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Kate Marshall

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  • Jenni Shelden

    interesting stuff,

    you should write a book...

    Leave a comment:

  • Rob Clack
    started a topic Kate Marshall

    Kate Marshall

    This is the Old Bailey transcript of Kate Marshall trial in 1899 for the murder of her sister.
    Like the Kitty Ronan trial which I posted yesterday there are interesting little snippets of information regarding 26 Dorset Street.

    Wednesday, January 11th, and Thursday, January 12th, 1899

    Before Mr. Justice Darling

    KATE MARSHALL (44) was indicted for, and also charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the wilful murder of Eliza Roberts.
    MESSRS. HORACE AVORY and BIRON Prosecuted, and MR. COUNSELL Defended

    ALBERT HAWKYARD (Police Constable 354 H) produced and proved plans of the house 26, Dorset Street, where the occurrence took place.

    DAVID ROBERTS. I am by trade a painter and decorator, of 26, Dorset Street, Spitalfields—on November 26th I was living there, in the first-floor back room, with my wife, the deceased woman, and her sister, the prisoner—they carried on the same business of whip-making—we had all been living together in the same room for some time—on Saturday morning, November 26th, I left home about half-past seven a.m., leaving my wife and the prisoner in the room with my little boy, three years old—I returned about half-past six or a quarter to seven in the evening—only my wife and the child were then at home—my wife was sober at that time—she went out at about a quarter past seven, leaving me and the child in the room—she came back about twelve with the prisoner—they brought with them a quart can full of beer—my wife gave me a glass of it, and I drank it while I was in bed—then the two started quarrelling about the profits of the work—they kept on quarrelling, and the prisoner rushed on my wife—I got out of bed—they fell against the table, over-turned it, and both fell on the bed, and then on the floor—I parted them, they left one another, and I went to my bed again—the child was a bit fidgety and crying, and I cuddled it in my arms—the women kept on arguing the point—the prisoner then got hold of part of a broken jug, and dashed it against the window—I got out of bed, and she deliberately rushed at my wife and said, “You thing, I will give you something for this,” at the same time rushing at her and striking her a blow in the right breast—I did not see anything in her hand at the time, afterwards I did—she was facing her at the time—my wife turned round and said to me, “Dave, she has stabbed me”—I laid the child down in the bed, and rushed to the prisoner, and claimed her by her two wrists, and struggled with her till I got her out of the door on to the landing, where I kicked the partition and called for help—(referring to the plan) this shows the position—I cannot read or write, but I can see it—the window is at the foot of the bed, the door opens into the passage—I kicked against this partition, which separates the witness Amory’s room from the staircase; the partition ends at a small room called the storeroom—Amory came out of his room—during the struggle with the prisoner my wife came out of her room and fell against me, I was standing up, struggling with the prisoner; I had still got her by the wrists—I then let go of her left hand and secured the knife from her right hand, and handed it to Amory—we were then on the ground together—we fell against Amory's door, we could not get any further, and we both fell on the ground there—I took the knife out of her right hand—I could not say whether there was anything on it, I was so confused—I felt it, it was a bit sticky like—a woman came out of Amory's room, his wife, or the woman he lives with, Mary Johnson, and another woman, I don't know her name—I saw the policeman arrive—I said to him, “Take this woman in charge, she has stabbed my wife”—the prisoner said, “Good God, let me see her;” or “let me kiss her” —the policeman said, "Hold her tight while I go and alarm another constable"——he went down the stairs and blew his whistle, and another constable was on the spot—I was not dressed, I was in my shirt, just as I jumped out of bed—when I saw the last of my wife I dressed and went to the station—my wife lived for about ten minutes after she was stabbed; she was carried into Amory's room where she had the last drop of brandy, that was given to her by the doctor; she died there—at the time my wife and the prisoner came in at 12 there was a lamp hanging on the side of the wall in the room; that was still alight after my wife had been stabbed—a paraffin lamp was brought out by Mrs. Amory, when she came out of her room—this knife (produced) is the knife I took from the prisoner's hand—it is apart worn shoemaker's knife—the prisoner showed it to me on Thursday night when she bought it, and she said, “This is a nice little knife for our work, is it not?” —I never saw her using it—I never stay at home in the day time; I go out early in the morning—it would be useful for the work—I had not seen it at all on the Saturday; I had not seen it about the room—I was sober on this night—the prisoner was drunk—she and my wife had both been drinking together—the prisoner could stand and walk without help, and my wife also.

    Cross-examined. I did not say that Amory brought out a light, someone from his room brought it when I called for help—until it was brought there was no light on the stairs—there was a small light in my room, a small paraffin lamp—I have not said before to-day that I put the child down when I jumped out of bed—I have said that I called for help; I said so to my solicitor—I was in bed while the prisoner was breaking the window—I did not knock at Amory's door; I kicked at the partition close to it—I first saw the knife in the prisoner's right hand after struggling with her in the room getting her out on the landing, before I threw her down—it was upwards in her hand when I gripped her wrists—I was examined before the Coroner—I can't remember everything I said then—while we were struggling the prisoner tried to tear my shirt, and hurt me—that was before I took the knife from her—she did not tear my shirt off—she tore it with her fingers—she grabbed the bottom part of it—I swore before the Coroner that when Amory came out I noticed the knife in her hand—that is true—I noticed that she had it in her right hand before I gave it to Amory—you must make some allowance for a man of no education; besides it is a long time ago now, I can't, be expected to remember everything—I noticed that she had the knife in her hand when I got her by the wrists—I said to the Magistrate that the prisoner said, “You thing, I will give you something for this” —that was in the room before she struck the blow—I believe I stated that before the Coroner—she did not try to stab me—the women were always quarrelling—I was awoke on this night by their quarrelling—I did not see them come in—I was asleep—I saw the can on the table when I woke up—I daresay they had been there five or ten minutes before my wife gave me the beer—I can hear Spitalfields’ clock from my room—I did not hear it strike twelve, but I can always tell the time by the people coming from the public-houses—the prisoner has very often threatened to stab me—she did not try to stab me that night—when she stabbed my wife she was holding up her hands with the blade up—then it was I grabbed her hands—I saw blood on her hands—that was how the blood came on my shirt—I saw it when the constable told me of it—it was after she had torn my shirt that I found the knife in her right hand—I took it from her in the passage at the head of the stairs—my wife was an honest industrious woman and a good wife to me—I was bound over to keep the peace towards her—that was a month or five weeks ago—I had hit her on the head with a poker when I was drunk one Friday night—I have had three children—I have no recollection of going home that day about half-past one—I had not been at work that day—I bad been out of work for the last two months—I had nothing to drink on that day till my wife gave me the beer—I did not leave the house between half-past six and ten—I did not drop the child into the fire—I am now living in Brick Lane, at a lodging-house—I know Annie Jackson; she was living in the same room as the Amorys—I have not been talking to her about this case—I have spoken to her—I did not ask her to come up—she is no relation of mine, I have always been on good terms with her—she has not been like a wife to me—when my wife was struck, she did not call out, "Oh, Jesus," and run on to the landing; she came out and fell against me in the passage—she squeezed through us—I let her go by to get assistance, and when she got to the top of the staircase she fell—I was fond of my wife—I did not go to help her, I had the prisoner by the wrists, and she might have thrown the knife down and blamed it all on me—I was certainly afraid that I might be accused of the blow, or somebody else—after the blow my wife was standing in the room, close to the door—I did not notice any blood on the floor at that time, not till the Sunday morning—while I was struggling with the prisoner I did not see my wife knock at Amory's door—I did not insult my wife that night while I was in bed; we were on very good terms, until that affair six months ago—I did not threaten to break the other side of her head with the poker; I did not use any such threat to her that night—I did not rush at her and stab her—I did not try to escape from the prisoner when she seized me; she had got my shirt grabbed all the time we were struggling—I had part of my shirt on when the policeman arrived, the front part of it was torn; I went and dressed my-self—I did not see that it was covered with, blood till I got to the station—I swear I did not return home in the middle of the day and give my wife sixpence to get dinner—I can't swear I did not return in the middle of the day; I swear I never offered her sixpence that day—I swear my wife did not say “What am I to do with this sixpence?”; in fact she did not require sixpence that day—I swear she did not say those words—I won't swear that I was not drunk at half-past one.

    Re-examined. I have lived in that room with my wife about seven months—we had been married fifteen or sixteen years—the eldest child is fifteen—we lived together twelve months before we were married—the only assault was the one I have been asked about, and I was then bound over on my own recognisances to keep the peace for six months—there was no fine; that was four or five weeks before November 26th—my wife had been living with me since that up to this occurrence—there was no quarrel or disturbance between us that day—I never had the knife in my hand until I took it from the prisoner—there was a gentleman before the Magistrate who put questions to me on the prisoner's behalf—my hands were not. cut at all in my struggle with the prisoner.

    CHARLES AMORY. I am a wire-worker, and on November 26th I was living at 26, Dorset Street, in the first floor front room—two women, named Mary Johnson and Annie Jackson, were also living in the Same room—I only knew David Roberts by sight, he was not a friend of mine—I knew his wife by sight—I also knew the prisoner as living in Roberts’s room——I was at home on November 26th about 1.15 p.m., and I stayed home till about 3.15—I did not see or hear anything of Roberts, during that time—I returned home in the evening about 7.30, and stayed in my room till midnight—about twelve o’clock I heard two women quarrelling in Roberts's room—they left off for a minute or two and then started again, and about 12-15 I heard a crash which sounded like glass: then struggling and a kick at the partition, and a man’s voice asking for help—I recognised it as Roberts's voice—I rushed to the door, I was not in bed then—I opened my door, and saw Roberts struggling with the prisoner—they were standing up struggling when I first saw them, and then Roberts got the prisoner, on the floor, holding her two wrists—I saw the deceased coming along the landing towards her husband with a terrible gash on the right breast—Roberts gave me the knife, which he snatched out of the prisoner's hand—I saw him take it from her hand—he said, “Take this knife” —there was blood on the blade and the handle stuck to my fingers—when the knife was given to me the deceased fell on the top of the stairs—Roberts held the prisoner till the constable arrived, and when he arrived Roberts asked him to send for assistance; the constable blew his whistle at the bottom of the stairs, which fetched another constable who went and fetched a doctor—Roberts said to the policeman, “Arrest this woman, she has stabbed my wife”—just before the constable took the prisoner down the stairs, she tried to get hold of the deceased, and said, “O God, O God, what have I done Liz; I must have a kiss before I die”—in the struggle with Roberts the prisoner tore the shirt off him and tried to bite him; that was while he was trying to get the knife from her—I think the man was sober, but I think both the women had been drinking—when I heard the women's voices quarrelling I did not hear Roberts’s voice.

    Cross-examined. The partition is all woodwork—I can hardly say where the knocking was, but it was not at my door—I never said that Roberts knocked at my door—I was examined before the Magistrate—I said then, “All of a sudden I heard a crash and struggling. About 12.15 a.m. the husband was struggling on the landing, and he rapped at my door,” that is true—I have not spoken to Roberts about the case—I lived at 26, Dorset Street, till last Friday—Roberts left soon after the murder—he left after I was examined at the Police-court—I talked about the murder to him, but not about knocking against the partition—I did not hear Roberts’s voice at all till he called for help—when I went to my door I had nothing in my hand—the two young ladies, Mary Johnson and Jackson, came out too—Annie Jackson had a lamp; she was behind me—there was no light on the stairs till then—Roberts never rowed with his wife—there was nine feet between his room and mine—my door was shut—Roberts did not accuse his wife of anything that night—if I could hear the sister’s voices I could hear the husband’s—I know the women’s voices—I saw the deceased coming out of her own door when I opened my door—I could see her door from where I was standing—Roberts and the prisoner were struggling on the right-hand side of my door, in the corner—the prisoner was sitting down on the floor, and Roberts held her two wrists—Mrs. Roberts fell at my door—I did not hear any cry from her—there was about three or four minutes between the rowing and the crash, between the two—I heard nothing from Roberts’s room—I saw the knife in the prisoner’s hand—I cannot say how she was holding it—Roberts tried to get it away—he snatched it from her with his right hand—he had hold of her right wrist with his left hand—the knife was in her right hand—he did not let go her right wrist—she was sitting down, leaning against the partition—Roberts was facing her, bending over her—there was no light except from the lamp which Jackson held—when Roberts first had the prisoner there was no light—Jackson stood by the stairs which go upstairs with the lamp—I was close to them—I was by them—Mrs. Roberts was lying at my feet—I only saw the blade of the knife pointing up—the prisoner was trying to get her hands away—I did not see any blood on the prisoner’s chest—a little on her right hand and on her two largest fingers—I have not told anybody that before today—I saw some blood on Roberts’s shirt—I did not say anything about Jackson living in my room to either the Magistrate or the Coroner—I saw the prisoner and Roberts standing up first, and then he got her on the floor—it was after the prisoner was got down that I saw the deceased coming out—I did not see any blood on Roberts’s hands—as the deceased woman passed the prisoner and Roberts, the blood rubbed Roberts’s shirt—the deceased forced her way out on to the landing—the prisoner did not say, “I must have a kiss before I die,” but, “If I die first”—then, “Oh, Liz, won’t you speak? what have I done?” —I told the Coroner that.

    Re-examined. I knew the two women's voices—I had heard them before—they were generally quarrelling—I heard Roberts say, “Stop rowing” —that was the only thing I heard him say—there was not room for the deceased to pass Roberts and the prisoner in the passage without touching—she touched Roberts as she passed—I saw the blood coming from her breast.

    MARY JOHNSON. I am a single woman, and on November 26th was living with the last witness, at 26, Dorset Street—a little after twelve I was in the room with Amory and another young woman named Jackson—I heard a quarrel—I know the room where the Roberts’s and the prisoner lived—the sound came from the prisoner and her sister—I knew their voices; I had heard them before—I had never heard them quarrelling before—after the row I heard a smash like crockery-ware, and then a struggle—I heard Roberts ask for assistance—up till then I had not heard his voice at all—I went to the door and saw Roberts holding the prisoner by her two wrists—the deceased was then standing outside with her hands up to her head—I went for a policeman and returned with him—afterwards the deceased was taken to our room.

    Cross-examined. I heard a knock at the partition—I said before the Magistrate and the Coroner that I heard a knock at the door, but it was at the partition—when I came out the deceased was outside the door—I came out with Amory—I did not see the deceased coming out of her own room—she could not have knocked at our door—Roberts called for assistance—the prisoner was lying flat down and Roberts was holding her down—she was not sitting up—I did not see her standing at all—I should have seen her if she had been standing.

    By the COURT. When we came out of our room Amory came out first.

    ANNIE JACKSON. On November 26th I was living at 26, Dorset Street, Spitalfields, in the room with Amory and Mary Johnson—I did not know Roberts or his wife or the prisoner well—I have spoken to them once or twice—I was at home on November 26th in the middle of the day—I did not see Roberts at all—about twelve p.m. I heard the two women come home—they were quarrelling—they were quiet for a time and then they commenced again—about 12.15 Roberts knocked at the wainscotting and asked for help—Amory rushed and opened the door—he went out first—Mary Johnson followed him and then I went out and saw Roberts hand Amory a knife—he took it out of the prisoner's hand—I saw him—I held the lamp myself—I was present when the constable came and as he was taking the prisoner downstairs she said, “Oh my God, what have I done? let me go back and kiss her; I must have a kiss if I die for it.”

    Cross-examined. I was in the doorway when the constable came up the stairs—when I first saw the prisoner Roberts had her by the wrist—she was in a sitting position, with her back to the partition; her feet were towards Amory's room—Amory was bending down—I cannot say, I saw the knife in the prisoner's hand; I saw it in Roberts’ hand—I cannot swear that I saw blood on Roberts—I saw some on Amory's hand from the knife.

    Re-examined. I cannot say that I heard Roberts say anything when he gave Amory the knife.

    (317 H). In the early morning of November 27th I was called to 26, Dorset Street—I went upstairs and saw the deceased in a sitting position on the landing, with her feet towards the staircase, with a large wound over the right breast, and a long cut on the left arm—she was unconscious—I saw it was a serious case and I blew my whistle for assistance, and when P.C. 417 came I told him to go for the nearest doctor, as a woman had been stabbed—I saw the prisoner being held on the same landing by Roberts, who said, "This woman is my wife, and this woman has stabbed her; take hold of her while I get my clothes on"—he was partially naked—the prisoner was screaming and struggling—another constable came, and I handed the prisoner over to him—I attended to the deceased, and a doctor came—the deceased died shortly afterwards—in my opinion Roberts was sober—I saw the prisoner at the station—I think she was drunk.

    Cross-examined. The prisoner was acting like a mad woman on the landing, very excited, and a lamp was being held by a woman, and I had my own lantern, which I turned on, but I could not see how the prisoner was being held—I did not examine Roberts—I did not look, at the prisoner's hands or dress—I did not know the deceased.

    JAMES RANDALL (154 H). In consequence of hearing a police-whistle on the morning of November 27th I went to 26, Dorset Street, and saw the prisoner on the first-floor landing—the last witness had hold of her—he handed her over to me—I took her downstairs—I did not hear her say anything—she appeared to have been drinking—she went quietly to the station—Amory handed me this knife (produced), and I took it to the station—there was wet blood on it.

    Cross-examined. I did not examine the prisoner’s hands or dress—I did not see any blood on her hands—I saw some on her bodice—I do not know if they were old spots—the prisoner was swearing as I took her downstairs.

    WILLIAM EVANS (Inspector H). On the early morning of November 27th the prisoner was brought to the station and I charged her with causing the death of Mrs. Roberts—about 12.50 I said to her, “The woman who it is alleged you have stabbed is now dead, and I caution you against any statement which you may make, as I shall use it in evidence against you”—she replied, “That woman is my sister; my God, if it had been any other person than my sister I would have done it. Oh my sister! O Liz, O Liz!” —she was afterwards formally-charged with wilful murder—when she was first brought in I thought she had been drinking—in answer to the charge of wilful murder she said, “I hear, I am innocent” —she was formally charged about 4.30 a.m.—Roberts came in about 1 o'clock; he appeared to be sober.

    Cross-examined. I saw some blood spots on the prisoner’s blouse—I cannot say if they were fresh or not—I did not see any on her hands she was rather violent and she was being held by the constables.

    DAVID HUME. I am a registered medical practitioner of White Lion Street—about 12.20 on November 26th I went to 26, Dorset Street—on the first floor I saw the deceased sitting on the landing—she was un-conscious and suffering from a wound in the right breast—she was taken into Amory's room—I tried to revive her with brandy, but she died a few minutes later—she also had a wound on her left arm; it was about two inches long; it was a cut not a stab—on November 28th I made a post-mortem examination—there was an incised wound in the right breast, and puncturing the lung for about one inch—it had gone through the cavity of the chest—it was the cause of death—it might have been caused by this knife—I went to the police-station, and saw the prisoner there about 1.40—she was under the influence of drink—I saw Roberts when I was at-tending to the deceased; he was perfectly sober.

    Cross-examined. I looked at the prisoner’s clothing in the dock, and saw two or three dark spots; they were not recent—at the post-mortem I found the stomach and intestines normal, and the stomach contained a little fluid like alcohol—she did not seen to have been a drunkard—I did not examine the prisoner's hands—she seemed to be in rather a delicate state of health; I had admitted her to the infirmary some days pervious—she had been in from the 3rd to the 15th, I think—I did not see any marks on the deceased's body—there was an abrasion on the back of the left hand, one on the left knee, and one on the right knee—the direction of the blow in the chest was downwards and inwards—I do not think the wound could have been done if the knife had been held upwards—there must have been considerable force used to drive the knife so far in—I think in withdrawing the knife, the wound on the left forearm was caused—it could not have been caused from behind—the knife handle was saturated with blood, and the inside of the bodies was full of it—the wound might have been inflicted by either the right hand or left.

    Re-examined. A woman would have no difficulty in inflicting a wound of this description.

    FRANKLIN HEWITT OLIVER. I am a divisional to police at Kingsland Road—on November 26th, I was sent for to 26, Dorset Street but the deceased was already dead—I assisted at the post-mortem—I agreed with the other doctor’s description of the wound—when I went to the house on this night, I went into the room which had been occupied by the Robert's—the room was in a condition of disorder, the table was broken, the windows were smashed, and there was some broken crockery ware on the floor—both the top and bottom panes were broken in the window—there were blood-stains on the floor just inside the door.—I also saw a shirt which Roberts had taken off (produced)—there were blood-marks on the left sleeve, on the back an don the front—it was torn as it is now—the marks on the back appear to be smears of blood—I saw the prisoner at the station between three and four o'clock that morning—I saw some stains upon her bodies—I do not think they were recent—she had a little blood on her right wrist—I should not except to find blood on the person who inflicted such a wound, because the clothing would prevent the blood from spurting out.

    Cross-examined. I should except some blood on the handle of the knife—there might possibly be blood on the hand which held the knife—I saw a little blood on the landing, and a little pool on the two top steps of the stairs—I saw some blood on the prisoner's hands—I did not examine Roberts that night—there are a few spots of recent blood on the front of the shirt as well as the back—the post-mortem did not disclose that the deceased woman was a drunkard.

    Re-examined. There is no indication of the blood having spurted on to this shirt in the front.

    BARNETT LIPMAN. I live at 30, Dorset Street—I was in room 19 at 26, Dorset Street, on the day previous to the murder—I saw the window—two panes were broken at the top—the others were all right.

    ANNIE BLANCHE HASEMAN . I live at the Britannia beer-house, 87, Commercial Street—I knew the deceased by sight, but not the prisoner—on November 26th I saw the deceased in my house—the prisoner was with her; they left about 11.45—they had been in there some time—I can-not say how long—there is a public-house called the Bluecoat Boy—they would not pass it to come to me, but it is quite close.

    Cross-examined. While in my house they seemed friendly—they had a glass of mild ale each; they did not take a can of beer away—there is no public-house which they would pass after leaving mine to go to Dorset Street.

    Thursday, January 12th, 1899.

    (The prisoner: sworn). On November 26th I was living at 26, Dorset Street, with the deceased woman, Mr. Roberts, and one child, on the first floor back-room—the deceased and I carried on the trade of whipmakers—the room occupied by Amory is separated from ours by a passage and a spare room, which is used at nights to put lodgers with their children in—on November 26th I was at home at 1 o’clock; I did not go out till 7 o’clock—at 1 o’clock my brother-in-law came in drank; he had a pair of boots under his arm—he gave the deceased 6d. to get dinner for four of us—she cried, “Dave, what do you think I can get for 6d.? you can get boots for yourself, but look at mine” —he said, “I will tell you what you will do with it if I send you back to the hospital with the other side of your head”—he was going to strike her with a piece of bent iron which we used as a fender—I said, “Dave, what do you mean?” and I got the fender away—my sister went out with the 6d. he had given her, and brought in a half-quartern of rum and a pint of ale, and said, “That is the dinner I will get for him”—I did not go out with her—when she went out my brother-in-law had already gone—my sister and I went out at 7 o’clock to sell our work—we left the Britannia beer-house at 11.50—we did not go into another public-house after that—we went home together—Roberts was awake, but in bed—there was a can of beer beside him half full on the table—one table was against the bed, and the other was at the foot of the bed—the can of beer was on the table near the head of the bed—when we got in Roberts said, “You pair of—, you have not been selling whips till this hour of the night”—my sister went over to the can of beer, and said to me, “Look here, Kate, the drunken—, he has even got the beer by the side of him!” —he kept on calling us names, and my sister said something impudent to him, and he made a rush out of bed—I knew he was going to do one of us an injury, but I thought it was me, and I jumped back, when I saw his hand go to my sister, but I felt certain that it was meant for me—she never screamed, but said. “Oh, Jesus,” and ran out the door, which opens outwards—Roberts made a rush to go after her, and thinking he would catch her on the dark stairs, I rushed at him and caught him by the shirt (I think it was the collar) with both hands—I thought my sister bad gone for the police, and I held him, and we struggled, and the table went over, but the cups were broken before—he got away from me, and made a rush towards the bed which is near the window—I caught him again, and we struggled towards the door, getting out on to the dark landing—he had not got hold of my wrists than, but when we got on to the landing he had them—he tired to get my hair and my throat in the room—on the landing he put his leg behind me, and I went flat over on my back—my head was close to Amory’s door—I dragged Roberts over with me—I was lying along the Passage with my feet towards my own door—my head hit the partition—I kept on screaming, but nobody came till I fell—I did not see any knife till I saw it given to the policeman by Amory—I cannot swear whether it was Amory or Roberts who gave it to the policeman—I had a knife which my sister and I used in our own work—I bought it—the last time I saw that knife before, it was given to the policeman was at seven o’clock, when we were going out, when I put it with some wax on a shelf, and the leather on the top of it, with other things—when my head knocked against the partition I saw Amory and Mary Johnson come out, but I never saw the other woman till yesterday—when Amory came out my brother-in-law said something which I did not hear, but I saw Amory wanted to hold me and Roberts wanted to go back to the room—I caught him again, and then as the policeman came up the stairs he let go one wrist, and held both hands on the other—there was some blood on my wrist—in the struggle his nail caught me, and made me bleed—there is a mark here—when the policeman came I was excited—I was always on good terms with my sister—we had an argument about the leather sometimes; we never had any serious quarrel—I did not strike my sister fifteen years ago—I never struck her, and she never struck me; she was a quiet, industrious, good woman—when the policeman came Roberts was holding me very tight, and he said to the policeman, “I charge this woman with stabbing my wife”—it gave me such a turn that I lost power of myself, and I said. “What have I dome to you?” —I never said anything about a kiss; I never kissed my sister—I was taken to the station; I was drunk, and so was my sister she was not in the habit of drinking much spirits, but it was a very wet night, and she was upset I was charged first with stabbing my sister I said, “Is it me to hurt my sister”—I meant to say, “Woe be to me to hurt my sister”—afterwards the inspector said. “You are charged with the murder of Elizabeth Roberts; do you hear?”—I said, “Yes, I hear, sir, but I am innocent”—I was so knocked up—I remember two doctors looking at my hands—my sister asked me to live with her—when we were out selling our work my sister did not want to go home, but we did so because the child was at home.

    Cross-examined. It must have been Roberts who stabbed my sister—of course, I did not touch her. and there was nobody else there to do it—I swear I saw him strike her—I bought the knife the day before the murder in the leather-shop—before that we used an old blade, which was very blunt; it was still in the room, and there, was another old one which would not cut anything—we had both been using this knife up till about 6.45—my sister’s work was nothing to do with mine; we each sold it separately—that night her work was better than mine—I did not have a discussion with my sister that night—I paid her 1s. a day for living with her, and we paid 10d. a night for the room—we had been drinking nearly all day—we brought drink in—we had not had too much when we went-out at 7 o’clock—we could not sell our work if we were drunk—when we came home at 12 we had had a good deal to drink, but we were not drunk—we knew perfectly well what we were doing—we were afraid to go home at first—I was never silly drunk in my life—my sister proposed to give her husband time to sleep and get sober before we went home;—Roberts does not show it when he is drunk—before my sister was stabbed, she had not offered any violence to anybody—she never struck anyone in her life that I know of—my sister and I were always talking loudly—we were doing so on that night—Roberts answered quietly—he will not let the neighbours hear him call his wife bad names—the people were against him when he was bound over, and he kept quiet—when I was struggling with Roberts in the room, my sister was outside—I did not hear Roberts call for help—Johnson and Amory never came to the door till my head struck against it—my sister did not return to the room again—when Amory came out Roberts was holding me by one wrist and my hair, and I had him by the shirt with my other hand—I saw either Roberts or Amory give the knife to the policeman, I do not know which—it was never in my hand—I did not give it to Amory—I did not see the knife in Roberts’s hand on the landing—I thought it was Roberts who had stabbed my sister when I was being taken down the stairs—I did not say so—I did not know what I was, doing—I turned to my sister, and said, “Oh Liz, what have I done?” meaning my sister to speak and say what I had done—I did not say Roberts had done it when I was charged with wilful murder, because I was so bewildered—I could not get over the shock when I heard she was dead—I did not break any panes of glass that night in the window—there were none to break it was all patched up with paper—when I was charged with wilful murder I said, “Oh Liz, if it had been any other woman who done it,” meaning woe be to any other woman to hurt my sister, much less me—I cannot swear that I did not say, “If it had been any other person I would have done it”—I know what I meant to say—if anybody provoked me, and I had a knife in my hand, I do not know If I should stab them. (MR. AVORY proposed to question the witness as to her past life in the matter of stabbing other persons, and also to former convictions. MR. COUNSELL objected on the ground that he was not entitled to do so under the Criminal Evidence Act of 1898, as it was a question directed to the character of the witness the accused in the case. MR. JUSTICE DARLING, however, considered the evidence admissible.) I have been convicted two or three times for wounding people—in 1879 I was convicted at the Middlesex Sessions for wounding, and sentenced to eight months' hard labour—that was with a broken plate—in 1883 I was convicted at the same place of an assault, on Roberts’s sister, and sentenced to two months’ hard labour—on November 13th, in the same year, I was convicted at the Thames Police-court of an assault on a policeman, and sentenced to two months’ hard labour—I was struggling, with the man I lived, with for twenty-four years, and the policeman came up—in October, 1884, at the Middlesex Sessions, I was sentenced to ten months’ hard labour for wounding Roberts’s brother with a working knife—I did not then say that it was Roberts, the witness, who had done it—I pleaded guilty to that and every conviction against me—in April, 1889, I was sentenced to eighteen months for Wounding a woman with a knife—in August, 1894, I was again sentenced to three months’ hard labour for an assault, and in May, 1895, I was sent to five years’ penal servitude for wounding the man I lived with—I have been convicted about twenty times for being drunk and disorderly—all the assaults were done in self-defence—I have had twenty-seven stabs on my body—I did not know that the coroner’s-inquest was going on in this case—I was in bed at the hospital and I heard a voice say there was an inquest; but I did not understand it—no policeman ever spoke to me about it—I do not know if I said that I did not intend to give evidence there—I did not go, I knew nothing about it.

    Re-examined. I never on any occasion put the guilt on anybody else—I never on any occasion disputed my guilt.

    GUILTY. Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY on the ground of the absence of premeditation, and being done in a state of drunken frenzy.
    DEATH .