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all night, but they left soon afterwards, and never returned. He identified the prisoner in Newgate as one of these men. In addition to this, there was the evidence of a parish constable, who saw the prisoner in the taproom of the Cricketers, about noon on the fatal Monday, and of an architect living at Reigate, who on the same afternoon met the prisoner and his companion on the Reigate road, about a mile from Kingswood, and who added that his attention was particularly drawn to Franz, from the striking resemblance which he bore to a friend he had known in his youth. Some remarkable evidence was also given with respect to the string with which the murdered woman's legs and arms were tied. Mrs. Pither, the wife of a brushmaker at Reigate, recollected that two persons (one of whom was the prisoner) came to her shop, on the afternoon of the 10th of June, and asked for some packing-string. They purchased a twopenny ball, which had been supplied her by a dealer in Whitechapel, and had been in her stock since August, 1860. This string was of a peculiar description, and according to the evidence of the maker, was of a kind not commonly manufactured or sold. The cord taken from the murdered woman's legs and arms was of the same description. It further appeared that, on the morning of the 11th of June, the prisoner and another man visited a lodging-house in Wentworth-street, and the former gave the waiter, or assistant, a worsted jacket to take care of, rolled up and tied with string. This string also exactly corresponded with the string which the murderer, whoever he was, had used to bind the limbs of his victim, and was also of the same peculiar description sold by Mrs. Pither.

Franz, it appeared, was first apprehended on the 21st of June, on a charge of being secreted in an empty house in London with intent to commit a felony. He at that time gave the name of Saltzman; and he afterwards accounted for this by saying that he had then heard of the murder, and of the finding of the papers, and was afraid that he should be charged with a crime of which he was innocent. He subsequently admitted that his name was Franz, and then stated that he had come from Hamburg to Hull, and from that place had travelled to London on foot; that on his journey he was joined by two sailors, one of whom

was shorter than the other, and that whilst sleeping under a straw-stack together at night, they decamped, taking with them his travelling bag, containing several articles of wearing apparel and his papers. It may be added that he was described by a person with whom he lodged as being very religious, and when apprehended a few trifling articles only were found on him, together with a Lutheran prayer-book. Madame Tietjens, it should also be observed, remembered a young foreigner calling on her for assistance, but the prisoner was not the person.

Such were the principal facts of this mysterious case, the trial of which occupied two summer days. Franz was provided with counsel by the charitable intervention of the Saxon Consul, and the evidence was minutely and carefully analysed by the presiding judge, Mr. Justice Blackburn. The jury retired for an hour, and ultimately returned a verdict of "Not Guilty;" a decision hailed with applause by a crowded audience. As has been since well observed, the verdict might fairly have been either way; and that being so, the jury did well to observe the golden rule of English law, which gives the prisoner the benefit of any reasonable doubt.

Among the noteworthy cases tried at the August Sessions of the Central Cri minal Court, we may specify that of the Reverend James Roe, a clergyman of the Church of England, who was charged with forging a cheque for £6000, under these curious circumstances: The ac cused was the nephew of a retired grocer, named Edward Roe, a person of consi derable property residing at Macclesfield, who had likewise two other nephews, Mr. George Hartwell Roe and Mr. James Orme Roe, the latter of whom resided in Holland, being a teacher of the English language at the Erasmian College in Rotterdam. It appeared that formerly the clerical nephew was in great favour with his uncle, who had made a will, in which he bequeathed him a legacy of £500, and also appointed him one of his residuary legatees. Circumstances afterwards occurred that somewhat shook the old man's faith in him. His house was burnt down, and the Sun Fire Office, in which it was insured, resisted payment, and a trial took place, in which the plaintiff recovered a verdict for a smaller sum than the amount he claimed, and Mr.

Edward Roe, after reading the report in the paper, had expressed an unfavourable opinion of his nephew. The latter was also compelled by embarrassment to seek relief from the Insolvent Debtors' Court, and this did not tend to raise him in the estimation of his uncle, who was a man of careful and penurious habits.

On the 1st of January, 1859, Mr. Edward Roe died, at the advanced age of eighty-two, having on the previous 25th and 30th of December duly executed a will and codicil by which he bequeathed £500 to the accused clergyman, but appointed his other two nephews, George Hartwell Roe and James Orme Roe, his residuary legatees, and thus left them the bulk of his property. With this will the clergyman was much dissatisfied, and he took proceedings in Chancery to have it set aside, on the ground of the incompetency of the testator. He was, however, defeated; the validity of the will was established, and he received his legacy. After this he remained silent until the middle of 1860, when he announced the discovery of a letter and cheque in the handwriting of his deceased uncle, on which he commenced further proceedings in Chancery. The letter was in these words:

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Under the letter was written a direction to Messrs. Brocklehurst, bankers, of Macclesfield, to pay Mr. James Roe £6000. The document had all the appearance of genuineness, and the witnesses for the prosecution admitted that but for the date they should have considered it to have been in the handwriting of the deceased, as it was precisely like his writing two or three years before kis death, and was very firm and distinct. At the period it bore date, however, he had become very feeble, and in writing had to hold one hand with the other to enable him to form his letters. But the most conclusive fact against the accused was, that the postmarks on the letter were proved not to be genuine; and it was shown that the stamps had been made for, and forwarded to him at Gloucester, and that he had ordered and

received them in the name of "Mr. C. J. Wylde, Cheltenham." The case for the prosecution occupied the whole of one day, but these were the principal facts relied on as evidence of his guilt. The jury were detained all night at the London Coffee-house, not being allowed to separate; and on the next day, after a lengthened address from his counsel, and a careful summing up by the presiding judge (Mr. Justice Hill), the clerical delinquent was convicted, and sentenced to be kept in penal servitude for ten years.

On Friday, August 23rd, the Baron Louis Pons de Vidil was put on his trial at the bar of the Old Bailey. The indictment charged him with assaulting and wounding his son, Alfred de Vidil, with intent to murder him, and also with intent to maim and disable him, or to do him some grievous bodily harm. He was likewise charged with unlawfully wounding him. The court was densely crowded, and the appearance of the be fore-mentioned Alfred was waited for with breathless interest. When his name was called, he stepped slowly and reluctantly into the witness-box, and the principal usher of the court, Mr. Harker, repeated the oath to him in his wellknown distinct and sonorous tone. When told to "kiss the book," the young man declined to obey, and stated that he rethe Baron. The presiding judges, Mr. fused to give evidence against his father Justice Hill and Mr. Justice Blackburn, remonstrated with him, and properly informed him that he had a public duty to perform; but all in vain; he persisted obstinately in his refusal, and remained silent. Therefore Mr. Justice Blackburn, after some further observations, ordered him to be committed to prison for one month, and he was removed from the Court in custody.

After this episode the trial proceeded, and the witnesses examined at the police-court repeated the evidence to which we have already called attention. The deposition of John Rivers, taken at Twickenham, was read; a surgeon having stated that he was "too ill to travel." The poor fellow's life indeed only hangs on a thread, and it is pleasant to record that his final hours have been soothed by the charitable deeds of some good Samaritans. During the whole proceeding the Baron's manner was nervous and agitated: he wrote many hurried notes to his counsel, and once or twice clasped his

hands, and folded his arms in a somewhat theatrical fashion. He appeared to pay particular attention to the evidence that was given respecting the loaded whip or instrument with which the fearful blows were struck. One of the witnesses stated that directly after the occurrence, the prisoner climbed over a fence and disappeared, and it was supposed that during this interval he got rid of the instrument in question by throwing it into the Thames. The wounds were described by the surgeon as very serious, and such as would be caused by a blow from some heavy, blunt instrument. They were not likely to have been caused, he added, by a fall

from a horse.

At the close of the case for the prosecution, the Court adjourned for a short time, and when the judges again took their seats, Mr. Serjeant Ballantine made an earnest appeal to the jury on behalf of the Baron.

The learned Serjeant indignantly repudiated the notion that the prisoner had entertained any deliberate idea of inflicting on his son any bodily injury. He called several witnesses (amongst whom were Prince Demidoff and Lord Torrington), who gave the Baron a high character for humanity

and kindness of disposition. Mr. Justice Blackburn then summed up the evidence, and the jury having retired for about a quarter of an hour, returned with a verdict of "Guilty of unlawfully wounding;" thus finding the accused guilty of the minor offence charged in the indictment. When the verdict was pronounced, the Baron made some gesticulations of disapproval, but said nothing. Mr. Justice Blackburn then sentenced him to be imprisoned in the House of Correction for twelve calendar months.

The new Bankruptcy Act comes into operation on the 11th of October next. Though shorn of its fair proportions by the Lords, the trading community will find that it places the property of insolvent debtors more completely under the control of creditors than was done by any previous enactment. All professional persons will, however, regret that the office of Chief Judge was not retained, as it is obvious that some supreme authority is needed to regulate the practice in Bankruptcy, and secure uniformity in procedure both in London and the country. The Act contains 232 sections, and its short title is "The Bankruptcy Act, 1861."

WHEN MAY ENGLAND DISARM?

ALTHOUGH One cannot but admire the inexhaustible skill with which science is ever showing us how to improve our weapons of war, yet, apart from the expense incurred, there are many melancholy and humiliating reflections called forth by such displays. Is this the true work of science? Was it for this, inventors were given to the world? Does civilization really mean great skill in the art of destroying each other?-peace, a state of preparation for war?-religion, the faith that men need for their mutual convenience some conventional restraints, but that, in truth, they were born to hate each other? Yet, if these things are not so, if it be certain that we are running counter to the natural order of things, and suffering in a thousand ways in consequence, does it not behove us to stand fast awhile even in the midst of this mighty military movement, and learn why it commenced, whither it is taking us, and when, if ever, it is to cease?

It is not difficult to discover its true origin. When Louis Napoleon, on the midnight preceding that ever memorable 2nd of December, determined to violate his oath of fidelity to the Republic, break into and scatter the parliament, and fire upon men, women, and children in the streets, in order to impress a sense of overmastering terror through all Paris, which might subsequently thrill to the remotest extremities of France, then it was that this unholy work also began. And although we are not to blame now, and are, in fact, helpless to resist the tide of evil, we were to blame then in sanction ing, even by tacit acquiescence, the act of our Government in recognising the results of the bloody and treacherous coup d'état. It cannot be forgotten that Lord Palmerston did not even wait to see what his countrymen thought of the transaction; on the contrary, he was so prompt in acknowledging the existence of the new rule, that one can scarcely avoid the suspicion that he had anticipated or been told something about it before it happened.

England was shocked by the slaughter; it was shocked by the perfidy; it was shocked by the destruction of parliamentary government. It saw also that the whole thing had been done by fraud and force, such as may be perpetrated in any country in times of difficulty; and might have known, therefore, that any

pretences of acting in good faith afterwards, or in accordance with law, could only be credible so far as good faith and law might be useful to serve the purpose of the conspirators; and that it would be idle to suppose that either of these things would be permitted to exercise any independent power. Yet how believingly did not our countrymen swallow the gigantic juggle of the appeal to universal suffrage! How they listened to the theory that this was no common thirst for domination and self-aggrandisement, no usurping king, but a new saviour of society, who was going to put down under his feet all the "eternal" enemies of "order," and who had a right, therefore, to the blessings, rather than the curses, of his fellow-men on both sides the water! Of course there were thousands of Englishmen who laughed at the theory; and who understood perfectly what the Saviour of Society had aimed to do, and succeeded in doing,namely, perpetrated successfully a crime of so gigantic a nature that its very magnitude influenced and awed the imagination, and took it out of the region of vulgar criminality. But there were others, who being like most of the English politicians of the time, unwilling to say one word, or move one step in sympathy with, or support of, the parliamentarians of France, explained their conduct to themselves, and did their best to mystify the thoughts of others, by the easy assumption,-"Oh, of course the French know their own minds best! We should have thought they would have decided differently-but they are such a strange people! Glory-military glory-seems the be-all and end-all of French national inspiration!"

And we listened to these and similarly glib sentences poured forth by the organs of opinion in this country, and believed, and were content. Everything was for the best, we supposed; and so we turned away to our business and our fami hearths, and cared no more for the sup pression of every spark of liberty in a great country, and among a brave, and enlightened, and generous people, than if we had been told of the extinction of some useless or noxious animal. Not a sigh did we give to the fate of the countless hosts of patriotic men who were sent to a slow death in Cayenne; or to the feelings of the intelligent admirers of good

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government, who had been accustomed to think England so loved liberty for itself that she must equally love it for other nations; or to the condition of some of France's greatest men, driven into exile such, for instance, as Victor Hugo.

One would think that with many Englishmen the love of, and faith in, political liberty is not, even in their own belief, rooted in the natural qualities and necessities of human nature, but is a mere special and extraordinary growth, that may be added to it under certain conditions of time, race, climate, &c. But even if, for the sake of argument, this assumption be granted, how could it apply to France? That country had its parliament, its statesmen, its orators. And although disturbing influences were at work to make parliamentary life turbid such as the pretensions of the three different dynasties, the conflict between the principles of '89 and those of the older state, and the eternal war between the liberalism and the bigotry of the Roman Catholic Church-yet there was not-literally-a single fact that could be adduced to show that the French people did not want, or could not use, constitutional weapons against each other, if only the Government of Louis Napoleon had evenly held the balance, allowed all parties to exhaust themselves in words, and contented itself meanwhile with keeping the peace as to acts. But we know now from many differing sources of information, that the President was constantly plotting against all parties, including, therefore, the nation; and that under his management "parliamentary institutions" were not troubled with much of "trial," but were assuredly condemned by him; for how else was he to become President for ten years, or for life, or to be made Emperor? He knew the Assembly would not oblige him in either of these his scarcely secret wishes; how could they?-they who had seen him engaged in the work of corrupting the army; and knew that he had not been ashamed to descend even to provide sausages and champagne for the troops on the plains of Satary. Was he a man to have so much confidence in that they might by solemn vote set aside the provision of the constitution against the re-election of the President? It is impossible to say what they would have done, had they known how deeply the Napoleon idea had k into the national heart, and how less it was to stem the torrent of

grateful feeling that led millions to think of nothing but honouring the descendant of their great hero; but we have no right to complain of what they did, in showing him they would be no party to his illicit ambition. And so they fell. And from that time France has been governed by one man. How do we like his govern ment? Let us always ask ourselves that question, when we see millions after millions going to replace Brown Bess by rifles, smooth-bore guns by Armstrongs, the grand old British war-oak by iron plate. It is there, always there, the shoe pinches-in expense. Let us notforget the exact cause.

Do we by this mean to say that Louis Napoleon is really hostile to us? Nothing of the kind. It is the vice of his position that continually makes him seem to be so; and that from time to time must suggest thoughts to him that he may be driven to become so. The steps of the logic bringing us to such a conclusion are simple enough. It was by the aid of the army, in conjunction with the priesthood, that Louis Napoleon came to the throne. To obtain that position he acted in mortal antagonism to the liberal institutions of the country. But the country wants these institutions still; and whenever, as in Paris, it can get the hand of officialism from off its throat, and have strength to speak, it demands them back. The army is so intimately connected with the people, that it must to some extent share their opinions, even while practically maintained to refuse them. There is, therefore, a kind of centrifugal tendency which the French Emperor has to counteract. How does he proceed? Why, by studying—and pandering toall its weaknesses, where they do not injure his interests. The ideal “glory" that led the nation to ruin under his uncle, is again stimulated and carefully associated with his own name. When a good cause offers in the Crimea, he accepts it, and France wins glory there; when it does not, he makes one, as in Italy, and there again France drinks the delicious draught of glory, and really does do good for once in its way; and would have done much more, if it had been used in accordance with its own impulses. But there we see the difference between an individual and a national government; the one moved by secret impulses, possibly of personal fear, or hope of personal gain, the other moved by the feeling of a cause, which must be carried

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