinion if I found he was making untrue statements with regard to that knife—I have no reason to doubt that he was speaking the truth to me—he never attempted to exculpate himself—it is my business to be alive to all such things when I examine persons, and I have been examining them for years—that had an influence on my mind with one element—he said that he had thrown the knife down an area in an adjacent street—his expressions were that he had gone to the house that morning, and was greatly upset by having the door slammed in his face, and how he walked about the streets in a state of madness, and could not hold himself, and having eightpence or tenpence in his pocket he went and bought liquor—I did not ask him how much he spent in getting to London—he told me further that he had had one other glass of beer with a man he met, who gave it to him, and one glass he bought himself, and that he did not recollect going back to the house, and recollected nothing about the occurrence; he did, however, recollect the throwing away of the knife, and, I presume, the killing of the woman—he went back to the workhouse and confessed that he had killed her—I said, "You told the porter where you were going to, and that you were going to settle the matter, and he said, 'Well, if I have killed the woman I have settled the matter"—may I be allowed to say that I go as a friend of the Court to form an opinion—I was asked to give my opinion as to his mental condition—he said that his mind was a blank before it was done, and he remembered the conversation when he came back—that is very common; it is a well-recognised phase—there was no reason why I should not accept his statement—I have never used the word "delusion."

By MR. GEOGHEGAN. Loss of memory is a phase of transitory maniacal attack, and in those attacks homicide is often committed—I have heard that eight wounds were inflicted with great force—it is a common occurrence to have many wounds committed by an insane person—I have no reason to think that the prisoner kept anything back from me—he was perfectly frank, he made no attempt to excuse himself—he is decidedly not a man of good physique.

DR. JAMES SCOTT . I am medical officer of Holloway prison—according to the regulations of the prison, since the prisoner's admission on April 18th I have had him under close observation—he was at once taken to the infirmary—I have frequently visited him—I have been supplied with the whole of the evidence given in Court, and I was in the Court on Saturday, and I have read the nine letters admitted to be in his writing—I have had several conservations with him as to the crime he has committed, and as to certain expressions used in these letters—in which the name of Taylor has frequently cropped up—I understood Taylor to be a day deputy at 9, Dyott Street—I have also conversed with him about the character of the deceased—he said that Taylor was in the habit of persecuting him while they worked together—he told me that one or two nights before Taylor was dismissed from her service, he met him and that Taylor stated to him that he had had improper relations with Miss Byrne all the time he had been in the house, and also that Miss Byrne had made improper overtures to the man Darkin, and that other lodgers had made similar statements—he did not specify them—I asked him, but he could

not give their names—he said that these statements had made him alter his opinion as to her being a moral and Christian woman—I have had copies of the letters—I have heard him speak of the wrong he had done to Miss Byrne in the letters—he said he knew he had offended' her—I have had several conservations with him about the letters—I asked him for an explanation of the expression in the letter of November 29th, "You know in your heart that I did not see your meaning"—he said he would apologise for not having understood her when she made improper overtures to him—I asked him what he meant by the words, "I assure you I am very much hurt to hear that I hurt you; it is entirely my own fault. You tried all you could to show me the light"—he gave me the same explanation as before, that he did not see what her meaning was—(To other questions he gave replies to the same effect.) I asked him if he had any hope or expectation of marrying Miss Byrne—he said "No," he had no such hopes—I asked him the reason for writing such letters—he said he was desirous, if possible, of getting into her employment again, that he might have further opportunities of having connection with her—I asked him as to his visiting Miss Byrne on the day she was stabbed—he said because she had slammed the door in his face—he said that it drove him mad—he said, after having sent her such a nice letter he ought to have had an answer of some kind—he said if she had only told him quietly that she did not wish to have anything more to do with him he would have gone away satisfied—I asked him if he had taken the knife with him on purpose that morning—he asserted that he had not done so—he said, "I did not know it was in my pocket till some time after I had left the workhouse"—that he was in the habit of carrying this knife in. his pocket—he said he had been a sailor, and had left the Navy in 1867—that he was in the habit of using the knife in the cook-house, and putting it in his pocket and taking it away with him—his answers to my questions gave me the impression that they were sincere.

Cross-examined. He appeared sensible on other topics far from this one—his answers were connected and sensible—he knew, of course, that I was the prison doctor—he was not informed of Dr. Bastian's visit—his visit to him was next day—he told me he was in the habit of using the knife for disjointing—I have seen the knife—I have noticed its peculiar shape—it has been sharpened to a point—I mentioned that—he said he did not remember any sharpening of it—it was my impression that he had been in the habit of using it for the purpose of disjointing—I asked him if he had sharpened it the day before leaving the workhouse—he said he had no recollection of having done so on that day—I did not call his attention to touching the knife on the Saturday—I asked him about his saying that he was going to settle the matters—he said that he could get no answer, one way or the other, to his letter—he told me that he went and drank while the public-houses were open—that would be till one o'clock, but he said till closing time, three o'clock—he did not tell me where the first public-house was, but he told me as to the last—that was the only one—I asked him if he had gone back to the house, and he said that after leaving the public-house he had no clear recollection of what occurred—he told me that he had thrown the knife away down the area of a house near—that was all he said—he. did not tell me what time

that was—I asked him, but could not get him to fix any definite time—I pressed him frequently—he said that he realised that he had done something wrong, and threw away the knife—he interpreted the word "settled" that the woman being dead, the matter was settled—I think he realised the fact that he had killed the woman—the conversations with the police are highly important, as revealing the condition of his mind, and evidencing that he had done something wrong—the expression, "I hope she is dead" is evidence that he knew what he had done, and showed signs of satisfaction that she was settled—he said that he had no recollection of having a knife, till after he left the workhouse on Sunday morning; no recollection of having brought it away—he said, "I did not know it was in my pocket till some time after I left the workhouse. I was in the habit of carrying it in my pocket"—Serjeant Blyth's statement that the prisoner said, "I brought the knife away with me from the workhouse" does not shake me at all—his saying, "My mind was not clear till I was coming along the road, and heard that she was dead" was a very important expression.

Re-examined. He said that he could not be certain how much money he had when he left Edmonton Workhouse—it might have been 10d. or 1s., not more—he always answered that he had no recollection of throwing the knife away—I said that he knew that the knife would be sure to be found, and therefore he tried to conceal his crime—I assumed that he knew that the knife would be sure to be found—my idea was that it was a temporary feeling, and he made no attempt to conceal it—his saying that his mind was much clearer, and that the letter would explain all, conveyed to my mind that he thought that the letter would give an explanation of how he came to kill the woman—after a crime has been committed the mind of a criminal becomes much clearer—that applies to most classes of crime, it is not unfrequently a characteristic—he has not tried to hide anything from me from first to last, to the best of my judgment he has told me everything he remembered, and has not tried to mislead me.

By the COURT. He said that he met an old friend in Catherine Street, Strand—he said nothing to me about the Albion public-house at the corner of Vernon Place—he did not tell me he was by it or at Broad Street, Bloomsbury, and I did not ask him.

EDWARD JAMES POCOCK FRANCIS . I keep two licensed houses—there was service at the one in Dyott Street at 3.30, and when I moved the service began at the same hour—it was the prisoners habit to come down to Red Lion Square—the door was usually open, it was always kept on the jar—that is, the latch was fastened back, and anybody could enter—we almost always found the deceased waiting for us at the door, and it was her habit to come with us to see that the rooms were right—that was the basement—then she moved herself and sat on the door step on a level with the front door—she received us in that way on April 17th—she would be visible to anybody outside when she came to the door—that was her habit at Dyott Street as well—they are different structures, but both on the same principle—there is no inner door at Dyott Street, but there is at Red Lion Street, you go in at an inner door there and into the passage—the service at Dyott Street is

held in the front kitchen, and it was her habit to be there on our arrival, and take a seat at the top of the stairs—instead of a door at the top there is a door at the bottom—in each case she put her feet at the bottom of the stairs—it is built on a certain principle—I have been out and in for the last ten years, night and day.

GUILTY DEATH .

The Prisoner: All I have to say is that she was the vilest hypocrite that ever breathed.