CHAPTERCLXII.

CHAPTERCLXII.THE TRIAL AND CONVICTION OF CHARLES PEACE.The eventful day at length arrived upon which the most daring and desperate criminal of modern times was to be tried upon the grave charge of “wilful murder.”“Let Charles Peace stand forward.”There is a scuffling of feet, and a small, elderly-looking, feeble man, in brown convict dress, is helped into the dock, and placed in a chair by stalwart warders.The Clerk of Assizes states the charge.“How say you, Charles Peace, are you guilty or not guilty?”In a feeble voice, hardly audible, the words “Not guilty” are uttered.The prisoner’s face is impassive, but he takes in all the surroundings with short, quick glances.The jury is empanelled, the arraignment is opened, and Mr. Campbell Foster rises to address the jury.The scene is one of much interest. As early as nine o’clock the small portion of the court allotted to the public had begun to fill with eager spectators.The press enters in force, considerable portions of the court, and also of the gallery above the jury, being reserved for its representatives.Barristers drop in, eager as the people who are unfamiliar with the courts, and quickly filling their seats, there accumulates a standing group, which remains about the door all day.The occupants of the court, with scarcely an exception, deport themselves as men and women come to witness a comedy, not a grim tragedy—​talking, laughing, joking, and congratulating themselves on their luck in gaining admission on so famous an occasion.The judge takes his seat precisely at ten o’clock, and the case at once begins.Mr. Campbell Foster bespeaks the unprejudiced and impartial attention of the jury, and enters upon a lengthened recital of the facts of the case.The tale is a plain and unvarnished one, but, to be quite candid, that is all the praise that can be bestowed upon it.A very frank critic might even say that it is somewhat dreary and decidedly commonplace. However, it is listened to with silent attention—​by none is it followed with closer care than by the prisoner, who occasionally indulges in a nod of assent, or a remonstrating shake of the head, or now and then leans forward, his head on his hand, and eyes fixed upon the speaker.The learned council spoke for half an hour.Then the evidence began, the first witness being Mr. Johnson, who proved the plans put in of the Dysons’ house in Bannercross-terrace, and was asked a question or two as to Mr. Dyson’s physical appearance.There was “sensation” in court when Catherine Dyson was called. She stepped into the witness-box, dressed in black, neatly, her jacket trimmed with crape, the somewhat jaunty hat which she had worn at the preliminary examination replaced by a modest bonnet.She had a veil or “fall” over the upper part of her face, but it was not enough to obscure it. She had a heightened colour, suggestive of rouge, with a slightly sulky expression, and the look of a person who, tensely strung, yet knows what she is about and is resolved to act on the defensive.She was examined by Mr. Shield, and spoke in a very low tone of voice.The examination was uneventful; it only repeated the old familiar account of the transactions which led to this trial; and when Mr. Lockwood rose to cross-examine the witness, there was a feeling that now, the preliminary details settled, the real engagement of the day was about to be fought.The first point on which the opposing forces came into conflict was as to whether or not Mr. Dyson, on the night he was shot, got hold or attempted to get hold of the prisoner.Before the Coroner and before the magistrate, the witness had professed her inability to say that her husband did not grapple with the prisoner. She now declared positively that he did not, and there was a long struggle on this point.Mrs. Dyson maintained her composure, during the searching catechising that ensued. Whatever she might have said before, she now said positively that her husband did not get hold of Peace.Pressed hard for admissions that there was some sort of a struggle between the prisoner and Dyson, the witness adhered to her denial that any thing of the kind did or could take place; and the cross-examination then went on to deal with the photograph taken in the fair.A good deal of fencing took place as to the precise fair at which this photograph was taken, based partly upon the mistaken assumption that the Peaces went to live at Darnall at the end of 1875, whereas they went there at the beginning of the year.The witness could not see her way through the puzzle, except that there was some mistake in the dates—​which was a very just conclusion at which to arrive.Nothing was made of this—​except to render it evident that no reliable dates could be got from the witness; and, with the positiveness displayed on previous occasions, she repudiated any knowledge of the letters found near Bannercross after the murder.The journey to Mansfield, on the occasion when Peace followed her there, next came under notice, and the gift of a ring by the prisoner. Then the visits to Sheffield public-houses with Peace—​she had been once with him to the “Marquis of Waterford,” Russell-street, she said, and might have been twice, but she could not say positively.The keepers of several of these houses were called and confronted with Mrs. Dyson, but she knew them not, nor did she know (though she avoided positively swearing it) that she had ever had drink at the “Halfway House,” Darnall, charged to the prisoner.Mr. Lockwood was equally unsuccessful in his attempts to extract confessions as to the transmission of notes between herself and Peace. As before the Stipendiary, so now Mrs. Dyson was subjected to a trial in caligraphy, and it may be assumed that the results were not very encouraging to Mr. Lockwood, since he did not pursue the subject further. But the incident elicited a curious example of Mrs. Dyson’s composure.She was passing to Mr. Lockwood the paper on which she had written, with the ink wet. It had actually left her hands, when she took it back and calmly rubbed a piece of blotting paper over it.Coming down to the day before the murder new points of much interest were opened up. The witness admitted that she was on that day at the “Stag” Hotel, Sharrow. A little boy was with her—​not her own child.A man followed her in and sat beside her—​she would almost swear that the prisoner was not the man—​upon which a sort of laugh ran through the court.She was cross-examined as to her other movements that night, and as to going to a friend’s named Muddiman on leaving the “Stag.” She swore that she did not tell Peace that she was going there—​for she did not see him.A laugh was caused when Mrs. Dyson pleaded guilty to the soft impeachment of having been “slightly inebriated” at the “Halfway House,” but she denied that she had ever been turned out of that house either for being drunk or for being “slightly inebriated.”This concluded Mrs. Dyson’s cross-examination, which had lasted exactly two hours, her examination in chief having previously lasted half an hour.The re-examination by Mr. Campbell Foster lasted only a few minutes, and after a question or two from the Judge, the Court adjourned for luncheon, the general opinion being that Mrs. Dyson had passed through the trying ordeal with great firmness and self-possession, and that the defence had not made a material mark upon the case.After half an hour’s interval the trial was resumed by the production of the Bannercross witnesses.There were few new features in this, but Mr. Lockwood made a vigorous attempt to damage the credibility of the young man, Brassington, whose testimony went to establish malice and intent on the part of the prisoner.Peace himself, during this, departed from his customary air of stoical calm, talking rapidly, in a low tone, and evidently challenging the witness’s statements in no amicable mood or feeble terms.The evidence of Mr. Harrison, the surgeon, went to show that the direction of the shot was such as would be likely to be taken by a bullet fired from the low level of the road at a person above, and the questions of Mr. Lockwood, in cross-examination, pointed to the suggestion that certain bruises on the deceased’s nose and chin were caused by blows, in a struggle with the prisoner.But Mr. Harrison did not take to this theory, though as the deceased had fallen on his back when shot, he did not seem quite able to account for these grazes.Soon after this there took place between the learned counsel engaged in the case a contention of which there had been one or two previous indications. It was a struggle on the part of the defence to force the prosecution to put in the letters found in the field at Bannercross.Mr. Lockwood wanted the letters to be put as evidence, that he might use them; but he did not wish to put them in himself, because that would deprive him of the last word to the jury, and give it to Mr. Campbell Foster. The point gave rise to much argument, but in the end Mr. Lockwood had to abandon his contention.After this the prosecution called witnesses who had not been before the coroner or the magistrates. Then followed evidence as to the capture of Peace at Blackheath, and this closed the case for the prosecution.Mr. Campbell Foster summed up the evidence he had produced in proof of the charge of murder, Peace listening to everything he said with unflinching attention.Mr. Lockwood’s vigorous speech for the defence followed. It contained powerful appeals to the jury, and animated attacks upon the prosecution and the press; but it was an up-hill fight that the learned counsel was so gallantly waging.He claimed to have utterly discredited Mrs. Dyson’s testimony, and urged that the jury could not send to execution any human being on such evidence as she had given.The theory set up by him as to the actual occurrences at Bannercross on the night of the murder was, that Peace, finding himself pursued by Mr. Dyson, fired his revolver to frighten him from pursuit; but this not effecting its purpose, a struggle took place, and in that struggle the revolver went off accidentally, with fatal effects.But unfortunately Mr. Lockwood had no testimony behind him to back up this ingenious attempt to reduce the crime to one of manslaughter; and the glamour of feeling in which he had sought to invest the case was quickly dispelled even in the breasts of the most sentimental in court when the learned judge, in a summing-up of a marked fairness and impartiality, placed the plain issues, and the unanswerable facts, about which there could be no question, before the twelve men on whose word the life of a human being hung.His lordship, who began to speak at a quarter-past six, occupied fifty-five minutes.The jury, who retired at ten minutes past seven, were absent fifteen minutes, and on their return the prisoner, who had been allowed to leave the dock, was brought back and replaced in his chair, looking limp and wretched.The warders, who had hitherto sat beside him, now stood, one holding either arm. The Judge resumed his seat, and the jury immediately delivered their verdict of guilty.Asked if he had anything to say why sentence should not be passed, he replied very faintly, “It’s no use my saying anything.”The learned Judge forthwith passed sentence in a few calm, matter-of-fact sentences. There was an utter absence of feeling in court.The unhappy man heard the sentence with an apparent indifference, bred either of stoicism or despair, and the warders at once raised him to convey him from the dock.As he stood up he clutched at the rail in front and appeared to wish to speak, but his keepers paid no attention to the desire.He bowed to his solicitor, and expressed in a word or two thanks for his efforts; then disappeared to his doom.THE TRIAL.In the Crown Court, at the Leeds Assizes, Charles Peace, described as a picture-frame dealer, forty-seven years of age, was placed upon his trial, before Mr. Justice Lopes, for the murder of Mr. Arthur Dyson; civil engineer, at Bannercross, Sheffield, on the 29th November, 1876.It is almost unnecessary to say that the case has created the greatest possible interest—​an interest not felt simply in Sheffield, but throughout the country.This had arisen not so much because of the murder itself—​for the facts were exceedingly simple—​but because of the extraordinary career of the prisoner, his sudden disappearance after the murder, and his subsequent identity as the notorious burglar who kept Blackheath in a state of considerable excitement for some months.Peace was already under a sentence of penal servitude for life for shooting at Police-constable Robinson, who apprehended him whilst he was endeavouring to escape from a house which he had burglariously entered at Blackheath.At that time Peace was known as John Ward, a half-caste, who had, according to his own statement, recently arrived in this country. For considerably more than a week this was all that was known of him.Then information came to the police, through a woman with whom he had been living, that the prisoner under remand at Greenwich was not Ward, but Peace, who was wanted for murder, and for whose apprehension a reward of £100 had been in vain offered for more than a couple of years.Subsequent investigations resulted in some extraordinary disclosures. It was found that Peace had been living in a semi-detached villa at Peckham, in company with a woman named Thompson, who was supposed to be his wife; that he kept a pony and trap, and that he lived in a style of considerable comfort.It was found, too, that he was the perpetrator of most of the burglaries which had for some months past been of almost nightly occurrence at Greenwich and Blackheath.After his sentence of penal servitude for life the Treasury authorities decided to prosecute him for the murder of Mr. Dyson.The chief witness, Mrs. Dyson, was then in America, having gone there, to reside with some relatives, a few months after her husband was shot.A special messenger was dispatched in search of her, and on her arrival in this country, Peace was taken to Sheffield to undergo an examination before the stipendiary magistrate.His attempt to commit suicide on the way down from Pentonville, by jumping from the train, is too well-known an occurrence to need more than a passing mention.In consequence of the excitement prevailing, and the great desire to obtain admittance to the court on the occasion of the trial at Leeds, it was decided that only a limited number of seats should be thrown open to the public, all other parts being reserved for those in possession of tickets.The public seats were taken possession of immediately on the opening of the court at nine o’clock. The other parts of the building were filled within the next hour, and when the Judge took his seat at ten o’clock every seat was occupied.In one of the galleries were Lord Houghton and a number of guests from Fryston Hall. A large crowd remained outside the hall, but a strong force of police prevented them reaching the doors.Peace was removed from Armley Gaol on Monday evening, and was placed in one of the cells at the Town Hall, under the care of four warders. He passed a very restless night, and on Tuesday morning was in a state of much weakness and depression. His appearance in the court, of course, attracted considerable attention. He partially walked and was partially carried up the step leading into the dock, and then was placed in a chair in front of the dock.A warder occupied a seat on either side of him. Unless he was “shamming,” his condition was almost pitiable to behold. He seemed so weak that he could scarcely sit up in his chair, but, notwithstanding that, he appeared to take the keenest interest in the case as it proceeded.On the charge being read to him he pleaded “Not Guilty,” but he spoke in so low a tone that he could scarcely be heard.Mr. Campbell Foster,Q.C., and Mr. Hugh Shield prosecuted on behalf of the Treasury; and Mr. Lockwood and the Hon. Stuart Wartley (instructed by Messrs. Clegg and Sons, Sheffield), defended the prisoner.Mr. Campbell Foster,Q.C., in opening the case for the prosecution, said he could not disguise from himself, nor from the jury, that the case, from the great public comment which had been made upon it in the various newspapers, must come before them under circumstances calculated somewhat perchance to bias their minds, but before entering upon it he would beg and implore them to put from their minds anything they might have read about the case, and be guided entirely by the sworn testimony which would be given by the witnesses as to the guilt or innocence of the prisoner.It would be shown, he said, that, previous to July, 1876, the man, into whose death they had to inquire, lived at Darnall, a village about three miles to the east of Sheffield, and now one of the outskirts of the town.He and his wife lived in a row of cottage houses, and next door, or next door but one, lived the prisoner and a person who, so far as they knew, was his wife.From being so near neighbours the Dysons got to know the prisoner. He was in the habit of framing pictures, and was employed by them to frame two or three small prints and pictures which they had in the house.This led to an acquaintance between the prisoner and the Dysons, but at last Mr. Dyson seemed not to like the persistent familiarity with which the prisoner was in the habit of treating them, walking into the house whenever he thought proper, at meal times, and generally obtruding himself upon them.This annoyed both Mr. Dyson and his wife, and, as a consequence, shortly before the 1st July, 1876, Mr. Dyson wrote on the back of one of his address cards—“Charles Peace is requested not to interfere with my family.”The card was thrown over the wall into Peace’s garden, and the sending of it seemed to have created a bad feeling in the mind of Peace against Dyson, for it would be shown that on the 1st of July, meeting Mr. Dyson, he suddenly commenced an assault upon him, attempting to trip him up and throw him down.Late in the evening Peace found Mrs. Dyson talking to some neighbours about his extraordinary conduct, and asked if she were talking about him.She replied that she was, and apparently in a sudden burst of passion he produced a revolver and presenting it at her head said he would blow her brains out—​of course using an expletive—​and subsequently he threatened to blow her husband’s brains out as well.In consequence of that a summons was taken out against him, but he did not appear, and a warrant was granted against him. He seemed to have known that a warrant had been obtained, and from that time until October he was not seen in the neighbourhood.To be quite out of the way of his annoyance the Dysons decided to remove, and took a house at Bannercross, a village about three miles to the west of Sheffield, and consequently about six miles from Darnall.They removed on the 29th, following the furniture by train, and when they arrived at Bannercross the first person they saw was the prisoner. Some conversation took place between him and Mrs. Dyson, and the prisoner said, “I am here to annoy you, and I will annoy you wherever you go.”Mrs. Dyson told him there was a warrant out against him, and he replied that he did not care for the warrant and he did not care for the police. That sort of conversation would tend to show that there was the same bad blood, the same ill-feeling, in the breast of the prisoner against both Mrs. Dyson and her husband which had existed in the previous July.Mr. Campbell Foster put in a plan of Bannercross-terrace, and described its surroundings to the jury. Prisoner, he added, went to the shop of a man named Gregory at the end of October, and engaged him in conversation, and at that time he was particularly noticed by Mrs. Gregory.In about a month afterwards he again called, asked if her husband was in, and upon being answered in the negative, he went out and was seen to be loitering about.During that time he was seen by a Mrs. Colgrave, who was going to Gregory’s shop. The meeting took place in the road.The prisoner engaged her in conversation, and asked if she would take him a message to Dyson’s house, asking Mrs. Dyson to come out.Mrs. Colgrave objected, upon which he made use of a coarse expression regarding Mrs. Dyson. At ten minutes to eight he was seen by a man named Brassington, who met Peace walking in front of the Bannercross Hotel.They met under a gas-lamp, and prisoner inquired if he knew some strangers who had come to live there.Witness did not, he said, and Peace showed him a bundle of notes and some photographs, but Brassington put them back, as he could not read.They separated about ten minutes past eight. The jury would learn from Mrs. Dyson that about that time she had occasion to go to the closet in the yard. To do so she put on her clogs, and had to pass Gregory’s back door.After being in the closet a short time, she opened the door, and saw standing before her the man Peace, who had a revolver in his hand.He presented it in her face, and said, “Speak, or I will fire.”The woman gave a loud and sudden shriek, and stepping back into the closet, slammed the door and fastened it.She next heard her husband’s footsteps, and Mrs. Gregory also came up, but when she saw Mr. Dyson she went into her own house and fastened the door. Hearing her husband’s footsteps, Mrs. Dyson became emboldened, opened the closet door, and advanced towards the end of the passage.Mr. Dyson passed her, and she saw Peace going out of the passage by the front. When he was a few steps from the gateway Mr. Dyson stepped after him.According to Mrs. Dyson’s statement, he was never near enough to touch Peace. Having got into the road, Peace fired his revolver, apparently at Mr. Dyson. The shot struck the stone lintel of the doorway at the entrance to the passage.Mr. Dyson continued to advance, and before he had got out of the passage, Peace, who was on the road, again faced round and fired his revolver, and Mrs. Dyson saw her husband instantly fall.She shrieked out, and was heard by a young man named Whitting to say, “Murder! You villain; you have shot my husband.”The learned counsel then proceeded further to describe how Peace escaped from Bannercross after the murder, and showed that Mr. Dyson died two hours after the bullet entered his temple.He laid much stress on the fact that in a field which the prisoner had crossed over on his way from Mr. Dyson’s house, a packet of letters was found.In this packet was the very card which Mr. Dyson had sent to the prisoner requesting him not to annoy his family.There could, therefore, he said, be no doubt that the man who dropped the papers was Peace—​the man in whose mind the card had produced so much ill-will and ill-feeling, and who had dogged the footsteps of the Dysons in the way he had described.Mr. Foster next proceeded to show that after the murder Peace made his escape, and was not discovered until he was apprehended in the commission of a burglary at Blackheath.He next showed what took place after his apprehension, and was proceeding to refer to the attempts made by Peace to escape on his way to Sheffield, when Mr. Lockwood objected to the matter being gone into. He said it would of course be affectation on his part to object to its being mentioned, because it was notorious to everybody, but he certainly strongly protested against the course his learned friend was pursuing.His Lordship said he considered the reference that Mr. Foster was making was quite unnecessary.Mr. Foster said he was quite content to leave the matter as it was.He proceeded to say that if the jury believed the circumstantial evidence which showed the prisoner to have been at Bannercross from seven o’clock up to ten minutes past eight—​which traced him across that field, and found on his path a packet of letters, they could not but believe that the prisoner was the man who fired the shot which killed Mr. Dyson.With what intent did he do it? Did he do it maliciously and with the intent to do the full charge mentioned in the indictment? With what object did he go from Darnall to Ecclesall, hanging about the house, threaten Mrs. Dyson, and tell Brassington the scandalous story of which they would hear?Did all that point to malice, to malignity, to hate? He thought it did. If the jury came to the conclusion that it was the hand of prisoner who shot poor Mr. Dyson, and if they found that the motive which prompted him to do it was a malicious and a premeditated motive, then he thought they could come to no other conclusion than that the prisoner committed the crime charged, and that he did it with malice aforethought.Mr. Johnson, of the firm of Holmes and Johnson, architects and surveyors, of Sheffield, produced a plan of Bannercross, showing the house in which Mr. Dyson lived, and the gardens and fields adjoining.MRS. DYSON’S EVIDENCE.Mrs. Dyson, whose appearance in the witness-box aroused great interest in court, said she was the widow of Arthur Dyson, who was shot at Bannercross in 1876.She lived with her husband in Britannia-road, Darnall, and at that time the prisoner resided in the next house.She knew him then as Charles Peace, a picture-framer, and he frequently visited their house until her husband, annoyed at his visits, sent him a card requesting him not to annoy his family.In July of the same year the prisoner threatened to blow out their brains, and put a pistol within six inches of her face.No.92.Illustration: PEACE CONDUCTED TO THE PRISON VAN.PEACE CONDUCTED BY THE OFFICERS TO THE PRISON VAN.A warrant was taken out against him for this, but he still continued to annoy them; so they removed on the 25th of October to Bannercross, where they hoped to be freed from his disagreeable visits.But the very night they removed the prisoner appeared at Bannercross, and said to her “You see I am here to annoy you wherever you go.”On the 29th of November, about ten minutes past eight in the evening, she went to the closet behind the house, and when she opened the door to come out she was confronted by the prisoner, who stood near the closet doorway with a revolver in his hand. He said, “Speak, or I’ll fire.”She screamed, and stepped back into the closet and shut herself in; but, hearing her husband’s footsteps in the yard she came out. Prisoner was then in the passage leading to the road; but, being followed by her husband, he turned round and fired.That bullet struck the wall, and on getting to the bottom of the passage the prisoner fired again. The second shot struck her husband in the temple, and he fell.She screamed and the neighbours came, but in the meantime the prisoner had scaled the wall on the opposite side of the road and fled.Her husband did not speak after he was shot, and died the same night about eleven o’clock.Cross-examined by Mr. Lockwood: Before going to the closet I put my little boy to bed. The bedroom is in the front. There was a light in the room.My husband at this time was downstairs reading, and when I went to the closet I left him still reading. I said nothing to him before going to the closet. I had to pass through the room where he was. When I heard him coming I came out of the closet.[A plan of the premises was then put into witness’s hands, and she said she did not understand it very well.]Cross-examination resumed: I was only four or five feet from the passage leading to the closet when my husband passed me to go down to the prisoner. I could see him plainly, and all that he did. He was going rather slowly.I am prepared to swear that my husband never touched the prisoner before the shots were fired. He could not get near enough to him. Of course I cannot say what he intended doing.I remember being before the coroner, but I cannot remember that I said to him that I could not say “whether my husband attempted to get hold of Peace or not;” but if I did say so it is correct.The account which I gave to the coroner is the correct one. I cannot swear that my husband did not attempt to get hold of the prisoner, but I can swear that he did not succeed in doing so. I distinctly swear that he never touched the prisoner.When were you first so certain of this?—​I have been certain all the time.Were you certain about it on the 24th of January last?—​Yes; as certain as I am now.When before the magistrates did you say this: “I cannot say. My husband did not get hold of the prisoner?” I cannot say that he did not try.Mr. Lockwood contended that this was not an answer, and a conversation took place between Mr. Campbell Foster and the judge on the matter.On the question being repeated, Mrs. Dyson said: I cannot swear I did not use the words just quoted. I will not swear I did not. Having heard the words, I still pledge my oath that my husband did not get hold of the prisoner. I don’t remember swearing before the magistrates that my husband didn’t get hold of the prisoner.What I said before the magistrate is correct. I noticed how my husband fell. He fell on his back. Nothing touched him before he fell. I will swear that after the first shot was fired my husband did not get hold of the prisoner.He did not catch hold of the prisoner’s arm which held the revolver, and the prisoner did not strike my husband on the chin and nose.I will positively swear that my husband was never touched on the face except by the bullet which the prisoner fired.How long have you known Peace?—​Between three and four years. I never saw him before I saw him at Darnall. I cannot say whether I or my husband first made his acquaintance. He lived next door but one to us. My husband began to dislike him in the spring of 1876.Was he jealous?—​No.Do you remember showing your husband a photo of yourself and the prisoner?—​Yes. It was taken at the Sheffield fair.How came you to be photographed together?—​We went to the fair together with some children. The children were photographed, but we were in a separate picture. I cannot say whether it was the summer or winter fair. It was summer fair, but I cannot say whether it was the summer of 1876. It certainly was not in 1875.If it was in the summer of 1876, how was it you were photographed with a man of whom your husband disapproved in the spring of that year?—​I think there must be a mistake in the dates. I cannot say. I had known the prisoner for more than a year in November, 1876. I may have known him since the spring of the previous year, but I won’t be certain. I cannot say when we went to Darnall. I mean the jury to understand that I cannot tell within three or four months. When before the coroner I stated that we had been in England three years, and that we lived for a year with my husband’s mother. I also stated that afterwards we lived at Highfield. We did not remain there more than four or five months. We next went to Heeley, and remained three or four months. From there we went to Darnall. I still say I do not remember when we went to Darnall. We were there a few months before the prisoner. He framed four pictures for us. I remember a conversation about his framing the portrait of my husband’s mother. I asked the prisoner to frame it. I mentioned the matter to the prisoner or his daughter, but I cannot say when it was. I did not write to ask him to send the frame. He never sent the frame. I never wrote asking him not to send it. I know nothing about the matter.Mr. Lockwood: Look at that letter.—​Witness, after looking at it, said: It’s not mine, and I don’t know whose it is.Another letter was then handed to her, and she gave a similar answer.Mr. Lockwood next handed to the witness a scrap of paper on which she wrote some words when before the magistrates, and asked her to look at it. This having been done, Mr. Lockwood asked: Did anybody know except yourself, your husband, and the prisoner, that you wanted the portrait of your husband’s mother framed?—​His wife and daughter knew.Did you talk to them about it?—​I mentioned it to the daughter. I remember going on one occasion to Mansfield. That was in the summer of 1876. I don’t recollect the month. Mrs. Padley went with me. I had not told Peace that I was going. I went by an afternoon train to Mansfield.Did you ever write to the prisoner, telling him you were going by the nine o’clock train?—​No.Did you tell him he must not go by train, “because he (Dyson) will go down with me,” and also say, “Don’t let him see anything if you meet me in the Wicker. Hope nothing will turn up to prevent it. Love to Janie?” Did you write that?—​No.Just look at that (handing up the note just read).—​That is not my handwriting. I was not in the habit of dealing with Francis Walker, wholesale and retail grocer and Italian warehouseman, at High-street, Attercliffe.At any rate, when you got to Mansfield he was there?—​Yes.And you told him you were going?—​No.Can you account for his being there?—​No, I can’t. He was a constant source of annoyance to me, and was always following me.Do you remember the prisoner giving you a ring?—​Yes. He gave it to me in the winter; at least I cannot tell when it was, or the year.Was it before or after you were photographed together?—​That I cannot say. I cannot say, too, if I showed it to my husband. I know I threw it away. The ring did not fit me.Did you ever write this: “I do not know what train we shall go by, for I have a great deal to do this morning? Will see as soon as I possibly can. I think it will be easier after you leave; he won’t watch so. The ring fits the little finger. Many thanks. Love to Janey. I will tell you what I think of, when I see you about arranging matters, if it will. Excuse the scribble.” Now, did you write that?—​No.Did you ever tell him that the ring would not fit?—​No.Are you now prepared to swear that you did not write to acknowledge the ring?—​I did not.Mr. Lockwood then asked the witness whether she preferred a steel or a quill pen to write with, and Mrs. Dyson said it made no difference.A steel pen was given to her, and she wrote as follows from the dictation of the learned counsel: “I write to you these few lines to thank you for all your kindness, which I will never forget. I will write you a note when I can.”Mr. Lockwood: That is your best writing?—​Yes.Witness continued: On one occasion I went to a public-house with the prisoner, but I cannot remember the date. I cannot say where the public-house is. The prisoner told me that there was a picture gallery there. My husband became dissatisfied after that.Was it in consequence of your going to the public-house with the prisoner that he became dissatisfied?—​No.Are you sure of that?—​Yes.Did you tell him you had been to a public-house with the prisoner?—​Yes.Was it after that he became dissatisfied?—​I can’t say exactly. I know a public-house in the same street as that in which the prisoner lived. I don’t know it by name, nor do I know a man named Craig as the landlord. I have been to a public-house where there was a picture gallery, and there I had a bottle of “pop.”Did you go to another public-house with the prisoner?—​Yes.Did you see Craig?—​I don’t know him.Craig was then called into court, and Mrs. Dyson was asked, “Have you not been to the ‘Marquis of Waterford’ public-house, in Russell-street, Sheffield, on several occasions, with the prisoner?”—​I may have been once or twice, but not more often.When you have been with Peace has he not paid for drink for you?—​I have only had “pop” with him.How many times have you been with him?—​I am sure of once, but I don’t know that I have been any more times.Do you remember when this was?—​No.Did you tell your husband?—​I told him that Peace had introduced me to his brother.Did you tell your husband that Peace had taken you to a public-house and paid for drink for you?—​Yes.And after that he became dissatisfied?—​Yes.Do you know the Norfolk Dining Rooms in Exchange-street?—​No.Have you ever been to some dining rooms, near the Market-place, with the prisoner?—​Yes.Alone, I mean?—​Never alone.Never alone, you say. Call in John Wilson. (Witness called in.) Now look at that man. Did you ever see him in those dining rooms?—​Not to my knowledge.Do you remember being introduced to that man by Peace?—​I never remember seeing him before.Look at him again.—​I have looked at him. I will swear I have not been to some dining rooms with Peace on several occasions. I have been to some near the market once. Then we were not alone. There were two children with us. They were my own little boy, and a child of Mrs. Padmore’s. I had refreshment there. That was at the time of the Sheffield fair—​the same fair at which I was photographed—​the same day that I had been photographed with Peace. And these children went to the dining-room.What had become of your husband?—​He was away from home.Was he not at the fair?—​Yes. I saw him there and met him in the evening after the photograph was taken. My husband did not come into the fair until evening.Do you know a music-hall in Spring-street, Sheffield?Witness: What is the name of it.Mr. Lockwood: The “Star.”Witness: Is it a picture-gallery?Mr. Lockwood: I don’t know.A man named Goodlad was called into court, and Mr. Lockwood asked the witness: Have you ever been to the “Star” music-hall with Peace?—​I don’t know it by that name.Have you been to any music-hall with Peace?—​I have been to a place where there is a picture-gallery, and where it looked as if singing went on. There was a small stage and tables and chairs.Do you remember being introduced to that man by Peace at a music-hall?—​I never remember seeing his face before, except at the Town Hall.Have you not been three or four times to the music-hall in Spring-street?—​No; I have only been once. I know a public-house at Darnall, called the “Halfway House.” To my knowledge, I have never had drink there which was put down to Peace.That won’t do. Are you prepared to swear that you have not had drink there on Peace’s credit?—​Never to my knowledge.Though the witness was pressed severely on the point, this was the only answer that could be obtained.I have shown you some letters—​have you written a letter to the prisoner?—​No.Do you know a little girl named Elizabeth Hutton? Call Elizabeth Hutton.On the child coming forward, the learned counsel asked: Can you swear you never sent that child with a note to Peace?—​Not with a note.What did you send her with?—​I sent her with receipts for some pictures which the prisoner had framed. He was in the habit of asking my husband to write out his receipts and letters.Now look at the child again. Will you swear that child has not brought back notes from Peace to you?—​She brought me one, and I returned it. I can’t say when this was, but it was after Peace removed to the opposite side of the street at Darnall. I never gave the child anything for taking notes to Peace. I don’t know a man named Kirkham. (Kirkham was here called.) I never gave him any notes for Peace, but I gave him a couple of receipts. Those receipts were for picture-framing. Kirkham has not brought notes from Peace.Can you swear that?—​Not to my knowledge, he has not.Can you swear one way or the other?—​I can swear he has not—​not to my knowledge.Did you ever send that litttle girl for drink to the “Halfway House?”—​Not to my knowledge.By that I understand that you won’t swear either one way or the other?—​I have sent her for beer, but not to the “Halfway House” in particular.Now I want to bring you to the night before the murder. Were you, on the 28th of November, 1876, at the “Stag Hotel,” Sharrow?—​Yes. I was there with Mrs. Padmore’s little boy. He is about five or six years of age.Was anybody else with you?—​No.Mrs. Redfern, the landlady of “The Stag,” was called into the court, and Mr. Lockwood asked: Was there not a man with you?—​No; I was by myself.Now (looking at Mrs. Redfern), will you swear that?—​A man followed me in and sat down beside me.Was that man the prisoner?—​No.Will you swear that?—​I would almost swear that the prisoner was not the man.That will not do. On your oath, did not this man go into the “Stag” on that night with you?—​No, he did not.Did he not follow you in?—​I don’t know that he did, unless he made himself different from what he is now.On your oath was it not this man?—​To the best of my belief it was not. He seemed a man about thirty-five years of age.What did you mean by saying just now that you would almost swear he was not the man?—​Because he was so much in the habit of disguising himself.So it might have been him? Did you speak to the man?—​I don’t remember.Did he speak to you?—​He asked me where I had been, or where I was going, or something of that kind.Did you answer him? Yes, I passed some remark.Did the man go out when you went out?—​Yes, he followed me out.Do you mean, on your oath, to say that you did not see the prisoner, and that he did not tell you he would come to see you the next night?—​No, he did not.Did he say anything to you?—​Nothing particular, because I did not take any notice of him.Not after you left the public-house?—​I did not speak to him after leaving the public-house.Did you think at the time that it might have been the prisoner?—​I had not the slightest thought. I had not been in the fair that night. I passed by. I might have said to Mrs. Redfern that I had been. I had not been in any public-house before going into the “Stag.” I had previously been to the house of some friends of mine named Muddiman.Did you tell Peace that you were going there?—​Witness: What had he to do with it?Answer the question.—​Mr. Muddiman does not live at Sharrow.Will you swear you did not tell him that?—​I did not. I did not see the prisoner at all.How long were you at Mr. Muddiman’s?—​Perhaps an hour or so.And from there you went to the “Stag”—​Yes.Witness continued: I have seen the landlady of the “Halfway House” at Darnall here.Have you ever been turned out of that house on account of being drunk?—​No.What! never?—​No. I have never been drunk in my life.Will you swear this?—​Yes.Bring in the landlady. Now, will you swear you have never been drunk in this woman’s house?—​Well I might have been slightly inebriated. (Laughter.)Will you swear you have never been turned out of the house for being “slightly inebriated?”—​No, not to my knowledge.Mr. Lockwood: Quite true. You might not have been aware of it. That is all I ask you.Mrs. Dyson was then re-examined by Mr. Foster, who asked: You have been questioned as to whether your husband got hold of Peace. Are you quite sure that he never tried to get hold of Peace?The question was objected to by Mr. Lockwood.Continuing, Mr. Foster asked: Can you tell me how your husband fell?—​The witness: On his back rather slanting.Was that in the passage or in the little court?—​It was in the little court.What is the width of the court?—​It is about twice as wide as the passage.Did you observe when he fell whether the side of his face went against the wall or not?—​He fell close to the wall, slanting, and then on his back.You have been asked about going to a dining-room, near the market, with two children. I think you answered that you went for refreshments?—​Yes. The children were hungry, and I went to give them some refreshment.My friend has asked you about a man bringing a note to you from Peace. Is that correct?—​Yes, but I sent it back again.Have any others been sent to you by Peace at all?—​Not to my knowledge.My friend got out the last answer from you about Mrs. Norton, that you might have left the house “slightly inebriated.” How did it occur?—​I cannot tell. I might be slightly inebriated, but I cannot tell.The Judge: You said the prisoner came to the closet door?—​Yes.How long was it after that the first shot was fired?—​About a minute or two? It may be a little more.What time elapsed between the first shot and the second?—​About a second; it was almost immediately.So far as you could see, did he stand in the same place when he fired both shots;—​No; he stood on the lower step when he fired the second shot, and in the yard when he fired the first.How far was your husband away from the prisoner at the time?—​They were about four feet apart. There were only two steps between them. The prisoner was on the bottom step.This concluded the examination of the witness, and the court adjourned for half an hour.On the re-assembling of the court, Mr. Lockwood said if the case for the prosecution lasted till five o’clock he should ask his lordship to adjourn the defence till the following day.His Lordship said that if it would be a convenience to Mr. Lockwood, he would certainly do so.Mr. Lockwood added that if the case for the prosecution was over before five, he should not then ask his lordship to adjourn, but would proceed with the defence and finish the case that evening.Mary Ann Gregory, wife of John Gregory, grocer, Bannercross, said she lived next door to the house occupied by the Dysons, and on the night of the murder the prisoner who had previously visited the shop, came again and asked to see her husband, who was away. The prisoner left the house, going down the road. An hour afterwards she saw Mrs. Dyson walking towards the closet, and two minutes afterwards heard her scream loudly. She told Mr. Dyson to go to his wife immediately, and he went directly along the passage. She then heard a banging noise, or rather two noises, and heard footsteps coming up the passage. The next thing she saw was Mr. Dyson bleeding from the head as he was propped up in a chair in his own house.In answer to Mr. Lockwood, the witness said she heard Mrs. Dyson scream within a couple of minutes of her going into the closet. When Mr. Dyson left to go down in the direction of the closet he walked quickly.Sarah Colgraves, wife of Thomas Colgraves, of Dobbin-hill, said she remembered going to the shop kept by Gregory on the night of the 29th of November, about half-past seven o’clock. She met the prisoner about thirty yards from the shop, and he asked her if she knew who lived in the second house down the road. She said she did not. He asked if she knew whether they were strangers, and she replied in the affirmative. The prisoner then said, “Do you mind going to the house to say that an elderly gentleman wants to speak to her?” Before that he had said, “You don’t know them?” and she replied, “No.” He then said, “I will tell you. She is my b—— ——.” She told the prisoner he had better mind what he said, particularly to strangers, and told him to take the message himself. About ten minutes afterwards she saw the prisoner come out of the passage by the side of the house.This witness was not cross-examined.Charles Brassington, living in the Lane End, Ecclesall, said he was on the road near Bannercross, on the 29th of November, standing opposite the Bannercross Hotel, about twenty yards from Mr. Gregory’s shop. It was about eight o’clock. The night was moonlight, and he noticed the prisoner walking to and fro on the causeway. Standing beneath a lamp at the time, he could see the prisoner quite distinctly. Peace approached him and said, “Have you any strange people come to live about here?” He replied, “I don’t know.” Peace then showed him some photos and letters, and desired him to read the latter. He said he could not. The prisoner then told him that he would make it warm for those strangers, for he would shoot them, and after saying this Peace walked down the road towards Gregory’s. He next saw the prisoner in Newgate, walking round the yard along with several others, and he was certain he was the man who uttered the threat at Bannercross.In cross-examination the witness was severely questioned as to the date when he saw the prisoner and had the conversation with him. He admitted that he could not himself tell the date, but had been told by other witnesses.Charles Wyville, living at Ecclesall, said on the night of the murder he was in the Bannercross Hotel, when his attention was attracted by hearing two reports of a gun or pistol. On his going to the door to see what was the matter he heard Mrs. Dyson screaming “murder.” He went in the direction of the screams and saw Mr. Dyson lying on the ground, with Mrs. Dyson holding his head.Thomas Wilson, scythe-maker, of Brincliffe-hill, said he was outside the Banner-cross Hotel about twenty minutes past eight on the night of the 29th of November, when he heard two reports from a revolver. The sound came from Gregory’s house, and on looking that way he saw a man run across the road from the end of Bannercross-terrace and get over the wall on the opposite side. It was a moonlight night, but as the man was crossing the road the moon was under a cloud and he did not see the man distinctly. But he heard Mrs. Dyson scream, and on going into the passage from which he had seen the man emerge, he found Mr. Dyson lying on the ground and Mrs. Dyson was holding up his head.Mr. J. W. Harrison, of Sheffield, surgeon, said on the 29th of November, he was called by Thos. Wilson to see Mr. Dyson, who had been placed on a chair in his own house. He was unconscious, bleeding from the temple, and there was a quantity of blood on the floor. He laid the injured man on the floor and attended to him, but he did not recover consciousness, and died about half-past ten o’clock the same night. Subsequently he made apost-mortemexamination. On the left temple there was a valvular wound in the skin, flesh, and muscles. On removing the scalp he found in the substance of the brain, running upwards and backwards, a groove, and on the right side of the brain he discovered the bullet produced. It had entered the temple and passed in an oblique line to the right side of the head. The cause of death was the entrance of the bullet to the brain.By Mr. Lockwood: He found some light abrasions on the nose and chin. He did not think they were caused by a fist, because in the case of abrasions the skin was grazed. A fist he did not think would produce the effect, not even if there was a ring on the finger. The abrasions seemed to have been caused by sand. At the coroner’s inquest he might have said he noticed a bruise on the nose and chin as if Mr. Dyson had fallen on his face. That really was correct, and he would adhere to that statement.Police-constable Ward stated that on the 30th of November he searched in a field opposite Mr. Dyson’s house at Bannercross. The field was divided from the house by a road, a garden, and a wall. About fifteen yards from the wall dividing Mr. Dyson’s garden from the field he found a bundle of papers, and amongst them Mr. Dyson’s card.At this stage a discussion took place between the counsel on either side and the learned judge in regard to putting in the letters found by this witness.Mr. Campbell Foster objected to their being put in, on the ground that they were irrelevant; but Mr. Lockwood contended that his learned friend had gone too far, and that, inasmuch as he had opened the letters to the jury, he was bound to put them in now. His lordship entertained a contrary opinion, and consequently none of the documents were brought before the court.Inspector Bradbury produced the bullet found by the surgeon in Mr. Dyson’s brain.At the request of Mr. Lockwood, witness produced the photograph of Mrs. Dyson and Peace taken in the fair ground.He said it was handed over to him by Mr. Jackson, the chief constable at Sheffield.Mrs. Dyson was here recalled, and in answer to Mr. Lockwood she said the photograph was that to which she referred in her evidence.This was the whole of the evidence regarding the murder, and Mr. Foster proposed to call evidence of threats used by the prisoner against the Dysons in July, 1876.Mr. Lockwood objected to this course, but his lordship ruled that the evidence was admissible.Rose Annie Sykes, wife of James Sykes, Darnall, proved that on the 1st July, 1876, she saw Mr. Dyson coming down the street. The prisoner was following him, and endeavouring to trip him up. On the night of the same day she saw the prisoner take a revolver out of his pocket, point it at Mrs. Dyson’s head, and say he would blow her brains out, and those of her husband, too.Cross-examined by Mr. Lockwood: Witness said she heard nothing about a poker or a threat from Mrs. Dyson that she would use one. She did not hear about this time of any disturbance with the police, or of Mrs. Dyson being inebriated. She was quite certain about the date, because her little boy was born on the Tuesday following.James Sykes, Darnall, said on a day in July, 1876, he was with his wife and Mrs. Dyson at Darnall. Peace came up at the time, and Mrs. Dyson said “That’s the man that’s always annoying my husband.” Peace replied, “I will annoy your husband and you and all.” At the same time he pulled a revolver out of his pocket, and presenting it at Mrs. Dyson, said, “I’ll blow your brains out and your husband’s too.” Peace then went up a passage, as if he was going into Mr. Dyson’s back door. He returned in a minute, and said, “Now, Jem, you be a witness that she struck me with a life-preserver.” Witness replied, “No, I will be a witness that you threatened to take her life.” He did not notice that Mrs. Dyson had a life-preserver, or that she struck at the prisoner.During the examination of this witness Peace seemed somewhat excited, and kept muttering to himself.Jane Wadmore said, in 1876 she was living in Britannia-road, Darnall. She knew both Mrs. Dyson and Mr. and Mrs. Sykes.On the 1st of July in that year she was talking with them, when the prisoner came up. Mrs. Dyson said to him, “Why do you annoy my husband in the way you do?” Peace replied, “I will annoy you. I will blow your brains out and your husband’s too before I have done with you.” Peace then went in the direction of Mrs. Dyson’s back door, and subsequently went into his own house.In answer to Mr. Lockwood, witness said she remembered going to Mansfield with Mrs. Dyson. Peace did not accompany them, but he followed them. On their arriving at Mansfield, she and Mrs. Dyson went to a house for some refreshments. Peace followed them right into the room, and called for a bottle of something to drink. She did not leave Mrs. Dyson alone with Peace on the occasion. Mrs. Dyson returned home with her. Peace did not ride in the same compartment, nor did he treat them to anything to drink. She did not accompany Mrs. Dyson to a fair, but she remembered that there was a fair in Whitweek of 1876.Police-constable Robinson, of the Metropolitan Police Force, related the well-known circumstances under which he captured the prisoner when committing a burglary at Blackheath on the 10th of October, 1878, and described how he was fired at by Peace three times, and was wounded by the third shot.Charles Brown, sergeant in the Metropolitan Police, who went to the assistance of the last witness, produced the revolver taken from the prisoner on the occasion.James Woodward, a gunmaker, of Manchester, examined the revolver produced, and said it contained seven barrels. He believed it was of Belgian manufacture. The bullet produced found in Mr. Dyson’s head would fit the barrels.In reply to Mr. Lockwood, witness said the revolver was of a common description.This was the evidence for the prosecution.Mr. Campbell Foster then summed up the evidence. He said, if it was true that Mrs. Dyson was on terms of intimacy with the prisoner, was that any justification for his shooting her husband? He characterised strongly the attempts made to discredit the evidence of Mrs. Dyson, and to prejudice the jury against her; and he showed what a conclusive case this was against the prisoner, even excluding the testimony of the murdered man’s widow. But taking Mrs. Dyson’s evidence, as reasonable men must take it, the case against the prisoner was irresistible.Mr. Lockwood then rose (at five o’clock) to address the jury on behalf of the prisoner. In the course of a powerful appeal he declared that there had been a wild and merciless cry for blood, which was a disgrace to the country, and he spoke fiercely against the action of the press in this matter.This remark elicited a low “Hear, hear,” from the prisoner, who listened with the utmost eagerness to the words advanced on his behalf.The learned counsel maintained that he had placed Mrs. Dyson’s evidence in a light which necessitated a most suspicious examination on the part of the jury. It had been all-important to show at the time when Mr. Dyson became dissatisfied with his wife, she was still keeping up communication with the prisoner; and he claimed to have done this. Pointing especially to her prevarication as to the date of the fair at which she was photographed, the learned counsel claimed to have irretrievably shaken the testimony of Mrs. Dyson by means of the persons with whom he had confronted her. He dwelt emphatically upon her answers as to what transpired at the “Stag” Inn on the night before the murder, and her credibility, he insisted, was an essential element, because other than that woman and the prisoner no one could say what took place at Bannercross. The theory he adduced was that Peace fired a first shot to frighten Dyson; that a struggle ensued, and that during the struggle the pistol went off and killed the man. That was not murder, he pointed out. Mr. Lockwood maintained that there was strong corroborative evidence of a struggle. Turning to the letters, he commented strongly on the refusal of the prosecution to put them in evidence. They dared not place in the hands of the jury documents which might throw light upon the case, and might benefit the prisoner. Was not that an additional reason for looking with suspicion upon the woman who was accused of writing them? The whole case depended on Mrs. Dyson’s testimony, and it was not upon such evidence that human life should be taken. A detailed examination of the statements of the other witnesses followed, Mr. Lockwood maintaining that all these were consonant with his defence, or were fatal to Mrs. Dyson’s statement. He did not deny that his client had been a wild and reckless man, and it would be quite possible for one with such a temperament to use threats which he did not intend to carry out. He appealed to the jury to spare the man’s life. However bad he might have been, he was all the less fitted to die. But he had stronger grounds, and he asked whether on the uncorroborated testimony of that woman they were going to condemn this man to die? He concluded with a powerful appeal to the jury.In summing up, the learned judge briefly defined murder as distinguished from manslaughter. The theory of the defence was that there had been a struggle between the two men; that the first shot had been fired merely to frighten, and that the second was the result of accident in the struggle. If that was the opinion of the jury, then they could not find the prisoner guilty of murder, but it was important to tell them that this was only a theory, and was not supported by a particle of evidence. The jury would be shown a revolver taken from the prisoner, which it was suggested was like the one, if not the same, which had been in his possession on the evening of the sad occurrence, and it would be for the jury to say for themselves whether they thought such a weapon could have gone off accidentally. To press home their theory the prisoner’s counsel discredited the testimony of Mrs. Dyson, and it would be for the jury to carefully weigh her evidence. At the same time he would remind them that the case did not rest alone on her evidence.His lordship having remarked that no one could regret more than he did that the case had been talked about and written of so much, then proceeded to read over the evidence.THE VERDICT AND THE SENTENCE.The jury retired to consider their verdict at a quarter past seven, and returned into court ten minutes subsequently.Having answered to their names,The Clerk of Arraigns asked: Are you agreed upon your verdict? Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?The Foreman: Guilty.The Clerk of Arraigns (addressing the prisoner): You have been indicted and convicted of wilful murder. Have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon you according to law?The prisoner (very faintly): It’s no use my saying anything.One of the ushers having called for silence,His Lordship said: Charles Peace, after a most careful trial, and after every argument has been urged by your learned counsel on your behalf which ingenuity can suggest, you have been found guilty of the murder of Arthur Dyson by a jury of your country. It is not my duty, still less is it my desire, to aggravate your feelings at this moment, by a recapitulation of any portion of the details of what, I fear, I can only recall your criminal career. Imploring you, during the short time that may remain to you to live, to prepare for eternity, I pass upon you that sentence, and the only sentence, which the law permits in cases of this kind. (Here his lordship assumed the black cap.) The sentence is that you be taken from this place to the place from whence you came, and thence to a place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck until you are dead; and that your body be buried within the precincts of the prison in which you shall have been last confined after your conviction. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul!The prisoner was then removed from the dock, but before leaving he expressed his thanks to Mr. W. E. Clegg for the efforts he had made in his behalf, and his appreciation of all that had been done for him.Immediately after he was handcuffed, and leg chains were put upon him. The prisoners’ van was then backed to the inner gate of the Town Hall.Peace walked along the corridors to the gate, muttering as he went. He was lifted into the van, and he was driven to Armley gaol shortly before eight.Mr. Keene, the governor of the gaol, accompanied the van. There was one warder outside, and four warders were inside with Peace.The only meals which he had on Tuesday, at the Town Hall, were breakfast and dinner, both of which he ate heartily.Mrs. Dyson, attended by Inspector Bradbury, and several of the witnesses for the prosecution, left Leeds for Sheffield the same night by the 10.5 train.

The eventful day at length arrived upon which the most daring and desperate criminal of modern times was to be tried upon the grave charge of “wilful murder.”

“Let Charles Peace stand forward.”

There is a scuffling of feet, and a small, elderly-looking, feeble man, in brown convict dress, is helped into the dock, and placed in a chair by stalwart warders.

The Clerk of Assizes states the charge.

“How say you, Charles Peace, are you guilty or not guilty?”

In a feeble voice, hardly audible, the words “Not guilty” are uttered.

The prisoner’s face is impassive, but he takes in all the surroundings with short, quick glances.

The jury is empanelled, the arraignment is opened, and Mr. Campbell Foster rises to address the jury.

The scene is one of much interest. As early as nine o’clock the small portion of the court allotted to the public had begun to fill with eager spectators.

The press enters in force, considerable portions of the court, and also of the gallery above the jury, being reserved for its representatives.

Barristers drop in, eager as the people who are unfamiliar with the courts, and quickly filling their seats, there accumulates a standing group, which remains about the door all day.

The occupants of the court, with scarcely an exception, deport themselves as men and women come to witness a comedy, not a grim tragedy—​talking, laughing, joking, and congratulating themselves on their luck in gaining admission on so famous an occasion.

The judge takes his seat precisely at ten o’clock, and the case at once begins.

Mr. Campbell Foster bespeaks the unprejudiced and impartial attention of the jury, and enters upon a lengthened recital of the facts of the case.

The tale is a plain and unvarnished one, but, to be quite candid, that is all the praise that can be bestowed upon it.

A very frank critic might even say that it is somewhat dreary and decidedly commonplace. However, it is listened to with silent attention—​by none is it followed with closer care than by the prisoner, who occasionally indulges in a nod of assent, or a remonstrating shake of the head, or now and then leans forward, his head on his hand, and eyes fixed upon the speaker.

The learned council spoke for half an hour.

Then the evidence began, the first witness being Mr. Johnson, who proved the plans put in of the Dysons’ house in Bannercross-terrace, and was asked a question or two as to Mr. Dyson’s physical appearance.

There was “sensation” in court when Catherine Dyson was called. She stepped into the witness-box, dressed in black, neatly, her jacket trimmed with crape, the somewhat jaunty hat which she had worn at the preliminary examination replaced by a modest bonnet.

She had a veil or “fall” over the upper part of her face, but it was not enough to obscure it. She had a heightened colour, suggestive of rouge, with a slightly sulky expression, and the look of a person who, tensely strung, yet knows what she is about and is resolved to act on the defensive.

She was examined by Mr. Shield, and spoke in a very low tone of voice.

The examination was uneventful; it only repeated the old familiar account of the transactions which led to this trial; and when Mr. Lockwood rose to cross-examine the witness, there was a feeling that now, the preliminary details settled, the real engagement of the day was about to be fought.

The first point on which the opposing forces came into conflict was as to whether or not Mr. Dyson, on the night he was shot, got hold or attempted to get hold of the prisoner.

Before the Coroner and before the magistrate, the witness had professed her inability to say that her husband did not grapple with the prisoner. She now declared positively that he did not, and there was a long struggle on this point.

Mrs. Dyson maintained her composure, during the searching catechising that ensued. Whatever she might have said before, she now said positively that her husband did not get hold of Peace.

Pressed hard for admissions that there was some sort of a struggle between the prisoner and Dyson, the witness adhered to her denial that any thing of the kind did or could take place; and the cross-examination then went on to deal with the photograph taken in the fair.

A good deal of fencing took place as to the precise fair at which this photograph was taken, based partly upon the mistaken assumption that the Peaces went to live at Darnall at the end of 1875, whereas they went there at the beginning of the year.

The witness could not see her way through the puzzle, except that there was some mistake in the dates—​which was a very just conclusion at which to arrive.

Nothing was made of this—​except to render it evident that no reliable dates could be got from the witness; and, with the positiveness displayed on previous occasions, she repudiated any knowledge of the letters found near Bannercross after the murder.

The journey to Mansfield, on the occasion when Peace followed her there, next came under notice, and the gift of a ring by the prisoner. Then the visits to Sheffield public-houses with Peace—​she had been once with him to the “Marquis of Waterford,” Russell-street, she said, and might have been twice, but she could not say positively.

The keepers of several of these houses were called and confronted with Mrs. Dyson, but she knew them not, nor did she know (though she avoided positively swearing it) that she had ever had drink at the “Halfway House,” Darnall, charged to the prisoner.

Mr. Lockwood was equally unsuccessful in his attempts to extract confessions as to the transmission of notes between herself and Peace. As before the Stipendiary, so now Mrs. Dyson was subjected to a trial in caligraphy, and it may be assumed that the results were not very encouraging to Mr. Lockwood, since he did not pursue the subject further. But the incident elicited a curious example of Mrs. Dyson’s composure.

She was passing to Mr. Lockwood the paper on which she had written, with the ink wet. It had actually left her hands, when she took it back and calmly rubbed a piece of blotting paper over it.

Coming down to the day before the murder new points of much interest were opened up. The witness admitted that she was on that day at the “Stag” Hotel, Sharrow. A little boy was with her—​not her own child.

A man followed her in and sat beside her—​she would almost swear that the prisoner was not the man—​upon which a sort of laugh ran through the court.

She was cross-examined as to her other movements that night, and as to going to a friend’s named Muddiman on leaving the “Stag.” She swore that she did not tell Peace that she was going there—​for she did not see him.

A laugh was caused when Mrs. Dyson pleaded guilty to the soft impeachment of having been “slightly inebriated” at the “Halfway House,” but she denied that she had ever been turned out of that house either for being drunk or for being “slightly inebriated.”

This concluded Mrs. Dyson’s cross-examination, which had lasted exactly two hours, her examination in chief having previously lasted half an hour.

The re-examination by Mr. Campbell Foster lasted only a few minutes, and after a question or two from the Judge, the Court adjourned for luncheon, the general opinion being that Mrs. Dyson had passed through the trying ordeal with great firmness and self-possession, and that the defence had not made a material mark upon the case.

After half an hour’s interval the trial was resumed by the production of the Bannercross witnesses.

There were few new features in this, but Mr. Lockwood made a vigorous attempt to damage the credibility of the young man, Brassington, whose testimony went to establish malice and intent on the part of the prisoner.

Peace himself, during this, departed from his customary air of stoical calm, talking rapidly, in a low tone, and evidently challenging the witness’s statements in no amicable mood or feeble terms.

The evidence of Mr. Harrison, the surgeon, went to show that the direction of the shot was such as would be likely to be taken by a bullet fired from the low level of the road at a person above, and the questions of Mr. Lockwood, in cross-examination, pointed to the suggestion that certain bruises on the deceased’s nose and chin were caused by blows, in a struggle with the prisoner.

But Mr. Harrison did not take to this theory, though as the deceased had fallen on his back when shot, he did not seem quite able to account for these grazes.

Soon after this there took place between the learned counsel engaged in the case a contention of which there had been one or two previous indications. It was a struggle on the part of the defence to force the prosecution to put in the letters found in the field at Bannercross.

Mr. Lockwood wanted the letters to be put as evidence, that he might use them; but he did not wish to put them in himself, because that would deprive him of the last word to the jury, and give it to Mr. Campbell Foster. The point gave rise to much argument, but in the end Mr. Lockwood had to abandon his contention.

After this the prosecution called witnesses who had not been before the coroner or the magistrates. Then followed evidence as to the capture of Peace at Blackheath, and this closed the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Campbell Foster summed up the evidence he had produced in proof of the charge of murder, Peace listening to everything he said with unflinching attention.

Mr. Lockwood’s vigorous speech for the defence followed. It contained powerful appeals to the jury, and animated attacks upon the prosecution and the press; but it was an up-hill fight that the learned counsel was so gallantly waging.

He claimed to have utterly discredited Mrs. Dyson’s testimony, and urged that the jury could not send to execution any human being on such evidence as she had given.

The theory set up by him as to the actual occurrences at Bannercross on the night of the murder was, that Peace, finding himself pursued by Mr. Dyson, fired his revolver to frighten him from pursuit; but this not effecting its purpose, a struggle took place, and in that struggle the revolver went off accidentally, with fatal effects.

But unfortunately Mr. Lockwood had no testimony behind him to back up this ingenious attempt to reduce the crime to one of manslaughter; and the glamour of feeling in which he had sought to invest the case was quickly dispelled even in the breasts of the most sentimental in court when the learned judge, in a summing-up of a marked fairness and impartiality, placed the plain issues, and the unanswerable facts, about which there could be no question, before the twelve men on whose word the life of a human being hung.

His lordship, who began to speak at a quarter-past six, occupied fifty-five minutes.

The jury, who retired at ten minutes past seven, were absent fifteen minutes, and on their return the prisoner, who had been allowed to leave the dock, was brought back and replaced in his chair, looking limp and wretched.

The warders, who had hitherto sat beside him, now stood, one holding either arm. The Judge resumed his seat, and the jury immediately delivered their verdict of guilty.

Asked if he had anything to say why sentence should not be passed, he replied very faintly, “It’s no use my saying anything.”

The learned Judge forthwith passed sentence in a few calm, matter-of-fact sentences. There was an utter absence of feeling in court.

The unhappy man heard the sentence with an apparent indifference, bred either of stoicism or despair, and the warders at once raised him to convey him from the dock.

As he stood up he clutched at the rail in front and appeared to wish to speak, but his keepers paid no attention to the desire.

He bowed to his solicitor, and expressed in a word or two thanks for his efforts; then disappeared to his doom.

THE TRIAL.

In the Crown Court, at the Leeds Assizes, Charles Peace, described as a picture-frame dealer, forty-seven years of age, was placed upon his trial, before Mr. Justice Lopes, for the murder of Mr. Arthur Dyson; civil engineer, at Bannercross, Sheffield, on the 29th November, 1876.

It is almost unnecessary to say that the case has created the greatest possible interest—​an interest not felt simply in Sheffield, but throughout the country.

This had arisen not so much because of the murder itself—​for the facts were exceedingly simple—​but because of the extraordinary career of the prisoner, his sudden disappearance after the murder, and his subsequent identity as the notorious burglar who kept Blackheath in a state of considerable excitement for some months.

Peace was already under a sentence of penal servitude for life for shooting at Police-constable Robinson, who apprehended him whilst he was endeavouring to escape from a house which he had burglariously entered at Blackheath.

At that time Peace was known as John Ward, a half-caste, who had, according to his own statement, recently arrived in this country. For considerably more than a week this was all that was known of him.

Then information came to the police, through a woman with whom he had been living, that the prisoner under remand at Greenwich was not Ward, but Peace, who was wanted for murder, and for whose apprehension a reward of £100 had been in vain offered for more than a couple of years.

Subsequent investigations resulted in some extraordinary disclosures. It was found that Peace had been living in a semi-detached villa at Peckham, in company with a woman named Thompson, who was supposed to be his wife; that he kept a pony and trap, and that he lived in a style of considerable comfort.

It was found, too, that he was the perpetrator of most of the burglaries which had for some months past been of almost nightly occurrence at Greenwich and Blackheath.

After his sentence of penal servitude for life the Treasury authorities decided to prosecute him for the murder of Mr. Dyson.

The chief witness, Mrs. Dyson, was then in America, having gone there, to reside with some relatives, a few months after her husband was shot.

A special messenger was dispatched in search of her, and on her arrival in this country, Peace was taken to Sheffield to undergo an examination before the stipendiary magistrate.

His attempt to commit suicide on the way down from Pentonville, by jumping from the train, is too well-known an occurrence to need more than a passing mention.

In consequence of the excitement prevailing, and the great desire to obtain admittance to the court on the occasion of the trial at Leeds, it was decided that only a limited number of seats should be thrown open to the public, all other parts being reserved for those in possession of tickets.

The public seats were taken possession of immediately on the opening of the court at nine o’clock. The other parts of the building were filled within the next hour, and when the Judge took his seat at ten o’clock every seat was occupied.

In one of the galleries were Lord Houghton and a number of guests from Fryston Hall. A large crowd remained outside the hall, but a strong force of police prevented them reaching the doors.

Peace was removed from Armley Gaol on Monday evening, and was placed in one of the cells at the Town Hall, under the care of four warders. He passed a very restless night, and on Tuesday morning was in a state of much weakness and depression. His appearance in the court, of course, attracted considerable attention. He partially walked and was partially carried up the step leading into the dock, and then was placed in a chair in front of the dock.

A warder occupied a seat on either side of him. Unless he was “shamming,” his condition was almost pitiable to behold. He seemed so weak that he could scarcely sit up in his chair, but, notwithstanding that, he appeared to take the keenest interest in the case as it proceeded.

On the charge being read to him he pleaded “Not Guilty,” but he spoke in so low a tone that he could scarcely be heard.

Mr. Campbell Foster,Q.C., and Mr. Hugh Shield prosecuted on behalf of the Treasury; and Mr. Lockwood and the Hon. Stuart Wartley (instructed by Messrs. Clegg and Sons, Sheffield), defended the prisoner.

Mr. Campbell Foster,Q.C., in opening the case for the prosecution, said he could not disguise from himself, nor from the jury, that the case, from the great public comment which had been made upon it in the various newspapers, must come before them under circumstances calculated somewhat perchance to bias their minds, but before entering upon it he would beg and implore them to put from their minds anything they might have read about the case, and be guided entirely by the sworn testimony which would be given by the witnesses as to the guilt or innocence of the prisoner.

It would be shown, he said, that, previous to July, 1876, the man, into whose death they had to inquire, lived at Darnall, a village about three miles to the east of Sheffield, and now one of the outskirts of the town.

He and his wife lived in a row of cottage houses, and next door, or next door but one, lived the prisoner and a person who, so far as they knew, was his wife.

From being so near neighbours the Dysons got to know the prisoner. He was in the habit of framing pictures, and was employed by them to frame two or three small prints and pictures which they had in the house.

This led to an acquaintance between the prisoner and the Dysons, but at last Mr. Dyson seemed not to like the persistent familiarity with which the prisoner was in the habit of treating them, walking into the house whenever he thought proper, at meal times, and generally obtruding himself upon them.

This annoyed both Mr. Dyson and his wife, and, as a consequence, shortly before the 1st July, 1876, Mr. Dyson wrote on the back of one of his address cards—

“Charles Peace is requested not to interfere with my family.”

The card was thrown over the wall into Peace’s garden, and the sending of it seemed to have created a bad feeling in the mind of Peace against Dyson, for it would be shown that on the 1st of July, meeting Mr. Dyson, he suddenly commenced an assault upon him, attempting to trip him up and throw him down.

Late in the evening Peace found Mrs. Dyson talking to some neighbours about his extraordinary conduct, and asked if she were talking about him.

She replied that she was, and apparently in a sudden burst of passion he produced a revolver and presenting it at her head said he would blow her brains out—​of course using an expletive—​and subsequently he threatened to blow her husband’s brains out as well.

In consequence of that a summons was taken out against him, but he did not appear, and a warrant was granted against him. He seemed to have known that a warrant had been obtained, and from that time until October he was not seen in the neighbourhood.

To be quite out of the way of his annoyance the Dysons decided to remove, and took a house at Bannercross, a village about three miles to the west of Sheffield, and consequently about six miles from Darnall.

They removed on the 29th, following the furniture by train, and when they arrived at Bannercross the first person they saw was the prisoner. Some conversation took place between him and Mrs. Dyson, and the prisoner said, “I am here to annoy you, and I will annoy you wherever you go.”

Mrs. Dyson told him there was a warrant out against him, and he replied that he did not care for the warrant and he did not care for the police. That sort of conversation would tend to show that there was the same bad blood, the same ill-feeling, in the breast of the prisoner against both Mrs. Dyson and her husband which had existed in the previous July.

Mr. Campbell Foster put in a plan of Bannercross-terrace, and described its surroundings to the jury. Prisoner, he added, went to the shop of a man named Gregory at the end of October, and engaged him in conversation, and at that time he was particularly noticed by Mrs. Gregory.

In about a month afterwards he again called, asked if her husband was in, and upon being answered in the negative, he went out and was seen to be loitering about.

During that time he was seen by a Mrs. Colgrave, who was going to Gregory’s shop. The meeting took place in the road.

The prisoner engaged her in conversation, and asked if she would take him a message to Dyson’s house, asking Mrs. Dyson to come out.

Mrs. Colgrave objected, upon which he made use of a coarse expression regarding Mrs. Dyson. At ten minutes to eight he was seen by a man named Brassington, who met Peace walking in front of the Bannercross Hotel.

They met under a gas-lamp, and prisoner inquired if he knew some strangers who had come to live there.

Witness did not, he said, and Peace showed him a bundle of notes and some photographs, but Brassington put them back, as he could not read.

They separated about ten minutes past eight. The jury would learn from Mrs. Dyson that about that time she had occasion to go to the closet in the yard. To do so she put on her clogs, and had to pass Gregory’s back door.

After being in the closet a short time, she opened the door, and saw standing before her the man Peace, who had a revolver in his hand.

He presented it in her face, and said, “Speak, or I will fire.”

The woman gave a loud and sudden shriek, and stepping back into the closet, slammed the door and fastened it.

She next heard her husband’s footsteps, and Mrs. Gregory also came up, but when she saw Mr. Dyson she went into her own house and fastened the door. Hearing her husband’s footsteps, Mrs. Dyson became emboldened, opened the closet door, and advanced towards the end of the passage.

Mr. Dyson passed her, and she saw Peace going out of the passage by the front. When he was a few steps from the gateway Mr. Dyson stepped after him.

According to Mrs. Dyson’s statement, he was never near enough to touch Peace. Having got into the road, Peace fired his revolver, apparently at Mr. Dyson. The shot struck the stone lintel of the doorway at the entrance to the passage.

Mr. Dyson continued to advance, and before he had got out of the passage, Peace, who was on the road, again faced round and fired his revolver, and Mrs. Dyson saw her husband instantly fall.

She shrieked out, and was heard by a young man named Whitting to say, “Murder! You villain; you have shot my husband.”

The learned counsel then proceeded further to describe how Peace escaped from Bannercross after the murder, and showed that Mr. Dyson died two hours after the bullet entered his temple.

He laid much stress on the fact that in a field which the prisoner had crossed over on his way from Mr. Dyson’s house, a packet of letters was found.

In this packet was the very card which Mr. Dyson had sent to the prisoner requesting him not to annoy his family.

There could, therefore, he said, be no doubt that the man who dropped the papers was Peace—​the man in whose mind the card had produced so much ill-will and ill-feeling, and who had dogged the footsteps of the Dysons in the way he had described.

Mr. Foster next proceeded to show that after the murder Peace made his escape, and was not discovered until he was apprehended in the commission of a burglary at Blackheath.

He next showed what took place after his apprehension, and was proceeding to refer to the attempts made by Peace to escape on his way to Sheffield, when Mr. Lockwood objected to the matter being gone into. He said it would of course be affectation on his part to object to its being mentioned, because it was notorious to everybody, but he certainly strongly protested against the course his learned friend was pursuing.

His Lordship said he considered the reference that Mr. Foster was making was quite unnecessary.

Mr. Foster said he was quite content to leave the matter as it was.

He proceeded to say that if the jury believed the circumstantial evidence which showed the prisoner to have been at Bannercross from seven o’clock up to ten minutes past eight—​which traced him across that field, and found on his path a packet of letters, they could not but believe that the prisoner was the man who fired the shot which killed Mr. Dyson.

With what intent did he do it? Did he do it maliciously and with the intent to do the full charge mentioned in the indictment? With what object did he go from Darnall to Ecclesall, hanging about the house, threaten Mrs. Dyson, and tell Brassington the scandalous story of which they would hear?

Did all that point to malice, to malignity, to hate? He thought it did. If the jury came to the conclusion that it was the hand of prisoner who shot poor Mr. Dyson, and if they found that the motive which prompted him to do it was a malicious and a premeditated motive, then he thought they could come to no other conclusion than that the prisoner committed the crime charged, and that he did it with malice aforethought.

Mr. Johnson, of the firm of Holmes and Johnson, architects and surveyors, of Sheffield, produced a plan of Bannercross, showing the house in which Mr. Dyson lived, and the gardens and fields adjoining.

MRS. DYSON’S EVIDENCE.

Mrs. Dyson, whose appearance in the witness-box aroused great interest in court, said she was the widow of Arthur Dyson, who was shot at Bannercross in 1876.

She lived with her husband in Britannia-road, Darnall, and at that time the prisoner resided in the next house.

She knew him then as Charles Peace, a picture-framer, and he frequently visited their house until her husband, annoyed at his visits, sent him a card requesting him not to annoy his family.

In July of the same year the prisoner threatened to blow out their brains, and put a pistol within six inches of her face.

No.92.

Illustration: PEACE CONDUCTED TO THE PRISON VAN.PEACE CONDUCTED BY THE OFFICERS TO THE PRISON VAN.

PEACE CONDUCTED BY THE OFFICERS TO THE PRISON VAN.

A warrant was taken out against him for this, but he still continued to annoy them; so they removed on the 25th of October to Bannercross, where they hoped to be freed from his disagreeable visits.

But the very night they removed the prisoner appeared at Bannercross, and said to her “You see I am here to annoy you wherever you go.”

On the 29th of November, about ten minutes past eight in the evening, she went to the closet behind the house, and when she opened the door to come out she was confronted by the prisoner, who stood near the closet doorway with a revolver in his hand. He said, “Speak, or I’ll fire.”

She screamed, and stepped back into the closet and shut herself in; but, hearing her husband’s footsteps in the yard she came out. Prisoner was then in the passage leading to the road; but, being followed by her husband, he turned round and fired.

That bullet struck the wall, and on getting to the bottom of the passage the prisoner fired again. The second shot struck her husband in the temple, and he fell.

She screamed and the neighbours came, but in the meantime the prisoner had scaled the wall on the opposite side of the road and fled.

Her husband did not speak after he was shot, and died the same night about eleven o’clock.

Cross-examined by Mr. Lockwood: Before going to the closet I put my little boy to bed. The bedroom is in the front. There was a light in the room.

My husband at this time was downstairs reading, and when I went to the closet I left him still reading. I said nothing to him before going to the closet. I had to pass through the room where he was. When I heard him coming I came out of the closet.

[A plan of the premises was then put into witness’s hands, and she said she did not understand it very well.]

Cross-examination resumed: I was only four or five feet from the passage leading to the closet when my husband passed me to go down to the prisoner. I could see him plainly, and all that he did. He was going rather slowly.

I am prepared to swear that my husband never touched the prisoner before the shots were fired. He could not get near enough to him. Of course I cannot say what he intended doing.

I remember being before the coroner, but I cannot remember that I said to him that I could not say “whether my husband attempted to get hold of Peace or not;” but if I did say so it is correct.

The account which I gave to the coroner is the correct one. I cannot swear that my husband did not attempt to get hold of the prisoner, but I can swear that he did not succeed in doing so. I distinctly swear that he never touched the prisoner.

When were you first so certain of this?—​I have been certain all the time.

Were you certain about it on the 24th of January last?—​Yes; as certain as I am now.

When before the magistrates did you say this: “I cannot say. My husband did not get hold of the prisoner?” I cannot say that he did not try.

Mr. Lockwood contended that this was not an answer, and a conversation took place between Mr. Campbell Foster and the judge on the matter.

On the question being repeated, Mrs. Dyson said: I cannot swear I did not use the words just quoted. I will not swear I did not. Having heard the words, I still pledge my oath that my husband did not get hold of the prisoner. I don’t remember swearing before the magistrates that my husband didn’t get hold of the prisoner.

What I said before the magistrate is correct. I noticed how my husband fell. He fell on his back. Nothing touched him before he fell. I will swear that after the first shot was fired my husband did not get hold of the prisoner.

He did not catch hold of the prisoner’s arm which held the revolver, and the prisoner did not strike my husband on the chin and nose.

I will positively swear that my husband was never touched on the face except by the bullet which the prisoner fired.

How long have you known Peace?—​Between three and four years. I never saw him before I saw him at Darnall. I cannot say whether I or my husband first made his acquaintance. He lived next door but one to us. My husband began to dislike him in the spring of 1876.

Was he jealous?—​No.

Do you remember showing your husband a photo of yourself and the prisoner?—​Yes. It was taken at the Sheffield fair.

How came you to be photographed together?—​We went to the fair together with some children. The children were photographed, but we were in a separate picture. I cannot say whether it was the summer or winter fair. It was summer fair, but I cannot say whether it was the summer of 1876. It certainly was not in 1875.

If it was in the summer of 1876, how was it you were photographed with a man of whom your husband disapproved in the spring of that year?—​I think there must be a mistake in the dates. I cannot say. I had known the prisoner for more than a year in November, 1876. I may have known him since the spring of the previous year, but I won’t be certain. I cannot say when we went to Darnall. I mean the jury to understand that I cannot tell within three or four months. When before the coroner I stated that we had been in England three years, and that we lived for a year with my husband’s mother. I also stated that afterwards we lived at Highfield. We did not remain there more than four or five months. We next went to Heeley, and remained three or four months. From there we went to Darnall. I still say I do not remember when we went to Darnall. We were there a few months before the prisoner. He framed four pictures for us. I remember a conversation about his framing the portrait of my husband’s mother. I asked the prisoner to frame it. I mentioned the matter to the prisoner or his daughter, but I cannot say when it was. I did not write to ask him to send the frame. He never sent the frame. I never wrote asking him not to send it. I know nothing about the matter.

Mr. Lockwood: Look at that letter.—​Witness, after looking at it, said: It’s not mine, and I don’t know whose it is.

Another letter was then handed to her, and she gave a similar answer.

Mr. Lockwood next handed to the witness a scrap of paper on which she wrote some words when before the magistrates, and asked her to look at it. This having been done, Mr. Lockwood asked: Did anybody know except yourself, your husband, and the prisoner, that you wanted the portrait of your husband’s mother framed?—​His wife and daughter knew.

Did you talk to them about it?—​I mentioned it to the daughter. I remember going on one occasion to Mansfield. That was in the summer of 1876. I don’t recollect the month. Mrs. Padley went with me. I had not told Peace that I was going. I went by an afternoon train to Mansfield.

Did you ever write to the prisoner, telling him you were going by the nine o’clock train?—​No.

Did you tell him he must not go by train, “because he (Dyson) will go down with me,” and also say, “Don’t let him see anything if you meet me in the Wicker. Hope nothing will turn up to prevent it. Love to Janie?” Did you write that?—​No.

Just look at that (handing up the note just read).—​That is not my handwriting. I was not in the habit of dealing with Francis Walker, wholesale and retail grocer and Italian warehouseman, at High-street, Attercliffe.

At any rate, when you got to Mansfield he was there?—​Yes.

And you told him you were going?—​No.

Can you account for his being there?—​No, I can’t. He was a constant source of annoyance to me, and was always following me.

Do you remember the prisoner giving you a ring?—​Yes. He gave it to me in the winter; at least I cannot tell when it was, or the year.

Was it before or after you were photographed together?—​That I cannot say. I cannot say, too, if I showed it to my husband. I know I threw it away. The ring did not fit me.

Did you ever write this: “I do not know what train we shall go by, for I have a great deal to do this morning? Will see as soon as I possibly can. I think it will be easier after you leave; he won’t watch so. The ring fits the little finger. Many thanks. Love to Janey. I will tell you what I think of, when I see you about arranging matters, if it will. Excuse the scribble.” Now, did you write that?—​No.

Did you ever tell him that the ring would not fit?—​No.

Are you now prepared to swear that you did not write to acknowledge the ring?—​I did not.

Mr. Lockwood then asked the witness whether she preferred a steel or a quill pen to write with, and Mrs. Dyson said it made no difference.

A steel pen was given to her, and she wrote as follows from the dictation of the learned counsel: “I write to you these few lines to thank you for all your kindness, which I will never forget. I will write you a note when I can.”

Mr. Lockwood: That is your best writing?—​Yes.

Witness continued: On one occasion I went to a public-house with the prisoner, but I cannot remember the date. I cannot say where the public-house is. The prisoner told me that there was a picture gallery there. My husband became dissatisfied after that.

Was it in consequence of your going to the public-house with the prisoner that he became dissatisfied?—​No.

Are you sure of that?—​Yes.

Did you tell him you had been to a public-house with the prisoner?—​Yes.

Was it after that he became dissatisfied?—​I can’t say exactly. I know a public-house in the same street as that in which the prisoner lived. I don’t know it by name, nor do I know a man named Craig as the landlord. I have been to a public-house where there was a picture gallery, and there I had a bottle of “pop.”

Did you go to another public-house with the prisoner?—​Yes.

Did you see Craig?—​I don’t know him.

Craig was then called into court, and Mrs. Dyson was asked, “Have you not been to the ‘Marquis of Waterford’ public-house, in Russell-street, Sheffield, on several occasions, with the prisoner?”—​I may have been once or twice, but not more often.

When you have been with Peace has he not paid for drink for you?—​I have only had “pop” with him.

How many times have you been with him?—​I am sure of once, but I don’t know that I have been any more times.

Do you remember when this was?—​No.

Did you tell your husband?—​I told him that Peace had introduced me to his brother.

Did you tell your husband that Peace had taken you to a public-house and paid for drink for you?—​Yes.

And after that he became dissatisfied?—​Yes.

Do you know the Norfolk Dining Rooms in Exchange-street?—​No.

Have you ever been to some dining rooms, near the Market-place, with the prisoner?—​Yes.

Alone, I mean?—​Never alone.

Never alone, you say. Call in John Wilson. (Witness called in.) Now look at that man. Did you ever see him in those dining rooms?—​Not to my knowledge.

Do you remember being introduced to that man by Peace?—​I never remember seeing him before.

Look at him again.—​I have looked at him. I will swear I have not been to some dining rooms with Peace on several occasions. I have been to some near the market once. Then we were not alone. There were two children with us. They were my own little boy, and a child of Mrs. Padmore’s. I had refreshment there. That was at the time of the Sheffield fair—​the same fair at which I was photographed—​the same day that I had been photographed with Peace. And these children went to the dining-room.

What had become of your husband?—​He was away from home.

Was he not at the fair?—​Yes. I saw him there and met him in the evening after the photograph was taken. My husband did not come into the fair until evening.

Do you know a music-hall in Spring-street, Sheffield?

Witness: What is the name of it.

Mr. Lockwood: The “Star.”

Witness: Is it a picture-gallery?

Mr. Lockwood: I don’t know.

A man named Goodlad was called into court, and Mr. Lockwood asked the witness: Have you ever been to the “Star” music-hall with Peace?—​I don’t know it by that name.

Have you been to any music-hall with Peace?—​I have been to a place where there is a picture-gallery, and where it looked as if singing went on. There was a small stage and tables and chairs.

Do you remember being introduced to that man by Peace at a music-hall?—​I never remember seeing his face before, except at the Town Hall.

Have you not been three or four times to the music-hall in Spring-street?—​No; I have only been once. I know a public-house at Darnall, called the “Halfway House.” To my knowledge, I have never had drink there which was put down to Peace.

That won’t do. Are you prepared to swear that you have not had drink there on Peace’s credit?—​Never to my knowledge.

Though the witness was pressed severely on the point, this was the only answer that could be obtained.

I have shown you some letters—​have you written a letter to the prisoner?—​No.

Do you know a little girl named Elizabeth Hutton? Call Elizabeth Hutton.

On the child coming forward, the learned counsel asked: Can you swear you never sent that child with a note to Peace?—​Not with a note.

What did you send her with?—​I sent her with receipts for some pictures which the prisoner had framed. He was in the habit of asking my husband to write out his receipts and letters.

Now look at the child again. Will you swear that child has not brought back notes from Peace to you?—​She brought me one, and I returned it. I can’t say when this was, but it was after Peace removed to the opposite side of the street at Darnall. I never gave the child anything for taking notes to Peace. I don’t know a man named Kirkham. (Kirkham was here called.) I never gave him any notes for Peace, but I gave him a couple of receipts. Those receipts were for picture-framing. Kirkham has not brought notes from Peace.

Can you swear that?—​Not to my knowledge, he has not.

Can you swear one way or the other?—​I can swear he has not—​not to my knowledge.

Did you ever send that litttle girl for drink to the “Halfway House?”—​Not to my knowledge.

By that I understand that you won’t swear either one way or the other?—​I have sent her for beer, but not to the “Halfway House” in particular.

Now I want to bring you to the night before the murder. Were you, on the 28th of November, 1876, at the “Stag Hotel,” Sharrow?—​Yes. I was there with Mrs. Padmore’s little boy. He is about five or six years of age.

Was anybody else with you?—​No.

Mrs. Redfern, the landlady of “The Stag,” was called into the court, and Mr. Lockwood asked: Was there not a man with you?—​No; I was by myself.

Now (looking at Mrs. Redfern), will you swear that?—​A man followed me in and sat down beside me.

Was that man the prisoner?—​No.

Will you swear that?—​I would almost swear that the prisoner was not the man.

That will not do. On your oath, did not this man go into the “Stag” on that night with you?—​No, he did not.

Did he not follow you in?—​I don’t know that he did, unless he made himself different from what he is now.

On your oath was it not this man?—​To the best of my belief it was not. He seemed a man about thirty-five years of age.

What did you mean by saying just now that you would almost swear he was not the man?—​Because he was so much in the habit of disguising himself.

So it might have been him? Did you speak to the man?—​I don’t remember.

Did he speak to you?—​He asked me where I had been, or where I was going, or something of that kind.

Did you answer him? Yes, I passed some remark.

Did the man go out when you went out?—​Yes, he followed me out.

Do you mean, on your oath, to say that you did not see the prisoner, and that he did not tell you he would come to see you the next night?—​No, he did not.

Did he say anything to you?—​Nothing particular, because I did not take any notice of him.

Not after you left the public-house?—​I did not speak to him after leaving the public-house.

Did you think at the time that it might have been the prisoner?—​I had not the slightest thought. I had not been in the fair that night. I passed by. I might have said to Mrs. Redfern that I had been. I had not been in any public-house before going into the “Stag.” I had previously been to the house of some friends of mine named Muddiman.

Did you tell Peace that you were going there?—​Witness: What had he to do with it?

Answer the question.—​Mr. Muddiman does not live at Sharrow.

Will you swear you did not tell him that?—​I did not. I did not see the prisoner at all.

How long were you at Mr. Muddiman’s?—​Perhaps an hour or so.

And from there you went to the “Stag”—​Yes.

Witness continued: I have seen the landlady of the “Halfway House” at Darnall here.

Have you ever been turned out of that house on account of being drunk?—​No.

What! never?—​No. I have never been drunk in my life.

Will you swear this?—​Yes.

Bring in the landlady. Now, will you swear you have never been drunk in this woman’s house?—​Well I might have been slightly inebriated. (Laughter.)

Will you swear you have never been turned out of the house for being “slightly inebriated?”—​No, not to my knowledge.

Mr. Lockwood: Quite true. You might not have been aware of it. That is all I ask you.

Mrs. Dyson was then re-examined by Mr. Foster, who asked: You have been questioned as to whether your husband got hold of Peace. Are you quite sure that he never tried to get hold of Peace?

The question was objected to by Mr. Lockwood.

Continuing, Mr. Foster asked: Can you tell me how your husband fell?—​The witness: On his back rather slanting.

Was that in the passage or in the little court?—​It was in the little court.

What is the width of the court?—​It is about twice as wide as the passage.

Did you observe when he fell whether the side of his face went against the wall or not?—​He fell close to the wall, slanting, and then on his back.

You have been asked about going to a dining-room, near the market, with two children. I think you answered that you went for refreshments?—​Yes. The children were hungry, and I went to give them some refreshment.

My friend has asked you about a man bringing a note to you from Peace. Is that correct?—​Yes, but I sent it back again.

Have any others been sent to you by Peace at all?—​Not to my knowledge.

My friend got out the last answer from you about Mrs. Norton, that you might have left the house “slightly inebriated.” How did it occur?—​I cannot tell. I might be slightly inebriated, but I cannot tell.

The Judge: You said the prisoner came to the closet door?—​Yes.

How long was it after that the first shot was fired?—​About a minute or two? It may be a little more.

What time elapsed between the first shot and the second?—​About a second; it was almost immediately.

So far as you could see, did he stand in the same place when he fired both shots;—​No; he stood on the lower step when he fired the second shot, and in the yard when he fired the first.

How far was your husband away from the prisoner at the time?—​They were about four feet apart. There were only two steps between them. The prisoner was on the bottom step.

This concluded the examination of the witness, and the court adjourned for half an hour.

On the re-assembling of the court, Mr. Lockwood said if the case for the prosecution lasted till five o’clock he should ask his lordship to adjourn the defence till the following day.

His Lordship said that if it would be a convenience to Mr. Lockwood, he would certainly do so.

Mr. Lockwood added that if the case for the prosecution was over before five, he should not then ask his lordship to adjourn, but would proceed with the defence and finish the case that evening.

Mary Ann Gregory, wife of John Gregory, grocer, Bannercross, said she lived next door to the house occupied by the Dysons, and on the night of the murder the prisoner who had previously visited the shop, came again and asked to see her husband, who was away. The prisoner left the house, going down the road. An hour afterwards she saw Mrs. Dyson walking towards the closet, and two minutes afterwards heard her scream loudly. She told Mr. Dyson to go to his wife immediately, and he went directly along the passage. She then heard a banging noise, or rather two noises, and heard footsteps coming up the passage. The next thing she saw was Mr. Dyson bleeding from the head as he was propped up in a chair in his own house.

In answer to Mr. Lockwood, the witness said she heard Mrs. Dyson scream within a couple of minutes of her going into the closet. When Mr. Dyson left to go down in the direction of the closet he walked quickly.

Sarah Colgraves, wife of Thomas Colgraves, of Dobbin-hill, said she remembered going to the shop kept by Gregory on the night of the 29th of November, about half-past seven o’clock. She met the prisoner about thirty yards from the shop, and he asked her if she knew who lived in the second house down the road. She said she did not. He asked if she knew whether they were strangers, and she replied in the affirmative. The prisoner then said, “Do you mind going to the house to say that an elderly gentleman wants to speak to her?” Before that he had said, “You don’t know them?” and she replied, “No.” He then said, “I will tell you. She is my b—— ——.” She told the prisoner he had better mind what he said, particularly to strangers, and told him to take the message himself. About ten minutes afterwards she saw the prisoner come out of the passage by the side of the house.

This witness was not cross-examined.

Charles Brassington, living in the Lane End, Ecclesall, said he was on the road near Bannercross, on the 29th of November, standing opposite the Bannercross Hotel, about twenty yards from Mr. Gregory’s shop. It was about eight o’clock. The night was moonlight, and he noticed the prisoner walking to and fro on the causeway. Standing beneath a lamp at the time, he could see the prisoner quite distinctly. Peace approached him and said, “Have you any strange people come to live about here?” He replied, “I don’t know.” Peace then showed him some photos and letters, and desired him to read the latter. He said he could not. The prisoner then told him that he would make it warm for those strangers, for he would shoot them, and after saying this Peace walked down the road towards Gregory’s. He next saw the prisoner in Newgate, walking round the yard along with several others, and he was certain he was the man who uttered the threat at Bannercross.

In cross-examination the witness was severely questioned as to the date when he saw the prisoner and had the conversation with him. He admitted that he could not himself tell the date, but had been told by other witnesses.

Charles Wyville, living at Ecclesall, said on the night of the murder he was in the Bannercross Hotel, when his attention was attracted by hearing two reports of a gun or pistol. On his going to the door to see what was the matter he heard Mrs. Dyson screaming “murder.” He went in the direction of the screams and saw Mr. Dyson lying on the ground, with Mrs. Dyson holding his head.

Thomas Wilson, scythe-maker, of Brincliffe-hill, said he was outside the Banner-cross Hotel about twenty minutes past eight on the night of the 29th of November, when he heard two reports from a revolver. The sound came from Gregory’s house, and on looking that way he saw a man run across the road from the end of Bannercross-terrace and get over the wall on the opposite side. It was a moonlight night, but as the man was crossing the road the moon was under a cloud and he did not see the man distinctly. But he heard Mrs. Dyson scream, and on going into the passage from which he had seen the man emerge, he found Mr. Dyson lying on the ground and Mrs. Dyson was holding up his head.

Mr. J. W. Harrison, of Sheffield, surgeon, said on the 29th of November, he was called by Thos. Wilson to see Mr. Dyson, who had been placed on a chair in his own house. He was unconscious, bleeding from the temple, and there was a quantity of blood on the floor. He laid the injured man on the floor and attended to him, but he did not recover consciousness, and died about half-past ten o’clock the same night. Subsequently he made apost-mortemexamination. On the left temple there was a valvular wound in the skin, flesh, and muscles. On removing the scalp he found in the substance of the brain, running upwards and backwards, a groove, and on the right side of the brain he discovered the bullet produced. It had entered the temple and passed in an oblique line to the right side of the head. The cause of death was the entrance of the bullet to the brain.

By Mr. Lockwood: He found some light abrasions on the nose and chin. He did not think they were caused by a fist, because in the case of abrasions the skin was grazed. A fist he did not think would produce the effect, not even if there was a ring on the finger. The abrasions seemed to have been caused by sand. At the coroner’s inquest he might have said he noticed a bruise on the nose and chin as if Mr. Dyson had fallen on his face. That really was correct, and he would adhere to that statement.

Police-constable Ward stated that on the 30th of November he searched in a field opposite Mr. Dyson’s house at Bannercross. The field was divided from the house by a road, a garden, and a wall. About fifteen yards from the wall dividing Mr. Dyson’s garden from the field he found a bundle of papers, and amongst them Mr. Dyson’s card.

At this stage a discussion took place between the counsel on either side and the learned judge in regard to putting in the letters found by this witness.

Mr. Campbell Foster objected to their being put in, on the ground that they were irrelevant; but Mr. Lockwood contended that his learned friend had gone too far, and that, inasmuch as he had opened the letters to the jury, he was bound to put them in now. His lordship entertained a contrary opinion, and consequently none of the documents were brought before the court.

Inspector Bradbury produced the bullet found by the surgeon in Mr. Dyson’s brain.

At the request of Mr. Lockwood, witness produced the photograph of Mrs. Dyson and Peace taken in the fair ground.

He said it was handed over to him by Mr. Jackson, the chief constable at Sheffield.

Mrs. Dyson was here recalled, and in answer to Mr. Lockwood she said the photograph was that to which she referred in her evidence.

This was the whole of the evidence regarding the murder, and Mr. Foster proposed to call evidence of threats used by the prisoner against the Dysons in July, 1876.

Mr. Lockwood objected to this course, but his lordship ruled that the evidence was admissible.

Rose Annie Sykes, wife of James Sykes, Darnall, proved that on the 1st July, 1876, she saw Mr. Dyson coming down the street. The prisoner was following him, and endeavouring to trip him up. On the night of the same day she saw the prisoner take a revolver out of his pocket, point it at Mrs. Dyson’s head, and say he would blow her brains out, and those of her husband, too.

Cross-examined by Mr. Lockwood: Witness said she heard nothing about a poker or a threat from Mrs. Dyson that she would use one. She did not hear about this time of any disturbance with the police, or of Mrs. Dyson being inebriated. She was quite certain about the date, because her little boy was born on the Tuesday following.

James Sykes, Darnall, said on a day in July, 1876, he was with his wife and Mrs. Dyson at Darnall. Peace came up at the time, and Mrs. Dyson said “That’s the man that’s always annoying my husband.” Peace replied, “I will annoy your husband and you and all.” At the same time he pulled a revolver out of his pocket, and presenting it at Mrs. Dyson, said, “I’ll blow your brains out and your husband’s too.” Peace then went up a passage, as if he was going into Mr. Dyson’s back door. He returned in a minute, and said, “Now, Jem, you be a witness that she struck me with a life-preserver.” Witness replied, “No, I will be a witness that you threatened to take her life.” He did not notice that Mrs. Dyson had a life-preserver, or that she struck at the prisoner.

During the examination of this witness Peace seemed somewhat excited, and kept muttering to himself.

Jane Wadmore said, in 1876 she was living in Britannia-road, Darnall. She knew both Mrs. Dyson and Mr. and Mrs. Sykes.

On the 1st of July in that year she was talking with them, when the prisoner came up. Mrs. Dyson said to him, “Why do you annoy my husband in the way you do?” Peace replied, “I will annoy you. I will blow your brains out and your husband’s too before I have done with you.” Peace then went in the direction of Mrs. Dyson’s back door, and subsequently went into his own house.

In answer to Mr. Lockwood, witness said she remembered going to Mansfield with Mrs. Dyson. Peace did not accompany them, but he followed them. On their arriving at Mansfield, she and Mrs. Dyson went to a house for some refreshments. Peace followed them right into the room, and called for a bottle of something to drink. She did not leave Mrs. Dyson alone with Peace on the occasion. Mrs. Dyson returned home with her. Peace did not ride in the same compartment, nor did he treat them to anything to drink. She did not accompany Mrs. Dyson to a fair, but she remembered that there was a fair in Whitweek of 1876.

Police-constable Robinson, of the Metropolitan Police Force, related the well-known circumstances under which he captured the prisoner when committing a burglary at Blackheath on the 10th of October, 1878, and described how he was fired at by Peace three times, and was wounded by the third shot.

Charles Brown, sergeant in the Metropolitan Police, who went to the assistance of the last witness, produced the revolver taken from the prisoner on the occasion.

James Woodward, a gunmaker, of Manchester, examined the revolver produced, and said it contained seven barrels. He believed it was of Belgian manufacture. The bullet produced found in Mr. Dyson’s head would fit the barrels.

In reply to Mr. Lockwood, witness said the revolver was of a common description.

This was the evidence for the prosecution.

Mr. Campbell Foster then summed up the evidence. He said, if it was true that Mrs. Dyson was on terms of intimacy with the prisoner, was that any justification for his shooting her husband? He characterised strongly the attempts made to discredit the evidence of Mrs. Dyson, and to prejudice the jury against her; and he showed what a conclusive case this was against the prisoner, even excluding the testimony of the murdered man’s widow. But taking Mrs. Dyson’s evidence, as reasonable men must take it, the case against the prisoner was irresistible.

Mr. Lockwood then rose (at five o’clock) to address the jury on behalf of the prisoner. In the course of a powerful appeal he declared that there had been a wild and merciless cry for blood, which was a disgrace to the country, and he spoke fiercely against the action of the press in this matter.

This remark elicited a low “Hear, hear,” from the prisoner, who listened with the utmost eagerness to the words advanced on his behalf.

The learned counsel maintained that he had placed Mrs. Dyson’s evidence in a light which necessitated a most suspicious examination on the part of the jury. It had been all-important to show at the time when Mr. Dyson became dissatisfied with his wife, she was still keeping up communication with the prisoner; and he claimed to have done this. Pointing especially to her prevarication as to the date of the fair at which she was photographed, the learned counsel claimed to have irretrievably shaken the testimony of Mrs. Dyson by means of the persons with whom he had confronted her. He dwelt emphatically upon her answers as to what transpired at the “Stag” Inn on the night before the murder, and her credibility, he insisted, was an essential element, because other than that woman and the prisoner no one could say what took place at Bannercross. The theory he adduced was that Peace fired a first shot to frighten Dyson; that a struggle ensued, and that during the struggle the pistol went off and killed the man. That was not murder, he pointed out. Mr. Lockwood maintained that there was strong corroborative evidence of a struggle. Turning to the letters, he commented strongly on the refusal of the prosecution to put them in evidence. They dared not place in the hands of the jury documents which might throw light upon the case, and might benefit the prisoner. Was not that an additional reason for looking with suspicion upon the woman who was accused of writing them? The whole case depended on Mrs. Dyson’s testimony, and it was not upon such evidence that human life should be taken. A detailed examination of the statements of the other witnesses followed, Mr. Lockwood maintaining that all these were consonant with his defence, or were fatal to Mrs. Dyson’s statement. He did not deny that his client had been a wild and reckless man, and it would be quite possible for one with such a temperament to use threats which he did not intend to carry out. He appealed to the jury to spare the man’s life. However bad he might have been, he was all the less fitted to die. But he had stronger grounds, and he asked whether on the uncorroborated testimony of that woman they were going to condemn this man to die? He concluded with a powerful appeal to the jury.

In summing up, the learned judge briefly defined murder as distinguished from manslaughter. The theory of the defence was that there had been a struggle between the two men; that the first shot had been fired merely to frighten, and that the second was the result of accident in the struggle. If that was the opinion of the jury, then they could not find the prisoner guilty of murder, but it was important to tell them that this was only a theory, and was not supported by a particle of evidence. The jury would be shown a revolver taken from the prisoner, which it was suggested was like the one, if not the same, which had been in his possession on the evening of the sad occurrence, and it would be for the jury to say for themselves whether they thought such a weapon could have gone off accidentally. To press home their theory the prisoner’s counsel discredited the testimony of Mrs. Dyson, and it would be for the jury to carefully weigh her evidence. At the same time he would remind them that the case did not rest alone on her evidence.

His lordship having remarked that no one could regret more than he did that the case had been talked about and written of so much, then proceeded to read over the evidence.

THE VERDICT AND THE SENTENCE.

The jury retired to consider their verdict at a quarter past seven, and returned into court ten minutes subsequently.

Having answered to their names,

The Clerk of Arraigns asked: Are you agreed upon your verdict? Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?

The Foreman: Guilty.

The Clerk of Arraigns (addressing the prisoner): You have been indicted and convicted of wilful murder. Have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon you according to law?

The prisoner (very faintly): It’s no use my saying anything.

One of the ushers having called for silence,

His Lordship said: Charles Peace, after a most careful trial, and after every argument has been urged by your learned counsel on your behalf which ingenuity can suggest, you have been found guilty of the murder of Arthur Dyson by a jury of your country. It is not my duty, still less is it my desire, to aggravate your feelings at this moment, by a recapitulation of any portion of the details of what, I fear, I can only recall your criminal career. Imploring you, during the short time that may remain to you to live, to prepare for eternity, I pass upon you that sentence, and the only sentence, which the law permits in cases of this kind. (Here his lordship assumed the black cap.) The sentence is that you be taken from this place to the place from whence you came, and thence to a place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck until you are dead; and that your body be buried within the precincts of the prison in which you shall have been last confined after your conviction. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul!

The prisoner was then removed from the dock, but before leaving he expressed his thanks to Mr. W. E. Clegg for the efforts he had made in his behalf, and his appreciation of all that had been done for him.

Immediately after he was handcuffed, and leg chains were put upon him. The prisoners’ van was then backed to the inner gate of the Town Hall.

Peace walked along the corridors to the gate, muttering as he went. He was lifted into the van, and he was driven to Armley gaol shortly before eight.

Mr. Keene, the governor of the gaol, accompanied the van. There was one warder outside, and four warders were inside with Peace.

The only meals which he had on Tuesday, at the Town Hall, were breakfast and dinner, both of which he ate heartily.

Mrs. Dyson, attended by Inspector Bradbury, and several of the witnesses for the prosecution, left Leeds for Sheffield the same night by the 10.5 train.

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