The trial of William Corder, of Polstead, for the murder

of Maria Marten, on the 18th of May, 1827, commenced on the morning of Thursday. Bury St. Edmund's, where the prisoner :was confined and the trial was to take place, appears to have been seized as the head-quarters of a regimeitt of

London reporters ; and the natural interest attending the development of a scene of guilt, that had for a time been hidden in mystery, was inflamed and exaggerated to a ridiculous pitch by the provocatives of the press. From an early hour the vicinity of the Court was in a state of extreme confusion ; and as the time of trial approached, the crowd of barristers, magistrates, jurors, constables, yeomen, and ladies (!), actually obstructed the entrance of the judge. The prisoner took his place at the bar. He is described as apparently "about forty years of age, of middle height, of a fair and healthy com plexion, large mouth, turn-up nose, large eyes, which had a fixed and glazed aspect, and his features bore rather a smile than any other expression. He was dressed in a dark-coloured frock-coat with velvet collar, black waistcoat, and blue trowsers." The indictment, which set forth the criminal act with the usual technicality in ten counts, having been listened to with much attention by the prisoner, he, with a firm voice, pleaded " Not Guilty." The case was neatly stated by Mr. Andrews. William Corder is the son of respectable parents, who resided at Polstead, in this county. His father, who is now dead, for some time carried on the business of a farmer, to a considerable extent. After his death, his mother, assisted by an elder brother, since dead, and subsequently by the prisoner, continued the same business. Maria Marten, a young woman of more humble parents, resided in the same parish. She had been for some time known to the prisoner, but it was not until within twelve months before the 18th of May 1827 that

they became intimate ; the result of which was the birth of an illegitimate child. The young woman was not confined at her father's house, but was removed to a distance ; and about six weeks before the period in question, she returned home with her child. The child, which had been always weakly, died in a fortnight after her return. Corder had been heard to tell Maria Marten that the parish-officers were thinking of having her taken up because of her bastard child, and that some difference was also known to exist between them with respect to a five-pound note. On one occasion, Maria Marten was heard to say to the prisoner—" Well, if I go to gaol, you shall go too." Corder, upon that occasion, told her he should make

her his wife. On the Sunday before the 18th of May, Corder called

at her father's house, and told her they would go to Ipswich, but they did not go on that day. On Friday the 18th of May, the prisoner called again at the house of the deceased, who was at the time up stairs with her mother ; he called to her and said, " I am now going — are you ready?" She said " I cannot go out in the day-time, people will see Me." He told her that they had been disappointed several times, and that she must prepare and go then. It was arranged that she should put some clothes into a bag, which he would take to the Red Barn, to which she was to repair in male atere, and she could there change her dress, and proceed with him to Ipswich, where he would marry her. She put her dress into the bag, and also a small basket, into which she put a black velvet bag or reticule, lined with silk. Corder left the house, and was absent about a quarter of an hour, and on his return Maria Marten had habited herself in a coat, waistcoat, and trowsers. She had also on a part of her own dress, consisting of a flannel petticoat and stays, with an ashen busk ; she wore ear-rings and a comb, and had round her neck a green handkerchief. They left the house at the same time, but by different doors, both going in the direction of the Red Barn. From that period the friends of Maria Marten never saw her inore alive ; nor did they hear anything of her, save such accounts as had been furnished them by the prisoner. Before she left her kome, he told her he had received a letter from a person named Balham, who would take her into custody on the ground of her having another illegitimate child (she had a child previously by a Mr. Mathews) ; but Balham never gave the prisoner any such letter. On the day of her leaving her father's .00ttage for the Red Barn, a younger brother of her's, who was getting some grass in an adjoining field, saw the-prisoner going towards the Red Barn with a pickaxe on his shoulder. The mother of the deceased saw the prisoner on the following Sunday ; he told her that.lie had not yet married her daughter; he said he had got the license, hut that it was necessary to send it to London, and that in the mean time lie had placed Maria with some friends of his, who resided at Yarmouth. She again saw the prisoner in the following week, and told him of her son's having seen him go towards the Red Barn on the 18th of May with a pick-axe on his shoulder. But he said " it could not be me, it must have been a man named Acres, who was stubping up some trees in a field nearthere." Now Acres was never so employed in that neighbourhood. Between the 18th of May, and up to the harvest time, the family of the deceased frequently saw the prisoner, and he assured them that she was still living with his friends, who, he said, were named Bowling. He represented her as being in good health ; and when her friends complained of her silence, he accounted for it in various ways : at one time he said, when he was with her she was so much occupied with him that she had not time to write ; at another, that she had a sore hand, and was unable to write ; in a word, he continued to amuse her friends by various statements up to the harvest-time. On one occasion he got into conversation with a female named Stowe, who lived near the Red Barn ; Stowe asked him if Maria Marten was likely to have any more children, and he said she was not. Stowe asked, why not ? and observed that Maria was a young woman, and likely to have many more ; but he said " No," she would not have any more, she had had her number. Stowe asked if Maria was anywhere near? he replied, " She is where I can see her any day, and when I am not with. her, I am sure nobody else is." The prisoner borrowed a spade of Stowe Up to September the Red Barn was empty, with the exception of some old litter which remained from the preceding year. When the first field of wheat was cut and brought in, the prisoner ordered that the upper bay of the barn should be first filled, and he was present when the two first loads were deposited there. [Here the learned counsel proceeded to describe the barn, as it was represented by a model on the table.] The harvest being over, the prisoner left Polstead, from which lie was driven to Colchester by a person named Pryke. He on that occasion stated, that he had not seen Maria Marten since May. But I should have stated, that before leaving Polstead, he saw the father of the deceased, with whom he shook hands, saying that he was going to marry his daughter soon, and that he had purchased a new suit of clothes to be married in. In the course of the following October, the father of the deceased received a letter, bearing the London post-mark, in which the prisoner stated that he had made Maria Marten his wife, and expressed his surprise at not having received an answer to a previous letter written by Maria, in which she stated that Mr. Rowling had acted as father, and Miss Rowling as bridesmaid at the wedding. In a subsequent commuideation, he stated that the letter had not passed through the London Postoffice, and accounted for it by saying that it had to cross the water, he being then residing in the Isle of Wight. In a short time after this, the prisoner met a gentleman named Matthews in London, and a conversation took place between them relative to the deceased; when he said he had not, up to that time, been able to marry Maria Marten, in consequence of some family affairs, but that he was shortly about to do so. The parents of the young woman not hearing anything for a considerable time, became uneasy and suspicious about her fate. These suspicions at length assumed a definite shape, and they became anxious to search the Red Barn. In April this year, the whole of the corn was threshed out, and nothing remained in the barn but the old litter and a little straw. The barn was then searched by the friends of the deceased, and in the upper bay they perceived that the earth was not so firm as in other places : on digging down about one foot and a half, they discovered the body of a female, covered with portions of her dress, namely, jean stays, her shift, and round her neck was a green handkerchief. The body and clothes were carefully inspected by the father, mother, and sister of the deceased, who had no doubt of the identity. She was' carefully inspected, by surgeons. She had a wen or enlargement on the throat ; which was found upon the deceased. She had lost two lower teeth ; the loss was to be perceived in the lower jaw of the body. The features were not altogether disfigured, so she was easily recognized. The deceased had been afflicted with a pain in her side ; and the surgeons on examining the body discovered inflammation in that part. They also found the marks of a pistol-ball on the cheek, a wound on the neck, inflicted by some sharp instrument, and also a like wound in the left side. The green handkerchief round the neck appeared to have been drawn so tight as to cause strangulation. Upon the body being found suspicion fell upon the prisoner,

and an active officerwas dispatched to London in search of him. He was traced to Ealing-lane, where Lee the officer took him into custody, telling hi in that he was arrested on a very serious charge, about a young woman named Maria Marten, and he asked him if he knew anything of such a person ? The prisoner said, "No." He again asked him if he had never known such a person, and he said, "No, never." The officer then said, "I have asked you twice, and I will now ask you for the third and last time. Your name is Corder, and you are the person I am in search of; did you ever know a young woman named Maria Marten ?" And his answer again was, " No, never." He was taken into custody, and committed to prison. The officer Lee, on searching the house, found a black velvet bag or reticule, lined with silk, and having a selvedge inside ; that bag belonged to Maria Marten. In the bag the officer found a pair of pistols. When he found that wounds inflicted with a sharp instrument had been discovered on the body of the de ceased, he remembered he had seen a sword hanging up in the prisoner's house at Ealing : he proceeded thither, and obtained it, and it was found to cor

respond with the cuts on the body, through the stays and other parts of the dress. Before the 18th of May, the prisoner was in possession of such a sword, and had sent it to be ground in the neighbourhood ; and it had been seen with him before he left Polstead. These are the main facts of the case.

The evidence called bore out the counsel in his opening. Ann Marten, the mother, was first called, and deposed to all the circumstances attending the connexion between the prisoner and the deceased, and to their departure together from her house with the avowed design of being married. Marten, the father, described the disinterment of the body ; which was identified by several marks and features to be that of Maria Marten. Mrs. Marten recogs nized the combs, ear-rings, and other articles of dress, to be those her daughter wore when she last saw her.

The following letters, proved to be in the prisoner's hand-writing, were put in and read :—

" London, Bull Inn, Leadenhall-street, Thursday, Oct. 18, 1827.

" Thomas Marten—I am just arrived at London upon business respecting our family affairs, and am writing to you before I take the least refreshment, because I sheaild be in time for this night's post, as my stay in town wilt be very short, anxious to return again to her who is now my wife, and with whom I shall be one of the happiest of men. I should have had her with me, but it WIN her wish to stay at our lodgings at Newport, in the Isle of Wight, which she described to you in her letter ; and we feel astonished that you have not yet answered it, thinking illness must have been the cause. In that she gave you a full description of' our marriage and that Mr. Rowland was daddy, and Miss bride's-maid; likewise told you they came with us as far as London, when we continued together very comfortable for three days, when we parted with the greatest regret. Maria and myself went oft to the Isle of Wight, and they both returned home. I told Maria I should write to you directly I reached London, who is very anxious to hear from you, fearful some strange reason is the cause of your not writing ; she requested that you would inclose Mr. Peter's letters in one of your own, should he write to you, that we may know better how to act. She is now mine, and I should wish to study for her comfort as well as my own. Let us know all respecting Mr. Peter, and if you can possibly write by return of post, direct for Mr. W. C. at the above inn. Maria wishett me to give her love to Nancy, and a kiss for her little boy, hoping every possible care is taken of him, and tell your wife to let Nancy have any of Maria's clothes she may think proper, for she says she have got so many they will only spoil, and make use of any she may like herself. In her letter she said a great deal about little Henry, who she feels anxious to hear about, and will take him to herself as soon as we can get a farm whereby we can gain a livelihood, which I shall do the first I can meet worth notice, for living without somebusiuess is very expensive, still provisions are reasonable in the Isle of Wight: I think cheaper than in any part of England. Thank God we are both well, hoping this will find you all the same. We have both been on the water, and have hart some sea sickness, which I consider have been very useful to us both. My cough I have lost entirely, which is a great consolation. In real truth I feel better than I ever did in my life only in this short time. Maria told you in her letter how ill I was for two days at Portsmouth, which is seven miles over the water to the Isle of Wight, making altogether 139 miles from Polstead. I would say more, but time will not permit, therefore Maria unites with me for your welfare, and may every blessing attend you. Mind you direct to Wm. III. C. at the Bull Inn, Leadenhall-street, London ; write to-morrow if you can, if not, write soon enough for Saturday's post, that I may get it on Sunday morning, when I shall return to Maria directly I receive it. Enclose Mr. Peter's letters, and let us know whether he has acknowledged little Henry. You must try and read my scribble, but I am afraid you will never make it out.—I remain, your

well wisher, W. C. " P.S. I think you had better burn all letters, after taking the directions, that nobody may form the least idea of our residence. Adieu."

" To Thomas Marten, Polstead, near Stoke by Nayland, Suffolk, with speed."

Marten having denied the receipt of the above, received the following :—

" October, 2;3, 1827.

" Thomas Marten—I received !mut letter this morning, which reached London yesterday; but letters are not delivered out on a Sunday here, that I discovered, on Making inquiry yesterday. However, I could not get through my business before this afternoon, and am going dotvii to Portsmouth by this night's coach. I have been this day to the Gdneral Posd.office, making inquiry about the letter Maria sent to you, on the 30th of September, which you say never came to your blunts. The Clerk of the Office traced the books back to the date it was wrote, and he said a letter directed as I told him, to you, never came through their Office, which I think is very strange; however, I am determined to find out how it was lost, if possible. But I must think of coming over the water to Portsmouth, which I will inquire about tomorrow, when I hope to find out the mystery. It is, I think, very odd that letters should be lost in this strange way—was it not for the discovery of our residence, I certainly would indict the post-office; but I cannot do that without making our appearance at a Court Marshal, which would be very unpleasant to us both. You wish for us to come to Polstead, which we should be very happy to do, but you are not aware of the danger. You may depend, if we ever fall into Mr. P.'s hands, the consequence would be fatal—therefore, should he write to you, or should he come to Polstead, you must tell him you have not the least knowledge of us, but you think we axe gone to some foreign part. I think, if you do not hear from him before long, you had better write and tell him you cannot support the child without some assistance, for we are gone you knew not where. If you tell him you hear from us he will force you to say where we was; therefore I think it will be best not to acknowledge anything at alt I inclose one pound, and you shall hear from us again in a short time; this will not reach you before Wednesday morning, as I am too late for this night's post. You said your wife did not like to take any of Maria's clothes ; she said in her last letter that her old clothes were at their service—I mean your wife and Nancy ; but she shall write again as soon as possible. I mast now bid you adieu; the coach will startle about ten minutes. I have been so much employed all day, I could not write before. Believe Inc to be your well-wisher for your future welfare, Wm. C.. " To Mr. Marten, Polstead, near Colchester (post paid)."

" Sunday Afternoon, Aug. 26, 1827.

"Sir—In reply to your generous letter which reached me yesterday, I beg to inform you that I was indeed innocent of Maria Marten's residence at the time you requested me to forward the letter I took from Branford, and will candidly confess that Maria has been with a distant female relation of mine since the month of May. About five weeks ago they both went into Norfolk to visit some of my kindred's friends. On Friday week I received a letter from my kindred, who informed me that Maria was somewhat indisposed, and that they were then in a village called Horingby, near Yarmouth. I returned an answer by the next post, and inclosed. your letter for Maria, which I found reached her perfectly safe. As I took the Yarmouth coach last Wednesday from Ipswich Lamb Fair, and went to Horingby, when I was sorry to learn that Maria's indisposition was caused by a sore gathering on the back of her hand, which caused her great pain, and which prevented her from writing to you, as her fingers are at present immovable ; knowing you would be anxious to hear from her, I particularly wished her to write the first moment she found herself able, which she promised very faithfully to do. I gave her a particular

account of our dialogue at Polstead Hall, not forgetting the remarkable kindness experienced from you, which I shall ever most gratefully acknowledge, and likewise return you my most grateful thanks for your goodness in respect to the enterprise on my account when in London. 7 remain, Sir, your most obedient servant, "

" P.S. I have already inclosed your letter for Maria, with my own, which Cuan

post with this immediately, and beg permission to add, that I have fully determined

to make Maria my bride directly I can settle our family affairs, winch will be in about a month or siit weeks' time, Till then Maria will continue with my kindred.

In concluding, if I can at any time render you any service whatsoever, I shall be rnost happy to oblige, as I am truly sensible of your generosity." " For Peter Mathews, Esq. Bentield, near Workingbam, Berkshire."

Mr. Lorton, the surgeon who went to view the body when the coroner's jury was present, described the state in which he found it. A handkerchief was tied tight round the neck, as if it had been pulled by some person ; it had grooved the neck. In the neck was a perpendicular stab. Injury had been done to the right eye, and the right side of the face, as if something had passed into the left cheek and out of the right orbit : a ball appeared to have passed through the left cheek. These were the wounds he observed in the barn ; Mr. Nairn, however, brought to him a part of the ribs and the heart ; he then perceived there had been a stab between the fifth and sixth ribs, which had penetrated the heart. In opening the chest, he had himself made a wound in the heart, but not this one.

At half-past six, it was found necessary to adjourn. The jury were locked up for the night ; and Corder, who had employed himself in taking notes, &c. with perfect self-possession during the day, withdrew with alacrity and unabashed.

The Court met on Friday morning at nine.

Mr. Nairn, another surgeon, corroborated Mr. Lorton's evidence. Three stabs were found to correspond with a sword or knife which was found in Corder's possession. The head was produced, and the nature of the wound in the spheroidal process explained. It might have been caused by a sharp

instrument.

After these, and other circumstances were elicited, The prisoner being called on for his defence, advanced to the front of the liar, took out some papers, and read nearly as follows with a very tremulous voice :—" I am informed that, by the law of England, the counsel for a pri soner is not allowed to address the jury, though the counsel for the Crown is allowed that privilege. While 1 deplore, as much as any human being can, the fatal event which has caused this enquiry, let me entreat you to dismiss from your minds the publications of the public press from the time of its first promulgation to this hour ; let me entreat you, let me dissuade you, if I can, from being influenced by the horrid and disgusting details which have for months issued from the public press—a powerful engine for fixing the opinions of large classes of the community, but which is too often, I fear, though Unintentionally, the cause of affixing slander upon innocence. I have been described as a monster, who, while meditating becoming the husband of this girl to whom I was evincing an affectionate attachment, was actually premeditating and plotting the perpetration of this horrid crime. With such misrepresentations it was natural, perhaps, to expect that an unfavourable

impression should have been created against me, and the more so when the

accusation went beyond the present case, and was connected with other crimes well calculated to excite prejudice against me. It is natural you

should come to this trial with feelings of prejudice ; but as you expect peace and serenity of mind at home, I implore you to banish from your minds all the horrible accusations which have been promulgated, and give your verdict on the evidence alone. Consider, gentlemen, that the attorney for the prosecution is also the coroner before whom the inquest was taken ; and his conduct, in refusing my being present at the inquest, is conduct which you cannot approve. Since nay committal, the coroner has been again at Polstead,—has got up additional evidence. My solicitor pressed for a copy of the depositions, which were refused. In consequence of these unjust proceedings, I never heard one of the witnesses examined, and cannot therefore have come prepared as I ought to be. The coroner thus acting in his double capacity was likely enough, when meditating to act as attorney for the prosecution, to have entertained impressions inconsistent for the fit discharge of his inquisitorial inquiry ; and again, as attorney for the prosecution, he was liable to be diverted from the fulfilment of his duties as coroner ; so that I svak in this respect, on the threshold of inquiry, exposed to disadvantages from which I ought to have been saved. This, however, was not all: my solicitor remonstrated ; he was not only refused copies of the depositions, but the attorney for the prosecution, without any notice to me, has visited Polstead, and taken examinations upon oath of the different witnesses, and come to this trial prepared with evidence taken behind my back, and pruned down to suit the exaggerations of this case. I therefore am brought to be tried for my life without any fair knowledge of the evidence against me. In consequence of this unjust proceeding on the part of the coroner, how can I controvert, as I might have done were I allowed to hear the witnesses, equivocal facts and, highly coloured statements, of which I am, for the first time, informed when brought to trial for my life? Were -witnesses to be privately examined, and their evidence clandestinely obtained? It has been well observed, that truth is sometimes stronger than fiction. Never was this assertion better exemplified than in this hapless instance. In a few short months I have been deprived of all my brothers, and my father recently before that period. I. have heard the evidence, and am free to say, unexplained, it may cause great suspicion ; but you will allow me to explain it. Proceeding, my Lord, and gentlemen, to the real facts of this case, I admit that there is evidence calculated to excite suspicione—but these facts are capable of explanation ; and, convinced as I am of my entire innocence, I have to entreat you to listen to my true and simple detail of the real facts of the death of this unfortunate woman. I was myself so stupified and overwhelmed with the strange and disastrous circumstance, and on that account so unhappily driven to the necessity of immediate decision, that I acted with fear instead of judgment, and I did that which any innocent man might have done under such unhappy circumstances. I concealed the appalling occurrence, and was, as is the misfortune of such errors, subsequently driven to sustain the first falsehoods by others, and to persevere in a system of delusion which furnished the facts concealed for a long time. At first I gave a false account of the death of the unfortunate Maria. I am now resolved to disclose the truth, regardless of the consequences. To conceal her pregnancy from my mother, I took lodgings at Sudbury: she was delivered of a male child, which died in a fortnight in the arms of Mrs. Marten, although the newspapers have so perverted that fact, and it was agreed between Mrs. Marten, Maria, and me, that the child should be buried in the fields. There was a pair of small pistols in the bed-room ; Maria knew they were there. I had often showed them to her. Maria took them away from me. I had some reason to suspect she had some correspondence with a gentleman, by whom she had a child, in London. Though her conduct was not free from blemish, I at length yielded to her entreaties, and agreed to marry her; and it'svas arranged we should go to Ipswich and procure a licence and marry. Whether I said there was a warrant out against her I know not. It has been proved that we had many words; and that she was crying when she left the house. Gentlemen, this was the origin of the fatal occurrence. I gently. rebuked her ; we reached the barn; while changing her dress, she flew into a passion,. upbraided me with not having so much regard for her as the gentleman before alluded to. Feeling myself in this manlier so much insulted and irritated, when I was about to perform every kindness and reparation, I said, Maria, if you go on in this way before marriage, what have I to expect after ? I shall therefore stop when I can, I will return straight home, and you can do what you like, and act just as you think proper.' I said I would not marry her. In consequence of this, I retired from her, when I immediately heard the report of a gun or pistol, and running back I found the unhappy girl weltering on the ground. Recovering from my stupor, I thought to have left the spot ; but I endeavoured to raise her from the ground, but found her entirely lifeless. To my horror I discovered the pistol was one of ray own she had privately taken from may bed-room. There she lay, killed by one of my own pistols, and 1 the only being by ! My faculties were suspended. I knew not what to do. The instant the mischief happened, I thought to have made it public ; but this would have added to the suspicion, and I then resolved to conceal her death. I then buried her in the best way I could. I tried to conceal the fact as well as I could, giving sometimes one reason for her absence, and sometimesanother. It may be said, why not prove this by witnesses ? Alas ! how can I ? How can I oiler any direct proof how she possessed herself of my pistols, for I found the other in her reticule. That she obtained them cannot be doubted. All I can say as to the stabs is, that I never saw one; and I believe the only reason for the surgeons talking of them is, that a sword was found in my possession. I can only account for them by supposing that the spade penetrated her body when they searched for the body in the barn. This I know, that neither from me, nor from herself, did she get any stab of this description. I always treated her with kindness, and had intended to marry her. What motive, then, can be suggested for my taking her life ? I could have easily gotten over the promise of marriage. Is it possible I could have intended her destruction in this manner? We went, in the middle of the day, to a place surrounded by cottages. Would this have been the case had I intended to have murdered her ? Should I have myself furnished the strongest evidence that has been adduced against me ? I might, were I a guilty man, have suppressed the time and place of her death, but my plain and unconcealed actions, because they were guiltless, supplied both. Had I intended to perpetrate so dreadful a crime, would I have kept about me some of the articlgs that were known to be Maria's ? Had I sought her life, could I have acted ims such a manner ? Had I, I would have chosen another time and place. Look at my conduct since. Did I run away ? No ! I lived months and months, with my mother. I left Polstead in consequence of my family afflictions. I went to the Isle of Wight. It is said that the passport was obtained to enable me to leave England at any time. No, it was to enable me to visit some friends of my wife's in Paris. Should I have kept her property, had I aaything to fear from their detection ? Li December last, 1 advertised in The Times newspaper the sale of my house, and gave my name and address at full length. Did this look like concealment ?You will consider any man innocent till his guilt is fully proved. It now rests with you to restore me to society, or to an ignominious death. To the former I feel I am entitled—against the latter I appeal to your justice and humanity. I have nothing more to add, but that I leave my life in your hands, aware that you will give me time lem_ mane benefit of the law in cases of doubt, and that your Lordship will take a compassionate view of the melancholy situation in which my misfortunes have placed me."

The following witnesses for the defence were then called. William Good win—" I live in Plough-lane, Sudbury. The prisoner, in the spring of last year, came to take apartments at my house. Maria _Marten afterwards came and lay in there. They were there between two and three months. She was delivered of a child there. The prisoner came once or twice a-week to see her, as well after as before her confinement. When I saw them together, I know nothing to the contrary of his appearing fond of her. She went, before or after her confinement, to Mr. Harcourt's, the gunsmith, at Sudbury:" Mary Anne Goodwin, wife of the last witness—" I knew Maria Marten, who lodged with me in March 1827 ; she was brought by the prisoner. She was confined there, and was there better than two months. The prisoner frequently came to visit her.; he never missed coming once a-week. He treated her always with kindness ; and they appeared very much attached to each other. She was generally in very bad spirits. I heard her say she went for the pistols to the shop where they were. She went for them alone to Mr. Harcourt's." Thomas Hardy—" I was in the employ of Mrs. Corder last year. In February last year I saw the prisoner cleaning pistols. I saw Maria Marten on the 13th of May, with the prisoner, walking across the yard towards the stable. There are two stair-cases in Mrs. Corder's house ; and a person may go up to what was the prisoner's room, by one of .them, without Mrs. Corder knowing anything about it." Lucy Balam—" I lived with Mrs. Corder eleven menthe, till last Old Michaelmas day. I have seen a pair of pistols in the prisoner's bed-room, sometimes in a box and somethnes out of it. The prisoner remained with his mother till about a fortnight before I left. He always appeared a very kind and good-natured young man." Edward Liveing—" I am a surgeon of Nayland, near Polstead. I have attended him professionally. About this time last year I advised him to leave that part of the country, and to go to a warm bathing-place, particularly mentioning Hastings and the South coast. Ile was then strongly threatened with consumption. Some time after . that, I understood he was gone." Thirza Havers—" I have known the prisoner from his infancy. I have always found him to be a kind and humane man." John Bugg—" I was the looker of Mrs. Corder's farm. He always bore the character of a mild and humane man." John Pryke (a schoolfellow of the prisoner), and Mary Kersey, who had known him from infancy, gave him the same character. By Mr. Kelly--" Are you related to the prisoner I"— "His cousin." By Mr. Brodrick—"And has that circumstance made you more intimately acquainted with him and his character than you would otherwise have been ?"--." It has, Sir." John Boreham and John Belem gave similar evidence.

The Lord Chief Baron began his summing up at twelve o'clock. The law required great particularity of description as to the mode by which a murdered person met with death. It was, therefore, that this indictment contained so many counts. If they were of opinion that by one or .two, or any, or all of the means charged, the deceased met her death, and by the hands of the prisoner, the law and the justice of the country required that they should find him guilty. He commented on the ex parte statements that had been published; but particularly he reprobated the conduct of the

dissenting minister named Young, of whom he could hardly bring himself to believe the account to have been correct. It was most improper, and se. verely to be condemned, that any man, particularly a man pretending to be a minister of religion, should travel out of his ordinary walk in life, and erect his pulpit upon the very spot where the alleged crime had been committed. And to do what ? Why, to preach a sermon (if the term could be applicable upon such an occasion) inflaming the minds of an ignorant multitude against the prisoner at the bar,—against a man not then on his trial, and who, front his situation and circumstances, could not by any possibility defend himself. His lordship next proceeded to comment on the prisoner's defence, which, no doubt, under good and able advice, had relieved himself and the Jury from that which would have been part of their duty had a different course been adopted. The prisoner had avowed the facts charged, as to day, place, and circumstance. He had himself also identified the body as that of Maria Marten. His defence not

only avowed this, but went on to charge the onus of the death upon the 'deceased herself. He had charged suicide upon Maria Marten herself. His Lordship then detailed such parts of the evidence as it appeared to him necessary to particularise. In commenting on the evidence of Marten, the father, he called the attention of the jury to the position the body was found in, and the shape of the handkerchief that was round the neck. He did this, because of the statement in the defence, that the deceased died by her own hand. His Lordship also commented on the conversation of the prisoner with Plicebe Stow, respecting Maria, wherein he had said, " She was where he could go to her at any time." The conversation was a singular one, and inconsistent with an anxiety to avoid the suspicion—it was inconsistent with the defence set up. It was remarkable, his Lordship said, when he arrived at the evidence of Lee, the officer, that it did not occur to the prisoner to tell him the story that his defence had told to-day. It would have been natural to have done so ; but it did not appear to have occurred to the prisoner to do it. On his arrival at the surgeon's evidence, his Lordship commented on the stab in the neck, upon the ribs, and in the heart. If it was a case of suicide, it was a singular case. It was not common foi. persons committing that crime first to shoot and then to stab themselves in different places. It was a very extraordinary circumstance that the deceased should so destroy herself, especially at a time when she was expecting the greatest blessing a young woman could hope for, namely, a matrimonial union with a person it was confessed she was attached to. The conduct of the Coroner had been complained of; it was but justice to say, he thought without reason : an accused person had no right to be present (luring the inquest : the depositions were read over to the prisoner, and he had nothing to complain of on that head. The case was now in the hands of the jury, and they would do their duty. The Jury retired, and in a quarter of an hour returned into Court with a Verdict of" Guilty."

The Lord Chief Baron, with emphatic solemnity, pronounced sentence of death—to be executed on Monday next. As the Judge concluded his impressive address, the prisoner uttered a groan, and began to sink to the ground. The gaolers on each side supported him, and with great difficulty he was led from the dock ; as soon, however, as he reached the cell behind the dock, he fell senseless on the floor of the cell, and remained in that state for a considerable time. The miserable wretch appears, from all that passed, to have been buoyed up by the hopes of escape to the last, and the intinuation of security had also .extended to his unhappy wife, who is said to have been cooking a dinner for himLat the moment when the dreadful sentence of the law was passing.