LAMENTATION & EXECUTION OFJAMES LONGHURST,

“Gaol of Newgate, 14th day of November, 1864.“To the Right Hon. Sir George Grey, Bart.“Sir,—By direction of the sheriffs I have the honour to acquaint you that the prisoner Muller has at the last moment, just before the drop fell, confessed to the German minister of religion attending him that he was guilty of the deed for which he suffered.“I have the honour, &c.,“Septimus Davidson, one of the under-sheriffs.”

“Gaol of Newgate, 14th day of November, 1864.

“To the Right Hon. Sir George Grey, Bart.

“Sir,—By direction of the sheriffs I have the honour to acquaint you that the prisoner Muller has at the last moment, just before the drop fell, confessed to the German minister of religion attending him that he was guilty of the deed for which he suffered.

“I have the honour, &c.,

“Septimus Davidson, one of the under-sheriffs.”

London: Printed for the Vendors.

At Horsemonger Lane Gaol, on Tuesday, April 16th, for the wilful murder of Jane Sax, a little Girl seven years old, at Shere, in Surrey,

Terrible Scene in the Prison with the Culprit.

James Longhurst was executed this morning, April 16, on the top of Horsemonger-lane gaol. Since his condemnation he has expressed contrition for his crime, and hoped that God would forgive him. Notwithstanding, the prisoner appearing to be in a state of mind becoming his awful position, when he was taken down from the condemned cell to the yard to be pinioned, a frightful scene ensued. The moment the culprit saw Calcraft, the executioner, approach him with the straps to pinion his arms, he started back with an aspect of terror depicted on his countenance, and began to struggle violently with the turnkeys. The chaplain spoke to him and endeavoured to calm him, and this for a moment appeared to have the effect, but upon the executioner requesting that the culprit might be taken outside, as he could not see to fasten the straps properly, another fearful struggle ensued, and it required five warders to hold him on the ground while he was being pinioned, and one or two of the turnkeys were very much hurt by the kicks they received. The prisoner’s conduct seemed to be actuated by an uncontrollable horror of the executioner and the apparatus of death. After he had been secured he walked quietly by the side of the chaplain until he arrived at the steps leading to the scaffold, and immediately he caught sight of the gibbet his horror appeared to return. He again struggled violently as well as he was able, and was forcibly dragged up to the steps and held under the beam by several turnkeys while the rope was adjusted round his neck, and as speedily as possible the bolt was drawn, and after a few struggles the wretched youth ceased to exist.

Good people all I pray draw near,And my sad history you soon shall hear,And when the same I do relate,I trust you will a warning take.At Horsemonger lane on the scaffold high,For a cruel murder I was doomed to die.James Longhurst, it is my name,I’ve brought myself to grief & shameThrough the dreadful deed that I had done,At Churchill field, near Guildford townIt was in last June, the twenty-eighthI did this deed as I now state;An innocent child I there did slay,And with a knife took her life away.Poor Jane Sax, on that fatal day,—A child scarce seven years of age;In Churchill field I her did meet,And shamefully did her illtreat.Then coward-like I drew my knife,To rob this helpless child of life:I stabbed her in the throat—her blood did pour,—Then left her welt’ring in her gore.Then I was taken for this cruel deed,And sent for trial, as you may read;At Kingston assizes, tried and cast,Oh, would I could recall the past.She cried for help, did poor little Jane,David Ensor to her assistance came;Whilst I, a guilty wretch did stand,And licked her blood from off my handThe Judge said, James Longhurst, you are guilty found,You will go from here to London townAnd there you’ll die a death of shame,And meet your fate at Horsemonger lane.While I lay in my prison cell,My state of mind no tongue can tell;I could not rest by day or night,Poor Jane was always in my sight.My tender parents came to visit me,My heart was breaking their grief to see,Tears from their eyes did in torrents fall,While for mercy to my God did call.I hope that none will them upbraid,While I am in my silent grave;Farewell to all—the bell does toll,Have mercy, God, on my sinful soul.

Good people all I pray draw near,And my sad history you soon shall hear,And when the same I do relate,I trust you will a warning take.

Good people all I pray draw near,

And my sad history you soon shall hear,

And when the same I do relate,

I trust you will a warning take.

At Horsemonger lane on the scaffold high,For a cruel murder I was doomed to die.

At Horsemonger lane on the scaffold high,

For a cruel murder I was doomed to die.

James Longhurst, it is my name,I’ve brought myself to grief & shameThrough the dreadful deed that I had done,At Churchill field, near Guildford town

James Longhurst, it is my name,

I’ve brought myself to grief & shame

Through the dreadful deed that I had done,

At Churchill field, near Guildford town

It was in last June, the twenty-eighthI did this deed as I now state;An innocent child I there did slay,And with a knife took her life away.

It was in last June, the twenty-eighth

I did this deed as I now state;

An innocent child I there did slay,

And with a knife took her life away.

Poor Jane Sax, on that fatal day,—A child scarce seven years of age;In Churchill field I her did meet,And shamefully did her illtreat.

Poor Jane Sax, on that fatal day,—

A child scarce seven years of age;

In Churchill field I her did meet,

And shamefully did her illtreat.

Then coward-like I drew my knife,To rob this helpless child of life:I stabbed her in the throat—her blood did pour,—Then left her welt’ring in her gore.

Then coward-like I drew my knife,

To rob this helpless child of life:

I stabbed her in the throat—her blood did pour,—

Then left her welt’ring in her gore.

Then I was taken for this cruel deed,And sent for trial, as you may read;At Kingston assizes, tried and cast,Oh, would I could recall the past.

Then I was taken for this cruel deed,

And sent for trial, as you may read;

At Kingston assizes, tried and cast,

Oh, would I could recall the past.

She cried for help, did poor little Jane,David Ensor to her assistance came;Whilst I, a guilty wretch did stand,And licked her blood from off my hand

She cried for help, did poor little Jane,

David Ensor to her assistance came;

Whilst I, a guilty wretch did stand,

And licked her blood from off my hand

The Judge said, James Longhurst, you are guilty found,You will go from here to London townAnd there you’ll die a death of shame,And meet your fate at Horsemonger lane.

The Judge said, James Longhurst, you are guilty found,

You will go from here to London town

And there you’ll die a death of shame,

And meet your fate at Horsemonger lane.

While I lay in my prison cell,My state of mind no tongue can tell;I could not rest by day or night,Poor Jane was always in my sight.

While I lay in my prison cell,

My state of mind no tongue can tell;

I could not rest by day or night,

Poor Jane was always in my sight.

My tender parents came to visit me,My heart was breaking their grief to see,Tears from their eyes did in torrents fall,While for mercy to my God did call.

My tender parents came to visit me,

My heart was breaking their grief to see,

Tears from their eyes did in torrents fall,

While for mercy to my God did call.

I hope that none will them upbraid,While I am in my silent grave;Farewell to all—the bell does toll,Have mercy, God, on my sinful soul.

I hope that none will them upbraid,

While I am in my silent grave;

Farewell to all—the bell does toll,

Have mercy, God, on my sinful soul.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

The prisoner, Weatherhill, was Executed at Manchester, on Saturday, April the 4th, for the Murder of Jane Smith, at Todmorden, a fellow-servant of Sarah Bell.

Oh give attention, you pretty maidens,A tale of love I will here unfold,And you will say, when the same is mentioned,’Tis as sad a story as ever yet was told;Miles Weatherhill was a brisk young weaver,And at Todmorden did happy dwell,He fell in love with a pretty maiden,The parson’s servant named Sarah Bell.It was at Todmorden where these true lovers,At the parson’s house, tales of love did tell,And none on earth could be more constant,Than Miles the weaver and young Sarah Bell.Deep in each heart was true love engrafted,They had sworn for ever to happy be,No power on earth could those lovers sever,They met in joy and felicity;But they was parted, and broken hearted,Separated was those true lovers far,Those constant lovers adorned each other,And love will penetrate through iron bars.Miles Weatherhill was but three and twenty,His mind was noble, he good did mean,And Sarah Bell was fair and virtuous,Young blooming, aged seventeen;They would have married, but tales were carried,Which caused displeasure, as you shall hear,Miles was refused to meet his lover,And she left Todmorden, in Lancashire,She left her true-love quite broken hearted,And to her mother at York did go,And when such a distance from each other parted,Caused them sorrow, grief, pain, and woe;In a fit of sadness, overcome with madness,He made a deep and solemn vow,If separated from his own true lover,He would be revenged on Parson Plow.With four loaded pistols, in a fit of frenzy,Miles to the Vicarage did haste forthwith,And with a weapon wounded the master,And shot the maiden, named Jane Smith;To the lady’s bedchamber, in rage and anger,Bent on destruction, with intent to kill,He did illtreat her, with a poker beat her,And her crimson blood on the floor did spill.Oh, God, in mercy guide evil passions,Thou seest all things from heaven above,Three innocent lives has been sacrificed,And one serious injured, all through true love,If they’d not been parted, made broken-hearted,Those in the grave would be living now,And Miles would not have died on the gallows,For slaying the maiden and Parson Plow.Young men and maidens, you constant lovers,If true and honourable you make a vow,Be just and upright and oh, remember,Todmorden Vicarage, and Parson Plow;And all good people, oh, pray consider,Where true love is planted, there let it dwell,And recollect the Todmorden murder,Young Miles the weaver, and Sarah Bell.Miles and the true-love by death is parted,In health and bloom, he the world did leave,And his true love, quite broken-hearted,For Miles the weaver, in pain do grieve;At the early age of three and twenty,In the shades below, with the worms do dwell,On the fatal drop, he cried, broken-hearted,May we meet in heaven, my sweet Sarah Bell.

Oh give attention, you pretty maidens,

A tale of love I will here unfold,

And you will say, when the same is mentioned,

’Tis as sad a story as ever yet was told;

Miles Weatherhill was a brisk young weaver,

And at Todmorden did happy dwell,

He fell in love with a pretty maiden,

The parson’s servant named Sarah Bell.

It was at Todmorden where these true lovers,At the parson’s house, tales of love did tell,And none on earth could be more constant,Than Miles the weaver and young Sarah Bell.

It was at Todmorden where these true lovers,

At the parson’s house, tales of love did tell,

And none on earth could be more constant,

Than Miles the weaver and young Sarah Bell.

Deep in each heart was true love engrafted,They had sworn for ever to happy be,No power on earth could those lovers sever,They met in joy and felicity;But they was parted, and broken hearted,Separated was those true lovers far,Those constant lovers adorned each other,And love will penetrate through iron bars.

Deep in each heart was true love engrafted,

They had sworn for ever to happy be,

No power on earth could those lovers sever,

They met in joy and felicity;

But they was parted, and broken hearted,

Separated was those true lovers far,

Those constant lovers adorned each other,

And love will penetrate through iron bars.

Miles Weatherhill was but three and twenty,His mind was noble, he good did mean,And Sarah Bell was fair and virtuous,Young blooming, aged seventeen;They would have married, but tales were carried,Which caused displeasure, as you shall hear,Miles was refused to meet his lover,And she left Todmorden, in Lancashire,

Miles Weatherhill was but three and twenty,

His mind was noble, he good did mean,

And Sarah Bell was fair and virtuous,

Young blooming, aged seventeen;

They would have married, but tales were carried,

Which caused displeasure, as you shall hear,

Miles was refused to meet his lover,

And she left Todmorden, in Lancashire,

She left her true-love quite broken hearted,And to her mother at York did go,And when such a distance from each other parted,Caused them sorrow, grief, pain, and woe;In a fit of sadness, overcome with madness,He made a deep and solemn vow,If separated from his own true lover,He would be revenged on Parson Plow.

She left her true-love quite broken hearted,

And to her mother at York did go,

And when such a distance from each other parted,

Caused them sorrow, grief, pain, and woe;

In a fit of sadness, overcome with madness,

He made a deep and solemn vow,

If separated from his own true lover,

He would be revenged on Parson Plow.

With four loaded pistols, in a fit of frenzy,Miles to the Vicarage did haste forthwith,And with a weapon wounded the master,And shot the maiden, named Jane Smith;To the lady’s bedchamber, in rage and anger,Bent on destruction, with intent to kill,He did illtreat her, with a poker beat her,And her crimson blood on the floor did spill.

With four loaded pistols, in a fit of frenzy,

Miles to the Vicarage did haste forthwith,

And with a weapon wounded the master,

And shot the maiden, named Jane Smith;

To the lady’s bedchamber, in rage and anger,

Bent on destruction, with intent to kill,

He did illtreat her, with a poker beat her,

And her crimson blood on the floor did spill.

Oh, God, in mercy guide evil passions,Thou seest all things from heaven above,Three innocent lives has been sacrificed,And one serious injured, all through true love,If they’d not been parted, made broken-hearted,Those in the grave would be living now,And Miles would not have died on the gallows,For slaying the maiden and Parson Plow.

Oh, God, in mercy guide evil passions,

Thou seest all things from heaven above,

Three innocent lives has been sacrificed,

And one serious injured, all through true love,

If they’d not been parted, made broken-hearted,

Those in the grave would be living now,

And Miles would not have died on the gallows,

For slaying the maiden and Parson Plow.

Young men and maidens, you constant lovers,If true and honourable you make a vow,Be just and upright and oh, remember,Todmorden Vicarage, and Parson Plow;And all good people, oh, pray consider,Where true love is planted, there let it dwell,And recollect the Todmorden murder,Young Miles the weaver, and Sarah Bell.

Young men and maidens, you constant lovers,

If true and honourable you make a vow,

Be just and upright and oh, remember,

Todmorden Vicarage, and Parson Plow;

And all good people, oh, pray consider,

Where true love is planted, there let it dwell,

And recollect the Todmorden murder,

Young Miles the weaver, and Sarah Bell.

Miles and the true-love by death is parted,In health and bloom, he the world did leave,And his true love, quite broken-hearted,For Miles the weaver, in pain do grieve;At the early age of three and twenty,In the shades below, with the worms do dwell,On the fatal drop, he cried, broken-hearted,May we meet in heaven, my sweet Sarah Bell.

Miles and the true-love by death is parted,

In health and bloom, he the world did leave,

And his true love, quite broken-hearted,

For Miles the weaver, in pain do grieve;

At the early age of three and twenty,

In the shades below, with the worms do dwell,

On the fatal drop, he cried, broken-hearted,

May we meet in heaven, my sweet Sarah Bell.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles, London.—W.C.

On Friday, July 21st, Miss Constance E. Kent was placed at the Bar of the Salisbury Assize Court, charged with the murder of her brother, Francis Saville Kent.

The Clerk of the Assize, addressing the prisoner, said: How say you, are you guilty or not guilty? The prisoner in a voice scarcly audible, said—Guilty.

A profound silence then ensued in court, which was broken by Mr Coleridge, the prisoner’s counsel, standing up and saying, I desire to say three things before your Lordship pronounces sentence. First, solemnly before Almighty God, she wishes me to say that the guilt is her own alone, and that her father and others, who have so long suffered most unjust and cruel suspicions, are wholly and absolutely innocent; and secondly, that she was not driven to this act by unkind treatment at home, as she met with nothing there but tender and forbearing love, and I may add that it gives me a melancholy pleasure to be the organ of these statements for her, because, on my honour, I believe them to be true.

The Judge, with much emotion, then said—Constance Kent, it is my duty to receive the plea which you have deliberately put forward. I can entertain no doubt that the murder was committed under great deliberation and cruelty. You appear to have allowed your feelings and anger to have worked in your breast, until at last they assumed over you the influence and power of the Evil One. It remains for me to pass the sentence which the law adjudges. The learned Judge then passed upon her the usual Sentence of Death. During the passing of the sentence, prisoner burst into a violent flood of tears, sobbing aloud.

Oh, give attention, you maidens dear,My dying moments are drawing near,When I am sentenc’d alas to die,Upon a gallows gloomy and high.Oh what s sight it will be to see,A maiden die on the fatal tree.I am a maiden in youth and bloom,I a wretched murderer to die am doom’d,And in the city of Salisbury,My days must end on a dismal tree.My little brother, a darling sweet,That fatal morning did soundly sleep,I was perplexed. I invented strife,Fully determined to take his life.To the dirty closet I did him take,The deed I done caus’d my heart to ache,Into the soil I did him thrust down,Where asleep in death he was quickly found.My own dear father they did suspect,That he would suffer they did expect,I was apprehended, but I got clear,Tho’ I was the murderess of my brother dear.Long, long I pined in deep distress,At length the murder I did confess,The vile Road murder, as you may see,Committed was no one but me.Farewell my father, my father dear,I know for me you will shed a tear,Yes, your wicked daughter in shame must die,For that cruel murder on a gallows high.How many maidens will flock to see,A female die upon Salisbury’s tree.Constance Emily Kent is my dreadful name,Who in youth and beauty dies a death of shame.I must go to my silent grave,Father, is there no one your child to save,Oh the awful moments are drawing near,Father, forgive your daughter dear.Oh, God in heaven, look down on me,As I stand on the dreadful tree,Forgive the crime, I, alas, have done,Wash me with the blood of thy blessed son.I must not live, I am bound to go,I must be hurried to the shadows below,My guilty heart long did quake with fear,Why did I kill my little brother dear.I see the hangman before me stand,Ready to seize me by the law’s command,When my life is ended on the fatal tree,Then will be clear’d up all mystery.

Oh, give attention, you maidens dear,

My dying moments are drawing near,

When I am sentenc’d alas to die,

Upon a gallows gloomy and high.

Oh what s sight it will be to see,

A maiden die on the fatal tree.

I am a maiden in youth and bloom,I a wretched murderer to die am doom’d,And in the city of Salisbury,My days must end on a dismal tree.

I am a maiden in youth and bloom,

I a wretched murderer to die am doom’d,

And in the city of Salisbury,

My days must end on a dismal tree.

My little brother, a darling sweet,That fatal morning did soundly sleep,I was perplexed. I invented strife,Fully determined to take his life.

My little brother, a darling sweet,

That fatal morning did soundly sleep,

I was perplexed. I invented strife,

Fully determined to take his life.

To the dirty closet I did him take,The deed I done caus’d my heart to ache,Into the soil I did him thrust down,Where asleep in death he was quickly found.

To the dirty closet I did him take,

The deed I done caus’d my heart to ache,

Into the soil I did him thrust down,

Where asleep in death he was quickly found.

My own dear father they did suspect,That he would suffer they did expect,I was apprehended, but I got clear,Tho’ I was the murderess of my brother dear.

My own dear father they did suspect,

That he would suffer they did expect,

I was apprehended, but I got clear,

Tho’ I was the murderess of my brother dear.

Long, long I pined in deep distress,At length the murder I did confess,The vile Road murder, as you may see,Committed was no one but me.

Long, long I pined in deep distress,

At length the murder I did confess,

The vile Road murder, as you may see,

Committed was no one but me.

Farewell my father, my father dear,I know for me you will shed a tear,Yes, your wicked daughter in shame must die,For that cruel murder on a gallows high.

Farewell my father, my father dear,

I know for me you will shed a tear,

Yes, your wicked daughter in shame must die,

For that cruel murder on a gallows high.

How many maidens will flock to see,A female die upon Salisbury’s tree.Constance Emily Kent is my dreadful name,Who in youth and beauty dies a death of shame.

How many maidens will flock to see,

A female die upon Salisbury’s tree.

Constance Emily Kent is my dreadful name,

Who in youth and beauty dies a death of shame.

I must go to my silent grave,Father, is there no one your child to save,Oh the awful moments are drawing near,Father, forgive your daughter dear.

I must go to my silent grave,

Father, is there no one your child to save,

Oh the awful moments are drawing near,

Father, forgive your daughter dear.

Oh, God in heaven, look down on me,As I stand on the dreadful tree,Forgive the crime, I, alas, have done,Wash me with the blood of thy blessed son.

Oh, God in heaven, look down on me,

As I stand on the dreadful tree,

Forgive the crime, I, alas, have done,

Wash me with the blood of thy blessed son.

I must not live, I am bound to go,I must be hurried to the shadows below,My guilty heart long did quake with fear,Why did I kill my little brother dear.

I must not live, I am bound to go,

I must be hurried to the shadows below,

My guilty heart long did quake with fear,

Why did I kill my little brother dear.

I see the hangman before me stand,Ready to seize me by the law’s command,When my life is ended on the fatal tree,Then will be clear’d up all mystery.

I see the hangman before me stand,

Ready to seize me by the law’s command,

When my life is ended on the fatal tree,

Then will be clear’d up all mystery.

Disley, Printer, High street, St. Giles, London.

On Wednesday, August 9th, 1865, the neighbourhood of Red Lion Square, was thrown into a state of excitement owing to a report that three brothers had been murdered at the Star coffee-house, Red Lion street.

It appears that on the Saturday, a man called at the above hotel, and inquired if three children could be accommodated with a bed for a few nights. Having been informed that there was one room unoccupied, he said the children were aged respectively six, eight, and ten years, and that accommodation would be suitable. He called again on the Monday evening with the three children, and saw them to bed.

Half-past eight, when one of the chambermaids entered the first room in which the two younger children were in bed, and to her extreme horror found they were dead. She immediately raised an alarm, when the proprietor and others entered the room in which the eldest child had been placed, and there found that he also was in the sleep of death. Medical assistance and the police were instantly summoned, the surgeon firstly arriving, and upon his examination of the bodies, pronounced life to have been extinct for some hours, the limbs being rigid and cold.

From information gained by the police, it appears that the person who left the children at the coffee house went by the name of Southey.

On Thursday morning, August 10th, Ramsgate was thrown into a state of intense excitement by a report that a man named Stephen Forward had committed a double murder in a dyer’s house in King street. It appears that Forward, who was formerly a baker in the town, left Ramsgate some eight years ago, leaving his wife and a little girl behind him in a state of almost total destitution. On Wednesday evening Forward suddenly appeared in Ramsgate, and made his arrival known to his wife. On Thursday morning, about twenty minutes past eight, Forward went to Mr Ellis’s house. His wife was there, having some breakfast with Mr Ellis and his daughter. He was asked if he would take any breakfast, but he declined. He sat down and commenced talking. Shortly before nine Ellis went into his workshop, and while there his daughter told Forward and his wife if they had anything to say in private they might go up stairs. They both went up stairs, and had not been there many minutes before the daughter of Forward went up with them. She had hardly got there when Mr Ellis and his daughter were startled by two rapid reports of a pistol, and on the latter rushing up stairs she arrived at the landing just in time to see Forward’s daughter fall down dead, she having been shot by her father. Miss Ellis then called out to her father, who came in, and he saw Forward standing at the top of the stairs. He said, “What have you done, Forward?” and seeing that he had a pistol in his hand he called on him to give it him, which he did. Forward at this time had a black moustache and dark whiskers on. Ellis then saw the feet of Forward’s wife, and on looking over the table he saw her head, and that blood was oozing therefrom. He told Forward to sit down, and he then perceived that he had neither moustache nor whiskers on. He asked Forward where they were, and he replied that they were under the grate. He looked there, but could not find them, and Forward then gave them to him. He then called out to send for the police and a surgeon. Forward added, “Yes; send for a policeman.” He was then given into custody.

At twelve o’clock at noon Forward was brought before the magistrates, charged with the murder of his wife and child.

Previous to the calling of any witnesses, the prisoner, addressing the magistrates, said: I have here a paper to Sir Richard Mayne, which I hope you will permit me to read to you. I have a reason for it. If you will grant me a favour, I think you will see that my reason justifies me in asking it. Immediately I was brought to the station-house I asked for some paper, a pen, and some ink, that I might draw up this statement, but it is not finished. I also made a statement to the inspector in charge. I inquired whether he had heard of the murder of three children in London. My reason for asking this question was, that previous to my being charged with this crime I was guilty of the murder of the three children in London. I hope this may be taken as a communication to Sir Richard Mayne, and also that it is made quite voluntarily.

The evidence having been gone through, he was fully committed to take his trial at the next Assizes for wilful murder, when he was found guilty of the murders, and was EXECUTED THIS MORNING and died without a struggle.

Of all the crimes we ever heard, of all the crimes we read,Sure none on earth did ever know, a more sad dreadful deed;Five murders were committed—he with Satan did connive—It was in the month of August, eighteen hundred and sixty-five.The murderer’s name is Forward, he led a wicked life,Living with a married woman, whose husband’s name was White;She had four little children, three of which he vile did slay,In Red Lion street, in Holborn, then he did from London stray.The cruel murderer Forward, at Ramsgate had a wife,She had a youthful daughter; but the murderer lived with White,Who of his cruel usage, had cause oft to complain,Not long ago she left him, and sailed o’er the briny main.When he had killed the little boys, from London he went down,Where dwelt his wife and daughter, in peace, in Ramsgate town.He shot his wife and daughter dear, it cruel was, and sad,And wanted to make it appear the villian, he was mad.Five innocents he did destroy, how dreadful to unfold,Mrs. White’s three little boys, his wife and child, were told;The boys he killed in London, which caused great excitement round,And his wife and lovely daughter he killed in Ramsgate town.When Mrs White’s dear children he did in London slay,He with a dreadful weapon to Ramsgate went straightway;His own wedded wife and daughter, so maliciously he shot,And thousands flocked from far around to view the dreadful spot.For those five cruel murders, may the villian punished be,And die a malefactor upon the fatal tree;More cruel dreadful murders we very seldom hear,And wonderful excitement it has caused both far and near.

Of all the crimes we ever heard, of all the crimes we read,

Sure none on earth did ever know, a more sad dreadful deed;

Five murders were committed—he with Satan did connive—

It was in the month of August, eighteen hundred and sixty-five.

The murderer’s name is Forward, he led a wicked life,Living with a married woman, whose husband’s name was White;She had four little children, three of which he vile did slay,In Red Lion street, in Holborn, then he did from London stray.

The murderer’s name is Forward, he led a wicked life,

Living with a married woman, whose husband’s name was White;

She had four little children, three of which he vile did slay,

In Red Lion street, in Holborn, then he did from London stray.

The cruel murderer Forward, at Ramsgate had a wife,She had a youthful daughter; but the murderer lived with White,Who of his cruel usage, had cause oft to complain,Not long ago she left him, and sailed o’er the briny main.

The cruel murderer Forward, at Ramsgate had a wife,

She had a youthful daughter; but the murderer lived with White,

Who of his cruel usage, had cause oft to complain,

Not long ago she left him, and sailed o’er the briny main.

When he had killed the little boys, from London he went down,Where dwelt his wife and daughter, in peace, in Ramsgate town.He shot his wife and daughter dear, it cruel was, and sad,And wanted to make it appear the villian, he was mad.

When he had killed the little boys, from London he went down,

Where dwelt his wife and daughter, in peace, in Ramsgate town.

He shot his wife and daughter dear, it cruel was, and sad,

And wanted to make it appear the villian, he was mad.

Five innocents he did destroy, how dreadful to unfold,Mrs. White’s three little boys, his wife and child, were told;The boys he killed in London, which caused great excitement round,And his wife and lovely daughter he killed in Ramsgate town.

Five innocents he did destroy, how dreadful to unfold,

Mrs. White’s three little boys, his wife and child, were told;

The boys he killed in London, which caused great excitement round,

And his wife and lovely daughter he killed in Ramsgate town.

When Mrs White’s dear children he did in London slay,He with a dreadful weapon to Ramsgate went straightway;His own wedded wife and daughter, so maliciously he shot,And thousands flocked from far around to view the dreadful spot.

When Mrs White’s dear children he did in London slay,

He with a dreadful weapon to Ramsgate went straightway;

His own wedded wife and daughter, so maliciously he shot,

And thousands flocked from far around to view the dreadful spot.

For those five cruel murders, may the villian punished be,And die a malefactor upon the fatal tree;More cruel dreadful murders we very seldom hear,And wonderful excitement it has caused both far and near.

For those five cruel murders, may the villian punished be,

And die a malefactor upon the fatal tree;

More cruel dreadful murders we very seldom hear,

And wonderful excitement it has caused both far and near.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles, London.

This morning, Monday, February 22nd, 1864, will long be remembered by the inhabitants of the city of London, as one of the most remarkable in the annals of hanging, by the execution of five foreign sailors, viz.: John Lyons, Francisco Bianco, Mauriccio Durranna, Marcus Watter, Miguel Lopez,aliasJoseph Chances,aliasThe Catelan, for the wilful murder of George Smith upon the high seas. The attendance of persons to witness the execution was enormous, being greater than was ever remembered by the oldest inhabitant in the City, and was much of the same class as usually attend these exhibitions, with the addition of a fair sprinkling of seafaring men. The prisoners have been very assiduously attended by the worthy Priests of the Catholic persuasion, to which creed the prisoners belong, and they had been brought to a full knowledge of the enormity of the crimes which they had committed; and to such a state of religious feeling had they been brought, that they all fully acknowledged the share each one took in the horrible crime, and recognized the justice of their punishment. The sheriffs, with their usual attendants, arrived at a very early hour at the prison, and immediately visited the various criminals in their cells. The worthy priests who had been attending the criminals since their condemnation, was in the prison the whole night, and were early in their attendance on the unhappy criminals. After the usual formalities had been gone through of demanding the bodies of the prisoners into their custody, the executioner, with his assistants, commenced pinioning the prisoners, which operation was quickly performed, considering the number of prisoners. The arrangements having been completed, the mournful procession began to move towards the scaffold, the worthy priests praying fervently with the wretched prisoners, who appeared to have been fully brought to a thorough state of penitence. The prisoners ascended the scaffold in an orderly manner, and directly they appeared on the drop, the immense multitude gave a deep and loud groan, which seemed to make some of the wretched men tremble. The executioner having adjusted the fatal ropes, and drawn the caps over their eyes, left the platform, and the priests administered the last parting words of scriptural consolation to them. The signal was then given, the bolts were withdrawn, and the wretched murderers were launched into eternity.

Is there not one spark of pity,For five poor unhappy men,Doomed, alas! in London city,On a tree their lives to end?The dreadful crime which they committed,On the raging, stormy sea,By every one must be admitted,They each deserved to punished be.Five poor unhappy sailorsOn the drop did trembling stand,And their lives did pay a forfeit,For their deeds on board the Flowery Land.Sometimes at sea there’s cruel usage,And men to frenzy oft are drove,They’re always wrong by men in power,And that there’s many a sailor knows.But those unhappy seven sailors,Did commit a dreadful deed,Killed and slaughter’d, sad to mention,On board the Flowery Land, we read.Great excitement through the nation,This most sad affair has caused,Sent across the briny ocean,To be tried by English laws;Seven tried and there convicted,And sentenced each to hanged be,For the dreadful murders they committed,When sailing on the raging sea.For two of them they did petition,Alas, there nothing could them saveSad indeed was their condition,To lie side by side in a murderer’s grave;Far away from friends and kindred,They unpitied on the drop did stand,Sad was the deed that they committed,On board the fatal Flowery Land.Thousands flocked from every quarter,Seven unhappy men to see,Sailors from distant foreign nations,Suspended on a dreadful tree.The fatal signal soon was given,The awful drop at length did fall,It caused a groan—it caused a shudder,May God receive their guilty souls.May this to sailors be a warning,The dreadful sight the world did see,In London, that fatal morning,The seven died on Newgate’s tree.Was there not a tear of pity,While trembling they in death did stand,To die for crimes in London city.Committed on the Flowery Land.Their victims they did show no mercy,No time for to prepare did give,They kill’d them in a barbarous manner,And though they were not fit to live,We pity to them on the gallows,Englishmen could not deny,Now, alas, their days are ended,They died on Newgate’s gallows high.

Is there not one spark of pity,

For five poor unhappy men,

Doomed, alas! in London city,

On a tree their lives to end?

The dreadful crime which they committed,

On the raging, stormy sea,

By every one must be admitted,

They each deserved to punished be.

Five poor unhappy sailorsOn the drop did trembling stand,And their lives did pay a forfeit,For their deeds on board the Flowery Land.

Five poor unhappy sailors

On the drop did trembling stand,

And their lives did pay a forfeit,

For their deeds on board the Flowery Land.

Sometimes at sea there’s cruel usage,And men to frenzy oft are drove,They’re always wrong by men in power,And that there’s many a sailor knows.But those unhappy seven sailors,Did commit a dreadful deed,Killed and slaughter’d, sad to mention,On board the Flowery Land, we read.

Sometimes at sea there’s cruel usage,

And men to frenzy oft are drove,

They’re always wrong by men in power,

And that there’s many a sailor knows.

But those unhappy seven sailors,

Did commit a dreadful deed,

Killed and slaughter’d, sad to mention,

On board the Flowery Land, we read.

Great excitement through the nation,This most sad affair has caused,Sent across the briny ocean,To be tried by English laws;Seven tried and there convicted,And sentenced each to hanged be,For the dreadful murders they committed,When sailing on the raging sea.

Great excitement through the nation,

This most sad affair has caused,

Sent across the briny ocean,

To be tried by English laws;

Seven tried and there convicted,

And sentenced each to hanged be,

For the dreadful murders they committed,

When sailing on the raging sea.

For two of them they did petition,Alas, there nothing could them saveSad indeed was their condition,To lie side by side in a murderer’s grave;Far away from friends and kindred,They unpitied on the drop did stand,Sad was the deed that they committed,On board the fatal Flowery Land.

For two of them they did petition,

Alas, there nothing could them save

Sad indeed was their condition,

To lie side by side in a murderer’s grave;

Far away from friends and kindred,

They unpitied on the drop did stand,

Sad was the deed that they committed,

On board the fatal Flowery Land.

Thousands flocked from every quarter,Seven unhappy men to see,Sailors from distant foreign nations,Suspended on a dreadful tree.The fatal signal soon was given,The awful drop at length did fall,It caused a groan—it caused a shudder,May God receive their guilty souls.

Thousands flocked from every quarter,

Seven unhappy men to see,

Sailors from distant foreign nations,

Suspended on a dreadful tree.

The fatal signal soon was given,

The awful drop at length did fall,

It caused a groan—it caused a shudder,

May God receive their guilty souls.

May this to sailors be a warning,The dreadful sight the world did see,In London, that fatal morning,The seven died on Newgate’s tree.Was there not a tear of pity,While trembling they in death did stand,To die for crimes in London city.Committed on the Flowery Land.

May this to sailors be a warning,

The dreadful sight the world did see,

In London, that fatal morning,

The seven died on Newgate’s tree.

Was there not a tear of pity,

While trembling they in death did stand,

To die for crimes in London city.

Committed on the Flowery Land.

Their victims they did show no mercy,No time for to prepare did give,They kill’d them in a barbarous manner,And though they were not fit to live,We pity to them on the gallows,Englishmen could not deny,Now, alas, their days are ended,They died on Newgate’s gallows high.

Their victims they did show no mercy,

No time for to prepare did give,

They kill’d them in a barbarous manner,

And though they were not fit to live,

We pity to them on the gallows,

Englishmen could not deny,

Now, alas, their days are ended,

They died on Newgate’s gallows high.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

On Thursday, March 22nd, J. W. Leigh was indicted at the Lewes assizes for the wilful murder of Mrs. Harton, at Brighton, on the 1st of February, 1866.

The first witness, Charles Hastings, deposed—On Thursday night, February 1st, I was in the bar parlour of the Jolly Fisherman tavern with another person named Manuel, and Mrs. Harton, the landlady. She was sitting near the fire, and furthest from the door. Prisoner came into the bar with a revolver in his hand, and as soon as Mrs. Harton saw him she ran to witness for protection. While coming towards Witness prisoner fired the pistol at her and shot her, the ball grazing the forehead of witness. Mrs. Harton fell on the shoulder of witness, and asked him to save her. Prisoner followed her, and placing the revolver within two feet of the woman’s back fired again. Mrs. Harton then left the bar and ran down into the cellar. Witness went for a doctor.

Stephen Loveday, a dyer, deposed he was in the bar, outside the bar-parlour, and saw the prisoner come. Prisoner fired at Mrs. Harton, who ran down the cellar steps. Witness followed her, and found her lying half-way down the stairs, groaning. He got her up stairs into the back room, where he left her.

Serjeant I. Barnden said—From information I received, I went to the Jolly Fisherman tavern about 11 o’clock on the night of February 1st. I saw Mrs. Harton there wounded, and in a fainting state. I went out and saw the prisoner standing in the street, leaning against a house near the King’s road end of Market street. Some one told me not to go near the prisoner, or he would shoot me. I went towards the prisoner and said, “What’s all this about?” He said, “Stand off, or I’ll shoot you,” at the same time bringing the pistol from his breast pocket. I said, “Will you?” At that moment the pistol went off, and I closed with him. I must have touched his arm at the precise instant, for the ball went through my overcoat and trousers, so that it just missed me. I threw him down, and several people assisted me to take him to the Town Hall.

After the examination of several other witnesses, the prisoner’s counsel addressed the jury for the defence, and the judge having summed up, the jury returned a verdict of Guilty. The judge passed the usual sentence of death upon the prisoner, and he was executed this day in front of Lewes Gaol, before an immense crowd of spectators, who came for many miles round.

On the first of February,In Brighton we see,There did appear a murderer,By name John William Leigh.He led a dissipated life,To wickedness gave way,That fatal night he left his wife,And he did her sister slay.For this cruel murder he must die,And end his days on the gallows high.With a six barrelled revolver,He went on Thursday night,To the Jolly Fisherman, in Market st.,To take away the lifeOf the landlady, Mrs. Harton,He was by Satan led—Where her husband, Mr. Harton,Had been ten months ill in bed.He fired the fatal weapon,Oh, twice he fired the shot,His victim soon lay bleeding,Upon that fatal spot;Her husband, ill, ran trembling,And there beheld his wife,By the hand of a wicked murderer,Deprived of her life.John William Leigh, the murderer,In Brighton town did dwell,A very wicked troublesome man,And many knew him well;He, mad with desperation,If he could but had his way,The police, and all around him,The murderer would slay.In the American service,A Confederate, he had been,Though aged only twenty-eight,Much villany had seen;There is nothing now can save him,For that atrocious deed.Of such an audacious scoundrelWe scarcely ever read.Leigh left his wife and enteredThe Jolly Fisherman;He looked just like a demon,With the revolver in his hand;He killed his own wife’s sister,Alas! she soon lay dead,And her poor afflicted husband,Lay consumptive in his bed.He had no consideration,No pity in his breast,His wicked desperationCaused horror and distressConfined in Lewes dungeon,For a short time he must be,Then for the Brighton murder,They will hang the prisoner Leigh.Leigh a native was of Brighton,To the family a disgrace,By every one detested,Who knew him in the place;She was his own wife’s sister,Who received the fatal wound,Which has caused such consternation,Many miles round Brighton town.

On the first of February,

In Brighton we see,

There did appear a murderer,

By name John William Leigh.

He led a dissipated life,

To wickedness gave way,

That fatal night he left his wife,

And he did her sister slay.

For this cruel murder he must die,And end his days on the gallows high.

For this cruel murder he must die,

And end his days on the gallows high.

With a six barrelled revolver,He went on Thursday night,To the Jolly Fisherman, in Market st.,To take away the lifeOf the landlady, Mrs. Harton,He was by Satan led—Where her husband, Mr. Harton,Had been ten months ill in bed.

With a six barrelled revolver,

He went on Thursday night,

To the Jolly Fisherman, in Market st.,

To take away the life

Of the landlady, Mrs. Harton,

He was by Satan led—

Where her husband, Mr. Harton,

Had been ten months ill in bed.

He fired the fatal weapon,Oh, twice he fired the shot,His victim soon lay bleeding,Upon that fatal spot;Her husband, ill, ran trembling,And there beheld his wife,By the hand of a wicked murderer,Deprived of her life.

He fired the fatal weapon,

Oh, twice he fired the shot,

His victim soon lay bleeding,

Upon that fatal spot;

Her husband, ill, ran trembling,

And there beheld his wife,

By the hand of a wicked murderer,

Deprived of her life.

John William Leigh, the murderer,In Brighton town did dwell,A very wicked troublesome man,And many knew him well;He, mad with desperation,If he could but had his way,The police, and all around him,The murderer would slay.

John William Leigh, the murderer,

In Brighton town did dwell,

A very wicked troublesome man,

And many knew him well;

He, mad with desperation,

If he could but had his way,

The police, and all around him,

The murderer would slay.

In the American service,A Confederate, he had been,Though aged only twenty-eight,Much villany had seen;There is nothing now can save him,For that atrocious deed.Of such an audacious scoundrelWe scarcely ever read.

In the American service,

A Confederate, he had been,

Though aged only twenty-eight,

Much villany had seen;

There is nothing now can save him,

For that atrocious deed.

Of such an audacious scoundrel

We scarcely ever read.

Leigh left his wife and enteredThe Jolly Fisherman;He looked just like a demon,With the revolver in his hand;He killed his own wife’s sister,Alas! she soon lay dead,And her poor afflicted husband,Lay consumptive in his bed.

Leigh left his wife and entered

The Jolly Fisherman;

He looked just like a demon,

With the revolver in his hand;

He killed his own wife’s sister,

Alas! she soon lay dead,

And her poor afflicted husband,

Lay consumptive in his bed.

He had no consideration,No pity in his breast,His wicked desperationCaused horror and distressConfined in Lewes dungeon,For a short time he must be,Then for the Brighton murder,They will hang the prisoner Leigh.

He had no consideration,

No pity in his breast,

His wicked desperation

Caused horror and distress

Confined in Lewes dungeon,

For a short time he must be,

Then for the Brighton murder,

They will hang the prisoner Leigh.

Leigh a native was of Brighton,To the family a disgrace,By every one detested,Who knew him in the place;She was his own wife’s sister,Who received the fatal wound,Which has caused such consternation,Many miles round Brighton town.

Leigh a native was of Brighton,

To the family a disgrace,

By every one detested,

Who knew him in the place;

She was his own wife’s sister,

Who received the fatal wound,

Which has caused such consternation,

Many miles round Brighton town.

C. Phillips, Printer, Market Street, Brighton.

A child murder has been committed at Park Horner, in the parish of Hampreston, under circumstances of the most shocking barbarity. At the Coroner’s inquest it was given in evidence that the child had been beaten on the head with a heavy flint stone, and its tongue cut completely out at the root. It was found wrapped up in another part of a drawer where the body was discovered. The inquiry lasted four hours and a-half, and resulted, in the first instance, in a verdict, “That the child was born alive and murdered by someone.” The Coroner pointed out that the evidence was conclusive against Emma Pitt, the national school-mistress, who was the mother of the child; and he expressed his surprise that such a verdict should have been returned. The Jury after reconsidering their previous finding, returned a verdict of “Wilful murder against Emma Pitt.”

We have read of sad and dreadful deedsOf mothers cruel and unkind,But in the annals of historySuch as this we seldom find;In the parish of Hampreston,This deed was done we hear,Near to the town of Wimborne,In the county of Dorsetshire.This Emma Pitt was a schoolmistress,Her child she killed we see,Oh mothers, did you ever hear,Of such barbarity.With a large flint stone she beat its headWhen such cruelty she’d done,From the tender roof of the infant’s mouthShe cut away it’s tongue;Sad and wicked, cruel wretch,Hard was her flinty heart,The infant’s tongue from the body wasWrapped in another part.The murderess placed in a drawer,And it there, alas! was found,The news of this dreadful murder,Soon spread for miles around;And first upon the inquest,She expected to get free,Although she was the authorOf this dreadful tragedy.A schoolmistress too, how sad to tell,Well known for miles around,Who had many children under care,In and near to Wimborne town.Oh, what a sad example,To children she did set,There was never such a cruel wretch,As the barbarous Emma Pitt.She committed is for murder,Soon her trial will take place,And if she is found guilty,How sad will be her case.If she has a woman’s feelings,She surely will go wild,She in such a barbarous manner killedHer tender infant child.The hour is approaching,The moments near at hand,When before a Judge and Jury,This monster soon must stand;And if she is found guilty,She her deserts will get,And mother’s, miles round Wimborne,Will remember Emma Pitt.

We have read of sad and dreadful deeds

Of mothers cruel and unkind,

But in the annals of history

Such as this we seldom find;

In the parish of Hampreston,

This deed was done we hear,

Near to the town of Wimborne,

In the county of Dorsetshire.

This Emma Pitt was a schoolmistress,Her child she killed we see,Oh mothers, did you ever hear,Of such barbarity.

This Emma Pitt was a schoolmistress,

Her child she killed we see,

Oh mothers, did you ever hear,

Of such barbarity.

With a large flint stone she beat its headWhen such cruelty she’d done,From the tender roof of the infant’s mouthShe cut away it’s tongue;Sad and wicked, cruel wretch,Hard was her flinty heart,The infant’s tongue from the body wasWrapped in another part.

With a large flint stone she beat its head

When such cruelty she’d done,

From the tender roof of the infant’s mouth

She cut away it’s tongue;

Sad and wicked, cruel wretch,

Hard was her flinty heart,

The infant’s tongue from the body was

Wrapped in another part.

The murderess placed in a drawer,And it there, alas! was found,The news of this dreadful murder,Soon spread for miles around;And first upon the inquest,She expected to get free,Although she was the authorOf this dreadful tragedy.

The murderess placed in a drawer,

And it there, alas! was found,

The news of this dreadful murder,

Soon spread for miles around;

And first upon the inquest,

She expected to get free,

Although she was the author

Of this dreadful tragedy.

A schoolmistress too, how sad to tell,Well known for miles around,Who had many children under care,In and near to Wimborne town.Oh, what a sad example,To children she did set,There was never such a cruel wretch,As the barbarous Emma Pitt.

A schoolmistress too, how sad to tell,

Well known for miles around,

Who had many children under care,

In and near to Wimborne town.

Oh, what a sad example,

To children she did set,

There was never such a cruel wretch,

As the barbarous Emma Pitt.

She committed is for murder,Soon her trial will take place,And if she is found guilty,How sad will be her case.If she has a woman’s feelings,She surely will go wild,She in such a barbarous manner killedHer tender infant child.

She committed is for murder,

Soon her trial will take place,

And if she is found guilty,

How sad will be her case.

If she has a woman’s feelings,

She surely will go wild,

She in such a barbarous manner killed

Her tender infant child.

The hour is approaching,The moments near at hand,When before a Judge and Jury,This monster soon must stand;And if she is found guilty,She her deserts will get,And mother’s, miles round Wimborne,Will remember Emma Pitt.

The hour is approaching,

The moments near at hand,

When before a Judge and Jury,

This monster soon must stand;

And if she is found guilty,

She her deserts will get,

And mother’s, miles round Wimborne,

Will remember Emma Pitt.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.

In Maidstone Gaol, I am lamenting,I am borne down with grief and pain,I for my deeds am now repenting,I shall Sydenham never see again;I have been tried for wilful murder,No power on earth can me now save,I am doomed to die, my time’s approaching,And I must lie in a silent grave.Now I, alas! must die for murder,Oh, how awful is my doom,Richard Bishop, one and twenty,In youth and vigour, health and bloom.Alfred Cartwright was my neighbour,We both at Forest Hill did dwell,Alfred, servant was at the Swiss Cottage,Where he was respected well;I went with others to annoy him,It was upon that fatal night,Ere he returned from his day’s labour.Unto his home and loving wife.I never did intend to kill him,Why should I my neighbour slay,He never gave me any reason,To take his youthful life away?I was given in charge, and in a passion,I drew the awful, deadly knife,And plunged it in poor Alfred’s body,And there deprived him of his life.The solemn funeral of my victim,Caused consternation miles around,Thousands flocked from every quarter,The funeral dirge did mournful sound;Poor Alfred, to his grave respected,Proceeded by a solemn band,And I must die upon the gallows,A wicked and degraded man.Farewell, vain world, I now must leave you,Farewell, my friends and neighbours all,Around Forest Hill no more you’ll see me,The hangman’s voice on me does call;Saying, Richard Bishop, now be ready,To die upon the fatal tree,Oh, aged only one and twenty,What a dreadful sight to see.Poor Alfred’s friends, will you forgive me,His father, mother, tender wife,I him did kill, his blood did spill,And I pay a forfeit with my life?And God, look down from heaven upon me,Forgive the crime that I have done.I see grim death standing before me,Saying, Richard Bishop’s glass is run.Oh, pray, young men, by me take warning,Remember me and what I done,Ponder, yes, oh! and consider,Let passion you not overcome;I did the deed in the heighth of passion,I had no animosity.Little thought my tender parents,I should die upon a gallows tree.When the Judge did pass the awful sentenceSaying, Richard Bishop, you must die,For the murder of young Alfred Cartwright,On Maidstone’s tree so awful high;Oh think, dear friends, what was my feelings,Sad and wretched and forlorn,Doomed at the age of one and twenty,To die a dreadful death of scorn.

In Maidstone Gaol, I am lamenting,

I am borne down with grief and pain,

I for my deeds am now repenting,

I shall Sydenham never see again;

I have been tried for wilful murder,

No power on earth can me now save,

I am doomed to die, my time’s approaching,

And I must lie in a silent grave.

Now I, alas! must die for murder,Oh, how awful is my doom,Richard Bishop, one and twenty,In youth and vigour, health and bloom.

Now I, alas! must die for murder,

Oh, how awful is my doom,

Richard Bishop, one and twenty,

In youth and vigour, health and bloom.

Alfred Cartwright was my neighbour,We both at Forest Hill did dwell,Alfred, servant was at the Swiss Cottage,Where he was respected well;I went with others to annoy him,It was upon that fatal night,Ere he returned from his day’s labour.Unto his home and loving wife.

Alfred Cartwright was my neighbour,

We both at Forest Hill did dwell,

Alfred, servant was at the Swiss Cottage,

Where he was respected well;

I went with others to annoy him,

It was upon that fatal night,

Ere he returned from his day’s labour.

Unto his home and loving wife.

I never did intend to kill him,Why should I my neighbour slay,He never gave me any reason,To take his youthful life away?I was given in charge, and in a passion,I drew the awful, deadly knife,And plunged it in poor Alfred’s body,And there deprived him of his life.

I never did intend to kill him,

Why should I my neighbour slay,

He never gave me any reason,

To take his youthful life away?

I was given in charge, and in a passion,

I drew the awful, deadly knife,

And plunged it in poor Alfred’s body,

And there deprived him of his life.

The solemn funeral of my victim,Caused consternation miles around,Thousands flocked from every quarter,The funeral dirge did mournful sound;Poor Alfred, to his grave respected,Proceeded by a solemn band,And I must die upon the gallows,A wicked and degraded man.

The solemn funeral of my victim,

Caused consternation miles around,

Thousands flocked from every quarter,

The funeral dirge did mournful sound;

Poor Alfred, to his grave respected,

Proceeded by a solemn band,

And I must die upon the gallows,

A wicked and degraded man.

Farewell, vain world, I now must leave you,Farewell, my friends and neighbours all,Around Forest Hill no more you’ll see me,The hangman’s voice on me does call;Saying, Richard Bishop, now be ready,To die upon the fatal tree,Oh, aged only one and twenty,What a dreadful sight to see.

Farewell, vain world, I now must leave you,

Farewell, my friends and neighbours all,

Around Forest Hill no more you’ll see me,

The hangman’s voice on me does call;

Saying, Richard Bishop, now be ready,

To die upon the fatal tree,

Oh, aged only one and twenty,

What a dreadful sight to see.

Poor Alfred’s friends, will you forgive me,His father, mother, tender wife,I him did kill, his blood did spill,And I pay a forfeit with my life?And God, look down from heaven upon me,Forgive the crime that I have done.I see grim death standing before me,Saying, Richard Bishop’s glass is run.

Poor Alfred’s friends, will you forgive me,

His father, mother, tender wife,

I him did kill, his blood did spill,

And I pay a forfeit with my life?

And God, look down from heaven upon me,

Forgive the crime that I have done.

I see grim death standing before me,

Saying, Richard Bishop’s glass is run.

Oh, pray, young men, by me take warning,Remember me and what I done,Ponder, yes, oh! and consider,Let passion you not overcome;I did the deed in the heighth of passion,I had no animosity.Little thought my tender parents,I should die upon a gallows tree.

Oh, pray, young men, by me take warning,

Remember me and what I done,

Ponder, yes, oh! and consider,

Let passion you not overcome;

I did the deed in the heighth of passion,

I had no animosity.

Little thought my tender parents,

I should die upon a gallows tree.

When the Judge did pass the awful sentenceSaying, Richard Bishop, you must die,For the murder of young Alfred Cartwright,On Maidstone’s tree so awful high;Oh think, dear friends, what was my feelings,Sad and wretched and forlorn,Doomed at the age of one and twenty,To die a dreadful death of scorn.

When the Judge did pass the awful sentence

Saying, Richard Bishop, you must die,

For the murder of young Alfred Cartwright,

On Maidstone’s tree so awful high;

Oh think, dear friends, what was my feelings,

Sad and wretched and forlorn,

Doomed at the age of one and twenty,

To die a dreadful death of scorn.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles, London.

On Monday, March 23, at the Shrewsbury Assizes, John Mapp, a labourer, was placed at the bar, charged with the wilful murder of Catherine Lewis, on the 22nd of December, 1867, at the parish of Longden.

Jane Richards deposed that after leaving chapel she accompanied deceased and John Mapp as far as Wood Farm, where she left them together going down Long lane.

Edward Lewis, the father of the deceased, deposed to Mrs. Hutchins bringing him his daughter’s hat covered with blood. I at once started in search through several fields till I saw a hovel. There were marks at the door as if something had been dragged along, and on entering saw the body of my child in a little bin, covered with straw and loose litter.

Mr. Harris, surgeon: I made apost mortemexamination of deceased. I found a shawl tied round her neck, and about eight inches shoved tightly into her mouth. There were five incisions on the right side of the throat, finishing in one deep wound on the left. The windpipe was cut through. I attribute her death to loss of blood and suffocation.

Edward Jones, police-constable, produced a brooch belonging to deceased, which was found on the prisoner when he took him into custody.

John Aston, a waggoner, deposed to finding the hat of the deceased in a holly bush.

Mrs. Davies: I reside at Longden. I knew the deceased. The brooch produced is the one she wore.

The counsel for the prisoner then proceeded to address the Jury for the defence, and the counsel for the prosecution having replied,

The Judge then summed up, and the Jury without retiring from the box returned a verdict of Guilty. The usual Sentence of Death was then pronounced upon the prisoner.

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