"I hereby certify that George, Prince of Wales, married Hannah Wheeler, alias Lightfoot, April 17th, 1759; but, from finding the latter to be her right name, I solemnized the union of the said parties a second time, May the 27th, 1759, as the certificate affixed to this paper will confirm."

Witness (torn). "J. WILMOT."

"Not to be acted upon until the king's demise."

"With other sacred papers to Lord Warwick's care for Olive, my grand-daughter, when I am no more. J.W."

"MY DEAR OLIVE,—As the undoubted heir of Augustus, King of Poland, your rights will find aid of the Sovereigns that you are allied to by blood, should the family of your father act unjustly, but may the great Disposer of all things direct otherwise. The Princess of Poland, your grandmother, I made my lawful wife, and I do solemnly attest that you are the last of that illustrious blood. May the Almighty guide you to all your distinctions of birth. Mine has been a life of trial, but not of crime! J. WILMOT." "January, 1791."

"If this pacquet meets your eye let not ambition destroy the honour nor integrity of your nature. Remember that others will be dependent on your conduct, the injured children, perhaps, of the good and excellent consort of your king—I mean the fruit of his Majesties first marriage—who may have been consigned to oblivion like yourself; but I hope that is not exactly the case; but as I was innocently instrumental to their being, by solemnizing the ill-destined union of power and innocence, it is but an act of conscientious duty to leave to your care the certificates that will befriend them hereafter! The English nation will receive my last legacy as a proof of my affection, and when corruption has desolated the land, and famine and its attendant miseries create civil commotion, I solemnly command you to make known to the Parliament the first lawful marriage of the king, as when you are in possession of the papers, Lord Warwick has been sacredly and affectionately by myself entrusted with, their constitutional import will save the country! Should the necessity exist for their operation, consult able and patriotic men, and they will instruct you. May Heaven bless their and your efforts in every sense of the subject, and so shall my rejoiced spirit with approving love (if so permitted) feel an exultation inseparable from the prosperity of England. J. WILMOT."

"GEORGE R.

"We are hereby pleased to recommend Olive, our niece, to our faithful Lords and Commons for protection and support, should she be in existence at the period of our royal demise; such being Olive Wilmot, the supposed daughter of Robert Wilmot of Warwick. J. DUNNING. ROBT. WILMOT. January 7th, 1780."

Mrs. Ryves, the petitioner, was the principal witness called. She gave her evidence very clearly and firmly, and when offered a seat in the witness-box declined it, saying that she was not tired, and could stand for ever to protect the honour of her family. She said she recollected coming from Liverpool to London with her father and mother when she was only two years and a half old, and narrated how she lived with them conjointly up to the date of the separation, and with her mother afterwards. It was then proposed to ask her some questions as to declarations made by Hannah Lightfoot, the reputed wife of George III., but the Lord Chief-Justice interposed with the remark that there was no evidence before the court as to the marriage of the king with this woman. The petitioner's counsel referred to the two following documents:—

"April 17, 1759.

"The marriage of these parties was this day duly solemnized at Kew Chapel, according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England, by myself, J. WILMOT. GEORGE P. HANNAH."

"Witness to this marriage, W. PITT. ANNE TAYLER."

"May 27, 1759.

"This is to certify that the marriage of these parties, George, Prince of Wales, to Hannah Lightfoot, was duly solemnized this day, according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England, at their residence at Peckham, by myself, J. WILMOT. GEORGE GUELPH. HANNAH LIGHTFOOT."

"Witness to the marriage of these parties, WILLIAM PITT. ANNE TAYLER."

Upon this, the Lord Chief-Justice again interposed, saying, "The Court is, as I understand, asked solemnly to declare, on the strength of two certificates, coming I know not whence, written on two scraps of paper, that the marriage—the only marriage of George III. which the world believes to have taken place—between his Majesty and Queen Charlotte, was an invalid marriage, and consequently that all the sovereigns who have sat on the throne since his death, including her present Majesty, were not entitled to sit on the throne. That is the conclusion to which the court is asked to come upon these two rubbishy pieces of paper—one signed 'George P,' and the other 'George Guelph.' I believe them to be gross and rank forgeries. The court has no difficulty in coming to the conclusion—even assuming that the signatures had that character of genuineness which they have not—that what is asserted in these documents has not the slightest foundation in fact."

Lord Chief-Baron Pollock expressed his entire concurrence in the opinion of the Lord Chief-Justice. After explaining that it was the province of the court to decide any question of fact, on the truth or falsehood of which the admissibility of a piece of evidence was dependent, he declared that these documents did not at all satisfy him that George III. was ever married before his marriage to Queen Charlotte; that the signatures were not proved to be even like the king's handwriting; and that the addition of the word "Guelph" to one of them was satisfactory proof that the king, at that date Prince of Wales, did not write it—it being a matter of common information that the princes of the royal family only use the Christian name.

Sir James Wilde also assented, characterizing the certificates as "very foolish forgeries," but adding that he was not sorry that the occasion had arisen for bringing them into a court of justice, where their authenticity could be inquired into by evidence, as the existence of documents of this sort was calculated to set abroad a number of idle stories for which there was probably not the slightest foundation.

The evidence as to Hannah Lightfoot being thus excluded, the examination of Mrs. Ryves, the petitioner, was continued. She remembered proceeding to Brighton, in 1805, where herself and her mother were introduced to the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. The prince had subsequently many conversations with them, and had bestowed many kindnesses on them. She knew the Duke of Kent from a very early age—he being a constant visitor at their house from 1805 till the time of his death. In the spring of 1815 Lord Warwick's disclosure was made, and the Duke of Kent acknowledged the relationship even before he saw the proofs which were at the time at Warwick Castle. Thither the earl went to procure them, at the expense of Mrs. Serres, he being at this time so poor that he had not the means to go; indeed, Mrs. Ryves asserted that sometimes the earl was so terribly impoverished that he had not even a sheet of note-paper to write upon.

His mission was successful; and on his return he produced three sets of papers, one of which he said he had received from Dr. Wilmot, another set from Lord Chatham, and the third set had been always in his possession. One packet was marked "Not to be opened until after the king's death," and accordingly the seal was not broken; but the others were opened, and the papers they contained were read aloud in the presence of the Duke of Kent, who expressed himself perfectly satisfied that the signatures of George III. were in his father's handwriting, and declared that, as the Earl of Warwick might die at any moment, he would thenceforward take upon himself the guardianship of Mrs. Serres and her daughter. The sealed packet was opened in the latter part of 1819, and Mrs. Ryves, when questioned as to its contents, pointed out documents for the most part relating to the marriage of Dr. Wilmot and the Polish princess. Among other documents was the following:—

"Olive, provided the royal family acknowledge you, keep secret all the papers which are connected with the king's first marriage; but should the family's desertion (be) manifested (should you outlive the king) then, and only then, make known all the state secrets which I have left in the Earl of Warwick's keeping for your knowledge. Such papers I bequeath to you for your sole and uncontrolled property, to use and act upon as you deem fit, according to expediency of things. Receive this as the sacred will of JAMES WILMOT."

"June —st, 1789. Witness, WARWICK."

Mrs. Ryves maintained that up to the moment of the opening of the sealed packet her mother had believed herself to be the daughter of Robert Wilmot and the niece of Dr. Wilmot, and she did not know of any Olive Wilmot except her aunt, who was the wife of Mr. Payne. When the first information as to her birth was given to her by Lord Warwick, she supposed herself to be the daughter of the Duke of Cumberland by the Olive Wilmot who was afterwards Mrs. Payne, and had no idea that her mother was the daughter of Dr. Wilmot, and was another person altogether. There was a great consultation as to opening the packet before the king's death; but the Duke of Kent persisted in his desire to know its contents, and the seals were broken. The Duke of Kent died on the 26th of January, 1820, and George III. in the following week, on the 30th of the same month.

Mrs. Ryves then proved the identity of certain documents which bore the signatures of the Earl of Warwick and the Duke of Kent. They were chiefly written on morsels of paper, and elicited the remark from the Lord Chief-Justice, that "his royal highness seemed to have been as poor as to paper as the earl." She said that these documents were written in her own presence. Among them were these:—

"I solemnly promise to see my cousin Olive, Princess of Cumberland, reinstated in her R——l rights at my father's demise. EDWARD."

"May 3, 1816."

"I bind myself, by my heirs, executors, and assigns, to pay to my dearest coz. Olive, Princess of Cumberland, four hundred pounds yearly during her life. EDWARD." "May 3, 1818."

"I bequeath to Princess Olive of Cumberland ten thousand pounds should I depart this life before my estate of Castlehill is disposed of. EDWARD."

"June 9, 1819."

"I hereby promise to return from Devonshire early in the spring to lay before the Regent the certificates of my dearest cousin Olive's birth. EDWARD."

"Novr. 16, 1819."

"Jany. (illegible).

"If this paper meets my dear Alexandria's eye, my dear cousin Olive will present it, whom my daughter will, for my sake, I hope, love and serve should I depart this life. EDWARD."

"I sign this only to say that I am very ill, but should I not get better, confide in the duchess, my wife, who will, for my sake, assist you until you obtain your royal rights.

"God Almighty bless you, my beloved cousin, prays EDWARD."

"To Olive my cousin, and blessing to Lavinia."

Mrs. Ryves then went on to state that, after the death of the Duke of Kent and his father, the Duke of Sussex paid a visit to herself and her mother. On that occasion, and subsequently, he examined the papers, and declared himself satisfied that they were genuine.

In her cross-examination, and in answer to questions put by the court, Mrs. Ryves stated that her mother, Mrs. Serres, was both a clever painter and an authoress, and was appointed landscape painter to the court. She had been in the habit of writing letters to members of the royal family before 1815, when she had no idea of her relationship to them. Her mother might have practised astrology as an amusement. A letter which was produced, and described the appearance of the ghost of Lord Warwick's father, was in her mother's handwriting—as was also a manifesto calling upon "the Great Powers, Principalities, and Potentates of the brave Polish nation to rally round their Princess Olive, grand-daughter of Stanislaus," and informing them that her legitimacy as Princess of Cumberland had been proved. Her mother had written a "Life of Dr. Wilmot," and had ascribed the "Letters of Junius" to him, after a careful comparison of his MS. with those in the possession of Woodfall, Junius's publisher. She had also issued a letter to the English nation in 1817, in which she spoke of Dr. Wilmot as having died unmarried; and Mrs. Ryves could not account for that, as her mother had heard of his marriage two years previously.

A document was then produced in which the Duke of Kent acknowledged the marriage of his father with Hannah Lightfoot, and the legitimacy of Olive, praying the latter to maintain secrecy during the life of the king, and constituting her the guardian of his daughter Alexandrina, and directress of her education on account of her relationship, and also because the Duchess of Kent was not familiar with English modes of education. Mrs. Ryves explained that her mother refrained from acting on that document out of respect for the Duchess of Kent, who, she thought, had the best right to direct the education of her own daughter (the present queen). She also stated that her mother had received a present of a case of diamonds from the Duke of Cumberland, but she did not know what became of them.

The Attorney-General, on behalf of the crown, after explaining the provisions of the Act, proceeded to tear the story of the petitioners to pieces, pronouncing its folly and absurdity equal to its audacity. The Polish princess and her charming daughter he pronounced pure myths—as entirely creatures of the imagination as Shakspeare's "Ferdinand and Miranda." As to the pretended marriage of George III. and Hannah Lightfoot, the tale was even more astonishing and incredible, for not only were wife and children denied by the king, and a second bigamous contract entered into, but the lady held her tongue, the children were content to live in obscurity, and Dr. Wilmot faithfully kept the secret, and preached sermons before the king and his second wife Queen Charlotte. Not that Dr. Wilmot did not feel these grave state secrets pressing him down, but the mode of revenge which he adopted was to write the "Letters of Junius!"

Yet Dr. Wilmot died in 1807, apparently a common-place country parson. Surely there never was a more wonderful example of the possibility of keeping secrets. One would have imagined that the very walls would have spoken of such events; but although at least seven men and one woman (the wife of Robert Wilmot) must have been acquainted with them, the secret was kept as close as the grave for forty-three years, and was never even suspected before 1815, although all the actors in these extraordinary scenes seemed to have been occupied day and night in writing on little bits of paper, and telling the whole story. In 1815 the facts first came to the knowledge of Mrs. Serres; but, even then, they were not revealed, until the grave had closed over every individual who could vouch as to the handwriting.

As far as the petitioner, Mrs. Ryves, was concerned, the Attorney-General said he could imagine that she had brooded on this matter so long (she being then over 70 years of age), that she had brought herself to believe things that had never happened. The mind might bring itself to believe a lie, and she might have dwelt so long upon documents produced and fabricated by others, that, with her memory impaired by old age, the principle of veracity might have been poisoned, and the offices of imagination and memory confounded to such an extent that she really believed that things had been done and said in her presence which were entirely imaginary. He contended that Mrs. Serres, the mother of the petitioner, was not altogether responsible for her actions, and proceeded to trace her history. Between 1807 and 1815, he said, she had the advantage of becoming personally known to some members of the royal family, and being a person of ill-regulated ambition and eccentric character, and also being in pecuniary distress, her eccentricity took the turn of making advances to different members of that family. She opened fire on the Prince of Wales in 1809, by sending a letter to his private secretary, comparing His Royal Highness to Julius Caesar, and talking in a mad way about the politics of the illustrious personages of the day. In 1810 other letters followed in the same style, and in one of them she asked, "Why, sir, was I so humbly born?"

Scattered about these letters were mysterious allusions to secrets of state and symptoms of insane delusions. In one she imagined she had been seriously injured by the Duke of York. In another, she fancied that some one had poisoned her. In one letter she actually offered to lend the Prince of Wales, L20,000 to induce him to grant the interview of which she was so desirous, although in other letters she begged for pecuniary assistance, and represented herself to be in great distress. The letters were also full of astrology; she spoke of her "occult studies;" and she further believed in ghosts. The manifesto to Poland also pointed to the same conclusion as to her state of mind. A person of such an erratic character, he said, was very likely to concoct such a story, and the story would naturally take the turn of trying to connect herself with the royal family.

During the interval between the death of Lord Warwick in 1816 and 1821, when it was first made public, her story passed through no less than three distinct and irreconcilable stages. At first she stated that she was the daughter of the Duke of Cumberland by Mrs. Payne, the sister of Dr. Wilmot; and in 1817 she still described herself as Dr. Wilmot's niece. It was said that she did not come into possession of the papers until after Lord Warwick's death, but this assertion was contradicted by the evidence of Mrs. Ryves, as to events which were within her own recollection, and which she represented to have passed in her presence.

The second stage of the story was contained in a letter to Mr. Fielding, the Bow Street magistrate, in October, 1817. Having been threatened with arrest, she wrote to him for protection, and in this letter she represented herself as the natural daughter of the late Duke of Cumberland by a sister of the late Dr. Wilmot, whom he had seduced under promise of marriage, she being a lady of large fortune. In connection with this stage of the story, he referred to another letter which she wrote to the Prince-Regent in July, 1818, in which she stated that Lord Warwick had told her the story of her birth in his lifetime, but without showing her any documents; that he excused himself for not having made the disclosure before by saying that he was unable to repay a sum of L2000 which had been confided to him by the Duke of Cumberland for her benefit; and then she actually went on to say that when Lord Warwick died she thought all evidence was lost until she opened a sealed packet which contained the documents. This was quite inconsistent with the extraordinary story of Mrs. Ryves as to the communication of the papers to her and her mother in 1815.

The claim of legitimate royal birth was first brought forward at a time of great excitement and agitation, when the case of Queen Caroline was before the public; and it was brought forward in a tone of intimidation—a revolution being threatened if the claim were not recognised within a few hours. The documents were changed at times to suit the changing story, and there was every reason to believe that they were concocted by Mrs. Serres herself, who was a careful student of the Junius MSS., who was an artist and practised caligraphist, and who had gone through such a course of study as well prepared her for the fabrication of forged documents. The internal evidence of the papers themselves proved that they were the most ridiculous, absurd, preposterous series of forgeries that perverted ingenuity ever invented. If every expert that ever lived in the world swore to the genuineness of these documents, they could not possibly believe them to be genuine. They were all written on little scraps and slips of paper such as no human being ever would have used for the purpose of recording transactions of this kind, and in everyone of these pieces of paper the watermark of date was wanting.

At this stage of his address the Attorney-General was interrupted by the foreman of the jury, who stated that himself and his colleagues were unanimously of opinion that the signatures to the documents were not genuine.

The Lord Chief-Justice, thereupon, immediately remarked that they shared the opinion which his learned brethren and himself had entertained for a long time—that everyone of the documents was spurious.

After some observations by the counsel for the petitioner, who persisted that the papers produced were genuine, the Lord Chief-Justice proceeded to sum up the facts of the case. He said it was a question whether the internal evidence in the documents of spuriousness and forgery was not quite as strong as the evidence resulting from the examination of their handwriting. Two or three of them appeared to be such outrages on all probability, that even if there had been strong evidence of the genuineness of their handwriting, no man of common sense could come to the conclusion that they were genuine. Some of them were produced to prove that King George III. had ordered the fraud to be committed of rebaptising an infant child under a false name as the daughter of persons whose daughter she was not; another showed that the king had divested the crown of one of its noblest appendages—the Duchy of Lancaster—by a document he was not competent by law to execute, written upon a loose piece of paper, and countersigned by W. Pitt and Dunning; by another document, also written upon a loose piece of paper, he expressed his royal will to the Lords and Commons, that when he should be dead they should recognise this lady as Duchess of Cumberland. These papers bore the strongest internal evidence of their spuriousness. The evidence as to the marriage of the Duke of Cumberland with Olive Wilmot could not be separated from that part of the evidence which struck at the legitimacy of the Royal Family, by purporting to establish the marriage of George III. to a person named Hannah Lightfoot. Could any one believe that the documents on which that marriage was attested by W. Pitt and Dunning were genuine? But the petitioner could not help putting forward the certificates of that marriage, because two of them were written on the back of the certificate of the marriage of the Duke of Cumberland with Olive Wilmot. Men of intelligence could not fail to see the motive for writing the certificates of those two marriages on the same piece of paper. The first claim to the consideration of the royal family put forward by Mrs. Serres was, that she was the illegitimate daughter of the Duke of Cumberland by Mrs. Payne—a married woman. Her next claim was, that she was his daughter by an unmarried sister of Dr. Wilmot. She lastly put forward her present claim, that she was the offspring of a lawful marriage between the duke and Olive, the daughter of Dr. Wilmot. At the time when the claim was put forward in its last shape, it was accompanied by an attempt at intimidation, not only on the score of the injustice that would be done if George IV. refused to recognise the claim, but also on the score that she was in possession of documents showing that George III., at the time he was married to Queen Charlotte, had a wife living, and had issue by her; and consequently that George IV., who had just then ascended the throne, was illegitimate, and was not the lawful sovereign of the realm. And the documents having reference to George III.'s first marriage were inseparably attached to the documents by which the legitimacy of Mrs. Serres was supposed to be established, with the view, no doubt, of impressing on the king's mind the fact that she could not put forward her claims, as she intended to do, without at the same time making public the fact that the marriage between George III. and Queen Charlotte was invalid. Could any one believe in the authenticity of certificates like these; or was it possible to imagine that, even if Hannah Lightfoot had existed, and asserted her claim, great officers of state like Chatham and Dunning should have recognised her as "Hannah Regina," as they were said to have done?

In another document the Duke of Kent gave the guardianship of his daughter to the Princess Olive. Remembering the way in which that lady had been brought up, and the society in which she had moved, could the Duke of Kent ever have dreamed of superseding his own wife, the mother of the infant princess, and passing by all the other distinguished members of his family, and conferring on Mrs. Serres, the landscape painter, the sole guardianship of the future Queen of England? They must also bear in mind the way in which the claim had been brought forward. The irresistible inference from the different tales told was, that the documents were from time to time prepared to meet the form which her claims from time to time assumed. A great deal had been said about different members of the royal family having countenanced and supported this lady. He could quite understand, if an appeal was made on her behalf as an illegitimate daughter of the Duke of Cumberland, that a generous-minded prince might say, "As you have our blood flowing in your veins, you shall not be left in want;" and, very likely, papers might have been shown to some members of the royal family in support of that claim which they believed to be genuine. It was just as easy to fabricate papers showing her illegitimacy as to fabricate those produced; and probably such papers would not be very rigorously scrutinized. But it was not possible to believe that the documents now produced (including the Hannah Lightfoot certificates) had been shown to members of the royal family, and pronounced by them to be genuine. He could not understand why the secret was to be kept after the Duke of Cumberland's death, when there was no longer any danger that he would incur the risk of punishment for bigamy; and why the death of George III. should be fixed upon as the time for disclosing it. The death of George III. was the very time when it would become important to keep the secret, for if it had been then disclosed, it would have shown that neither George IV. nor the Duke of Kent were entitled to succeed to the throne. Why then should the Duke of Kent stipulate for the keeping of the secret until George III. died? They must look at all the circumstances of the case, and say whether they believed the documents produced by the petitioner to be genuine.

The jury at once found that they were not satisfied that Olive Serres, the mother of Mrs. Ryves, was the legitimate daughter of Henry Frederick Duke of Cumberland, and Olive his wife; that they were not satisfied that Henry Frederick Duke of Cumberland was lawfully married to Olive Wilmot on the 4th of March, 1767. On the other issues—that Mrs. Ryves was the legitimate daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Serres, and that the younger petitioner, W.H. Ryves, was the legitimate son of Mr. and Mrs. Ryves—they found for the petitioner.

On the motion of the Attorney-General, the judges ordered the documents produced by the petitioners to be impounded.

It may be noted, in conclusion, that if Mrs. Ryves had succeeded in proving that her mother was a princess of the blood royal, she would at the same time have established her own illegitimacy. The alleged marriage of the Duke of Cumberland took place before the passing of the Royal Marriage Act; and, therefore, if Mrs. Serres had been the duke's daughter, she would have been a princess of the blood royal. But that Act had been passed before the marriage of Mrs. Serres to her husband, and would have rendered it invalid, and consequently her issue would have been illegitimate. As it was, Mrs. Ryves obtained a declaration of her legitimacy; but in so doing she sacrificed all her pretensions to royal descent.



WILLIAM GEORGE HOWARD—THE PRETENDED EARL OF WICKLOW.

On the 22d of March, 1869, William, the fourth Earl of Wicklow, died, without male issue. His next brother, the Hon. and Rev. Francis Howard, had died during the late earl's lifetime, after being twice married. By his first marriage he had had three sons, none of whom had survived; but one son blessed his second nuptials, and he claimed the peerage at his uncle's death. A rival, however, appeared to contest his right in the person of William George Howard, an infant, who was represented by his guardians as the issue of William George Howard, the eldest son of the Hon. and Rev. Francis Howard by his first marriage, and a certain Miss Ellen Richardson. As to the birth of the former claimant there could be no doubt, and it was not denied that his eldest half-brother had been married as stated; but the birth of the infant was disputed, and the matter was left for the decision of the House of Lords.

The case for the infant was briefly as follows:—Mr. W.G. Howard, his reputed father, was married to Miss Richardson, in February, 1863. Four months after their marriage the couple went to lodge with Mr. Bloor, an out-door officer in the customs, who resided at 27 Burton Street, Eaton Square. Here they remained only three weeks, but during that time appear to have contracted a sort of friendship with the Bloor family, for, after being absent till the latter end of the year, they returned to the house in Burton Street, and endeavoured to procure apartments there. Mr. Bloor's rooms were full, and he was unable to accommodate them; but, in order to be near his old friends, Mr. Howard took apartments for his wife, at No. 32, in the same street. Being a person of dissipated and peculiar habits, and being, moreover, haunted by duns, he did not himself reside in the new lodgings, or even visit there; but, by Mr. Bloor's kindness, was accustomed to meet his wife occasionally in a room, which was placed at his service, in No. 27. Still later, Mrs. Howard returned to lodge at Mr. Bloor's, and occupied the whole upper portion of the house, while the lower half was rented by one of her friends, named Baudenave. Mr. Howard, in the meantime, remained in concealment in Ireland, and thither Mr. Bloor proceeded in April or May 1864, and had an interview with him, at which it was arranged that the Burton Street lodging-house keeper should allow Mrs. Howard to be confined at his residence, and should make every arrangement for her comfort. On the 16th of May, Mrs. Howard, whose confinement was not then immediately expected, informed the Bloors that she intended to leave London for a time, and set out in a cab for the railway station. In a very short time she returned, declaring that she felt extremely ill, and was immediately put to bed; but there being few symptoms of urgency, she was allowed to remain without medical attendance until Mr. Bloor returned from his work at eight o'clock, when his wife despatched him for Dr. Wilkins, a medical man whom Mrs. Howard specially requested might be summoned, although he was not the family doctor, and lived at a considerable distance. At half-past nine o'clock Mr. Bloor returned without the doctor; and was told by his rejoicing spouse, that her lodger had been safely delivered of a son under her own superintendence, and that the services of the recognised accoucheur could be dispensed with. Proud of the womanly skill of his wife, and glad to be spared the necessity of another wearisome trudge through the streets, he gladly remained at home, and Dr. Wilkins was not sent for several weeks, when he saw and prescribed for the infant, who was suffering from some trifling disorder. Unfortunately, this fact could not be proved, nor could the doctor's evidence be obtained as to Mr. Bloor's visit, as he had died before the case came on. But Mrs. Bloor, who attended Mrs. Howard during her confinement; Miss Rosa Day, sister of Mrs. Bloor, who assisted her in that attendance; Miss Jane Richardson, sister of Mrs. Howard; and Mr. Baudenave, their fellow-lodger, were all alleged to have seen the child repeatedly during the three following months, although it was admitted that its existence was kept a profound secret from everybody else. The three women above-mentioned were placed in the witness-box, and gave their evidence clearly and firmly, and agreed with each other in the story which they told; and, although Mrs. Bloor was rigorously cross-examined, her testimony was not shaken. When Mr. Baudenave was wanted he could not be found, and even the most urgent efforts of detectives failed to secure his attendance before the court.

On the other side it was contended that the story told on behalf of the infant plaintiff was so shrouded in mystery as to be absolutely incredible, and that it was concocted by the missing Baudenave, who was said to have been living on terms of suspicious familiarity with Mrs. Howard, and who had succeeded in inducing the witnesses to become accomplices in the conspiracy from motives of self-interest. Evidence was also produced to show that the birth had not taken place. A dressmaker, who measured Mrs. Howard for a dress, a little time before the date of her alleged confinement, swore that no traces of her supposed condition were then visible. Dr. Baker Brown and another medical man deposed that they had professionally attended a lady, whom they swore to as Mrs. Howard, and had found circumstances negativing the story of the confinement; and Louisa Jones, a servant, who lived in the house in Burton Street shortly after the birth of the infant, said she had never seen or heard of its existence. After the hearing of this evidence the case was postponed.

On its resumption Mrs. Howard produced witnesses to show that she was at Longley, in Staffordshire, during the whole of that period of August, 1864, to which the evidence of Dr. Baker Brown and the other medical witness related.

At the sitting of the court, on the 1st of March, 1870, Sir Roundell Palmer (Lord Selborne), who represented Charles Francis Howard, the other claimant, gave the whole case a new complexion by informing the court that he was in a position to prove that, in the month of August, 1864, Mrs. Howard and another lady visited a workhouse in Liverpool, and procured a newly-born child from its mother, Mary Best, a pauper, then an occupant of one of the lying-in wards of the workhouse hospital. In support of his assertion he was able to produce three witnesses—Mrs. Higginson, the head-nurse, and Mrs. Stuart and Mrs. O'Hara, two of the assistant-nurses, of whom two could swear positively to Mrs. Howard's identity with the lady who came and took away the child. The third nurse was in doubt.

The Solicitor-General, who represented the infant-claimant, thereupon requested an adjournment, in order to meet the new case thus presented. Their lordships, however, refused to comply with his desire until they had had an opportunity of examining Mrs. Howard; but when that lady was called she did not appear, and it was discovered that she had left the House of Lords secretly, and could not be found at her lodgings or discovered elsewhere. The case was therefore adjourned. At the next sitting, a week later, Mrs. Howard appeared before the committee, but refused to be sworn, demanding that the witnesses who were to be brought against her should be examined first. As she persisted in her refusal, she was given into custody for contempt of court, and the evidence of the Liverpool witnesses was taken. As Sir Roundell Palmer had stated, while one of the nurses remembered the transaction she could not be positive that Mrs. Howard was the party concerned in it; but the two others, and Mary Best the child's mother, had no hesitation in asserting that she was the person who had taken away the infant from the hospital. Towards the close of the sitting it was announced that a telegram had been received from Boulogne, stating that the real purchasers of Mary Best's child had been found, and that they would be produced at the next hearing of the case to re-but the Liverpool evidence; but when the next sitting came no Boulogne witnesses were forthcoming, and the Solicitor-General was compelled to state that he had been on the wrong scent; but that he would be able to refute the story which had been trumped up against his client. Mary Best was placed in the witness-box, and, in the course of a rigorous cross-examination, admitted that she had left the workhouse with a baby which she had passed off as her own. She stated that this child was given to her while she was in the workhouse, but she could not tell either its mother's name or the name of the person who gave it to her. She had never received any payment for it, but had fed and clothed it at her own expense, had taken it with her to her father's house in Yorkshire, had represented it as her own to her family, and had paid the costs of its burial when it died. Her relatives and friends were produced, and corroborated these facts. The nurses, on the other hand, when recalled, denied all knowledge of this second child, and affirmed that a child could not have been brought to her without their knowledge.

The court delivered judgment on the 31st of March, 1870, when the Lord Chancellor announced that their lordships had come to the conclusion that Charles Francis Arnold Howard had made out his claim, and was entitled to vote at the election of representative peers for Ireland as Earl of Wicklow; and that the infant claimant, the son of Mrs. Howard, had failed in establishing his claim to that privilege. He said the marriage between Mr. and Mrs. Howard was undisputed, and the real difficulty that surrounded the case was in proving the birth of this child without the evidence usually forthcoming of such an event—neither medical man nor nurse having been present at the birth, or having attended either the mother or the child subsequently. The fact that the existence of the child had been concealed from all the world, and that it had neither been registered nor baptised, increased the difficulties in the way of Mrs. Howard's case. It was a remarkable fact that, up to that time, with the exception of three persons who had undoubtedly sworn distinctly to certain circumstances, no human being had been called who had noticed that Mrs. Howard had shown signs of being in the family-way; and it was equally remarkable that those who had had ample opportunity of noticing her condition at the time, and who might have given distinct and positive evidence on the point, had either not been called, or had refused to give evidence in the case. Undoubtedly, as far as words could go, their lordships had had the distinct evidence of two witnesses, who stated that they were present when the alleged birth occurred, and of another who had stated that he had gone to fetch the doctor, who was sent for, not because the birth was expected to occur, but because Mrs. Howard was taken suddenly ill. Of course, if credence could be given to the statement of these witnesses, the case put forward by Mrs. Howard was established beyond a doubt, and most painful it was for him to arrive at the conclusion, as he felt bound to do, that those persons had been guilty of the great crime of not only giving false evidence by deposing to events that had never occurred, but of conspiring together to endeavour to impose upon the Wicklow family a child who was not the real heir to the title and estates attaching to the earldom. He was bound to add that the demeanour of Mrs. Bloor and her sister Rosa Day in the witness-box, was such that, if the case were not of such prodigious importance, and if it had not been contradicted by all surrounding circumstances, their statement, which they had given with firmness and without hesitation, would have obtained credence. It was, however, so utterly inconsistent with all the admitted facts, and with the rest of the evidence, that he was compelled to arrive at the painful conclusion that it was a mere fabrication, intended to defeat the ends of justice. The evidence of Dr. Baker Brown, who had identified Mrs. Howard as the person whom he had examined, on the 8th of July, 1864, and who had stated to him that she had never had a child, was very strong, and was only to be explained upon the supposition that it was a case of mistaken identity; and that it was her sister Jane Richardson, who was examined, and not Mrs. Howard. This supposition, however, was entirely set aside by the Longney witnesses, who stated that upon the occasion of the birth-day dinner party at Longney, which had been brought forward to prove an alibi, both Mrs. Howard and her sister Jane Richardson were present. It was evident, therefore, either that the story could not be true, or that the witnesses were mistaken as to the day on which that event had occurred, and under these circumstances the whole evidence in support of the alibi broke down altogether. Having arrived at this conclusion with respect to the original case set up by Mrs. Howard, it was scarcely necessary to allude to the Liverpool story, which was certainly an extraordinary and a singular one, and had a tendency to damage the case of those who had set it up, although he did not see how they could possibly have withheld it from the knowledge of their lordships. Looking at the fact that Mary Best was proved to have been delivered of a fair child, and that the child she took out of the workhouse with her was a dark child, he confessed that much might be said both in favour of and against the truth of her statement; but it was, perhaps, as well that it might be entirely disregarded in the present case; and, at all events, in his opinion, there was nothing in its being brought forward which was calculated to shake their lordships' confidence in the character of those who were conducting the case on behalf of the original claimant.

Lord Chelmsford next delivered a long judgment, agreeing with that of the Lord Chancellor, and in the course of it remarked that it was impossible to disbelieve the story of the alleged birth, as he did, without coming to the conclusion that certain of the witnesses had been guilty of the grave crimes of conspiracy and perjury. With reference to the Liverpool story, he said he was satisfied that the child brought into the workhouse by Mary Best, and taken by her to Yorkshire, was not that of which she had been confined, although he did not believe her statement of the way in which she had become possessed of the child which she had subsequently passed off as her own.

Lords Colonsay and Redesdale concurred; and the Earl of Winchelsea, as a lay lord, and one of the public, gave it as his opinion that the story told by Mrs. Howard was utterly incredible, being only worthy to form the plot of a sensational novel. He regretted that Mr. Baudenave, the principal mover in this conspiracy, would escape unscathed.

Their lordships, therefore, resolved that Mrs. Howard's child had no claim to the earldom; but that Charles Francis Arnold Howard, the son of the Hon. Rev. Francis Howard, by his second marriage, had made out his right to vote at the election of representative peers for Ireland as Earl of Wicklow.



AMELIA RADCLIFFE—THE SO-CALLED COUNTESS OF DERWENTWATER.

The unhappy fate of James, the last Earl of Derwentwater, has been so often recounted, both in prose and verse, that it is almost unnecessary to repeat the story; but lest any difficulty should be found in understanding the grounds on which the so-called countess now bases her pretensions, the following short summary may be found useful:—

James Radcliffe, the third and last Earl of Derwentwater, suffered death on Tower Hill, in the prime of his youth, for his devotion to the cause of the pretender. He is described as having been brave, chivalrous, and generous; his name has been handed down from generation to generation as that of a martyr; and his memory even yet remains green among the descendants of those amongst whom he used to dwell, and to whom he was at once patron and friend.

When he was twenty-three years of age he espoused Anna Maria, eldest daughter of Sir John Webb of Cauford, in the county of Dorset, and had by her an only son, the Hon. John Radcliffe, and a daughter, who afterwards married the eighth Lord Petre. By the articles at this time entered into, the baronet agreed to give his daughter L12,000 as her portion; while the earl, on his part, promised L1000 jointure rent charge to the lady, to which L100 a-year was added on the death of either of her parents, and an allowance of L300 a-year was also granted as pin-money. The earl's estates were to be charged with L12,000 for the portions of daughter or daughters, or with L20,000 in the event of there being no male issue; while by the same settlement his lordship took an estate for life in the family property, which was thereby entailed upon his first and other sons, with remainder, and after the determination of his or their estate to his brother, Charles Radcliffe, for life; on his first or other sons the estates were in like manner entailed.

If the Earl of Derwentwater had been poor his Jacobite proclivities might have been overlooked, but he was very rich, and his head fell. Moreover, after his decapitation on Tower Hill the whole of his immense property was confiscated, and given by the crown to the Commissioners of Greenwich Hospital. The commissioners of to-day assert that the property became the property of the representatives of the hospital absolutely. On the other hand, it is contended that, by the Act of Attainder, the property of forfeiting persons was vested in the crown only, according to their estate, rights, and interest, and that the earl, having only an estate for life in his property, could forfeit no greater interest.

His only son, although he lost his title of nobility by the attainder of his father, was, by solemn adjudication of law, admitted tenant in tail of all the settled estates, and the fortune of the earl's daughter was, moreover, raised and paid thereout. The earl's son was in possession of the estates during sixteen years; and, had he lived to attain twenty-one, he might have effectually dealt with them, so that they could not at any future time have been affected by the attainder of his father, or of his uncle Charles Radcliffe. At least so say the supporters of the self-styled countess.

Upon the death of the martyr-earl's son, in 1791, and presumably without issue, the life estate of Charles Radcliffe commenced, but it vested in the crown by reason of the attainder. Not so, however, the estate in tail of the eldest son, James Bartholomew. This boy was born at Vincennes, on the 23d of August, 1725; but by a statute passed in the reign of Queen Anne, he had all the rights of a subject born in the United Kingdom; and, among others, of course, had the right to succeed to any property to which he might be legally entitled. But the government perceived the fix in which they were placed, and immediately, on the death of the son of the earl, and when James Bartholomew was an infant of the age of five years, they hurried an Act through Parliament which declared that nothing contained in the dictatory law of Queen Anne gave the privilege of a natural born subject to any child, born or to be born abroad, whose father at the time of his or her birth either stood attainted of high treason, or was in the actual service of a foreign state in enmity to the crown of Great Britain. This excluded the boy, and the government began to grant leases of the estates which would otherwise have fallen to him.

And now we begin to plunge into mystery. It is asserted that the reported death of John Radcliffe, son of the last earl, was merely a scheme on the part of his friends to protect him against his Hanoverian enemies who sought his life. Some say that he died at the age of nineteen, at the house of his maternal grandfather, Sir John Webb, in Great Marlborough Street, on the 31st of December, 1731. Others maintain that he was thrown from his horse, and killed, during his residence in France. But the most recent statement is that his interment was a sham, and was part of a well-devised plan for facilitating his escape from France to Germany during the prevalence of rumoured attempts to restore the Stuarts, and that, after marrying the Countess of Waldsteine-Waters, he lived, bearing her name, to the age of eighty-six.

By this reputed marriage it is said that he had a son, who was called John James Anthony Radcliffe, and who, in his turn, espoused a descendant of John Sobieski of Poland. To them a daughter was born, and was named Amelia. Her first appearance at the home of her supposed ancestors was very peculiar; and the report of her proceedings, which appeared in the Hexham Courant, of the 29th of September, 1868, was immediately transferred into the London daily papers, and was quoted from them by almost the entire provincial press. The following is the account of the local journal, which excited considerable amusement, but roused very little faith when it was first made public:—

"This morning great excitement was occasioned in the neighbourhood of Dilston by the appearance of Amelia, Countess of Derwentwater, with a retinue of servants, at the old baronial castle of her ancestors—Dilston Old Castle—and at once taking possession of the old ruin. Her ladyship, who is a fine-looking elderly lady, was dressed in an Austrian military uniform, and wore a sword by her side in the most approved fashion. She was accompanied, as we have said, by several retainers, who were not long in unloading the waggon-load of furniture which they had brought with them, and quickly deposited the various goods and chattels in the old castle, the rooms of which, as most of our readers are aware, are without roofs; but a plentiful supply of stout tarpaulings, which are provided for the purpose, will soon make the apartments habitable, if not quite so comfortable as those which the countess has just left. In the course of the morning her ladyship was visited by Mr. C.J. Grey, the receiver to the Greenwich Hospital estates, who informed her she was trespassing upon the property of the commissioners, and that he would be obliged to report the circumstance to their lordships. Her ladyship received Mr. Grey with great courtesy, and informed that gentleman she was acting under the advice of her legal advisers, and that she was quite prepared to defend the legality of her proceedings. The sides of the principal room have already been hung with the Derwentwater family pictures, to some of which the countess bears a marked resemblance, and the old baronial flag of the unfortunate family already floats proudly from the summit of the fine, though old and dilapidated tower."

This is a bald newspaper account; but the lady herself is an experienced correspondent, and in one of her letters, which she has published in a gorgeously emblazoned volume, thus gives her version of the affair in her own vigorous way:—

"DEVILSTONE CASTLE, 29th September, 1868.

"Here I am, my dear friend, at my own house, my roofless home; and my first scrawl from here is to the vicarage. You will be sorry to hear that the Lords of Her Majesty's Council have defied all equitable terms in my eleven years' suffering case. My counsel and myself have only received impertinent replies from under officials. Had my lords met my case like gentlemen and statesmen, I should not have been driven to the course I intend to pursue.

"I left the Terrace very early this morning, and at half-past seven o'clock I arrived at the carriage-road of Dilstone Castle. I stood, and before me lay stretched the ruins of my grandfather's baronial castle; my heart beat more quickly as I approached. I am attended by my two faithful retainers, Michael and Andrew. Mr. Samuel Aiston conveyed a few needful things; the gentle and docile pony trotted on until I reached the level top of the carriage-road, and then we stopped. I dismounted and opened the gate and bid my squires to follow, and, in front of the old flag tower, I cut with a spade three square feet of green sod into a barrier for my feet, in the once happy nursery—the mother's joyful upstairs parlour—the only room now standing, and quite roofless. I found not a voice to cheer me, nothing but naked plasterless walls; a hearth with no frame of iron; the little chapel which contains the sacred tombs of the silent dead, and the dishonoured ashes of my grandsires.

"All here is in a death-like repose, no living thing save a few innocent pigeons, half wild; but there has been a tremendous confusion, a wild and wilful uproar of rending, and a crash of headlong havoc, every angle is surrounded with desolation, and the whole is a monument of state vengeance and destruction. But here is the land—the home of my fathers—which I have been robbed of; this is a piece of the castle, and the room in which they lived, and talked, and walked, and smiled, and were cradled and watched with tender affection. You never saw this old tower nearer than from the road; the walls of it are three feet or more in some parts thick, and of rough stone inside. The floor of this room where I am writing this scrawl is verdure, and damp with the moisture from heaven. It has not even beams left for a ceiling, and the stairs up to it are scarcely passible; but I am truly thankful that all the little articles I brought are now up in this room, and no accident to my men.

"Radcliffe's flag is once more raised! and the portraits of my grandfather and great-grandfather are here, back again to Devilstone Castle (alias Dilstone), and hung on each side of this roofless room, where both their voices once sounded. Oh! as I gaze calmly on these mute warders on the walls, I cannot paint you my feelings of the sense of injustice and wrong, a refining, a resenting sorrow—my heart bleeds at the thought of the cruel axe, and I am punished for its laws that no longer exist. I pray not to be horror-stricken at the thoughts of the past ambition and power of princes who cast destruction over our house, and made us spectacles of barbarity. But, nevertheless, many great and Christian men the Lord hath raised out of the house of Radcliffe, who have passed away; and now, oh! Father of Heaven! how wonderfully hast Thou spared the remnant of my house, a defenceless orphan, to whom no way is open but to Thy Fatherly heart. Now Thou hast brought me here, what still awaits me? 'Leave Thou me not; let me never forget Thee. Thou hast girded me with strength into the battle. I will not therefore fear what man can do unto me.'

"These are my thoughts and resolutions. But I am struggling with the associations of this lone, lone hearth—with no fire, no father, no mother, sister or brother left—the whole is heartrending. I quit you now, my kind friends; I am blind with tears, but this is womanly weakness.

"Twelve o'clock the same day. My tears of excitement have yielded to counter-excitement. I have just had an intrusive visitor, who came to inquire if it is my intention to remain here. I replied in the affirmative, adding earnestly, 'I have come to my roofless home,' and asked 'Who are you?' He answered 'I am Mr. Grey, the agent for her Majesty, and I shall have to communicate your intention.' I answered, 'Quite right, Mr. Grey. Then what title have you to show that her Majesty has a right here to my freehold estates?' He replied, 'I have no title.' I then took out a parchment with the titles and the barony and manors, and the names of my forty-two rich estates, and held it before him and said, 'I am the Countess of Derwentwater, and my title and claim are acknowledged and substantiated by the Crown of England, morally, legally, and officially; therefore my title is the title to these forty-two estates.' He has absented himself quietly, and I do hope my lords will not leave my case now to under officials.—Yours truly, AMELIA, COUNTESS OF DERWENTWATER."

Their lordships left the case to very minor officials, indeed; namely to a person whom the countess describes as "a dusky little man" and his underlings, and they without hesitation ejected her from Dilstone Hall. The lady was very indignant, but was very far from being beaten, and she and her adherents immediately formed a roadside encampment, under a hedge, in gipsy fashion, and resolved to re-enter if possible. From her letters it appears that she was very cold and very miserable, and, moreover, very hungry at first. But the neighbouring peasantry were kind, and brought her so much food eventually, that she tells one of her friends that cases of tinned meats from Paris would be of no use to her. The worst of the encampment seems to have been that it interfered with her usual pastime of sketching, which could not be carried on in the evenings under a tarpaulin, by the light of a lantern.

But her enemies had no idea that she should be permitted to remain under the hedge any more than in the hall itself. On the 21st of October, at the quarter sessions for the county of Northumberland, the chief constable was questioned by the magistrates about the strange state of affairs in the district, and reported that the encampment was a little way from the highway, and that, therefore, the lady could not be apprehended under the Vagrant Act! A summons, however, had been taken out by the local surveyor, and would be followed by a warrant. On that summons the so-called countess was convicted; but appealed to the Court of Queen's Bench.

During the winter the encampment could not be maintained, and the weather, more powerful than the Greenwich commissioners, drove the countess from the roadside. But in the bright days of May she reappeared to resume the fight, and this time took possession of a cottage at Dilston, whence, says a newspaper report of the period, "it is expected she will be ejected; but she may do as she did before, and pitch her tent on the high-road." On the 30th of the same month, the conviction by the Northumberland magistrates "for erecting a hut on the roadside," was affirmed by the Court of Queen's Bench.

On the 17th November, 1869, while Mr. Grey was collecting the Derwentwater rents, the countess marched into the apartment, at the head of her attendants, to forbid the proceedings. She was richly apparelled, but her semi-military guise did not save herself, or those who came with her, from being somewhat rudely ejected. Her sole consolation was that the mob cheered her lustily as she drove off in her carriage.

On the 5th of January, in the following year, a great demonstration in her favour took place at Consett, in the county of Durham. A few days previously a large quantity of live stock had been seized at the instance of the countess, for rent alleged to be due to her, and an interdict had been obtained against her, prohibiting her from disposing of it. However, she defied the law, and in the midst of something very like a riot, the cattle were sold, flags were waved, speeches were made, and the moment was perhaps the proudest which the heiress of the Derwentwaters is likely to see in this country.

Such conduct could not be tolerated. The Lords of the Admiralty were roused, and formally announced that the claims of the so-called countess were frivolous. They also warned their tenants against paying their rents to her, and took out summonses against those who had assisted at the sale. On the 16th of January, the ringleaders in the disgraceful affair were committed for trial.

Notwithstanding this untoward contretemps, the countess made a further attempt, in February, to collect the rents of the forty-two freehold estates, which she said belonged to her. But the bailiffs were in force and resisted her successfully, being aided in their work by a severe snowstorm, which completely cowed her followers, although it did not cool her own courage. On the 11th of February, 1870, the Lords of the Admiralty applied for an injunction to prevent the so-called countess from entering on the Greenwich estates, and their application was immediately granted. Shortly afterwards the bailiff acting on behalf of the countess, and the ringleaders in the Consett affair, were sentenced to short terms of imprisonment. Thus those in possession of the property could boast a decided victory.

But the law courts are free to all, and the countess determined to take the initiative. She had jewels, and pictures, and documents which would at once prove her identity and the justice of her claim. Unfortunately they were all in Germany, and the lady was penniless. By the generosity of certain confiding gentlemen, about L2000 was advanced, on loan, to bring them to this country. They came, but their appearance was not satisfactory even to the creditors, who became clamorous for their money. There was only one way left to satisfy them, and Amelia, of Derwentwater, took it. The jewels and pictures were brought to the hammer in an auction-room in Hexham—the countess disappeared from public ken, and the newspapers ceased to chronicle her extraordinary movements.



ARTHUR ORTON—WHO CLAIMED TO BE SIR ROGER CHARLES DOUGHTY TICHBORNE, BART.

The case of Arthur Orton is too recent to need many words of introduction. We have hardly yet cooled down to a sober realization of the facts which, as they stand, mark the latest and most bulky of the claimants, as not only the greatest impostor of modern or perhaps of any days, the base calumniator who endeavoured to rob a woman of her fair fame to gratify his own selfish ends, but as a living proof of the height to which the blind credulity of the public will now and again elevate itself. Arthur Orton is in prison undergoing what all thinking men must admit to be a very lenient sentence—a sentence which in no way meets the justice of the case; for the advent of this huge carcase lumbering the earth with lies was nothing less than a misfortune to the people of England. And the word misfortune, if used even in its highest and widest sense, will in no way imply that which has happened to a peaceful family, who have been associated with their lands and titles as long as our history goes back, and who have had their privacy violated, and the sanctity of their homes invaded; who have been pilloried before a ruthless and unsympathising mob, who have had their women's names banded from one coarse mouth to another, and who—least misfortune of all—have had to expend large sums of money, and great amounts of time and trouble, to free themselves from a persecution as unparalleled as it was vicious and cruel. Those who, having neither fame nor fortune to lose, speak lightly and think not at all of the sorrows which were launched avalanche-like upon the devoted heads of the Tichbornes and their connections, would do well to ponder over what such personation as that of Arthur Orton means to its immediate victims. It means a sudden derangement of all the ties and sympathies by which life is made dear, a sudden shock which never in life will be recovered. There is no member of the community, no matter how well and how carefully he has chosen his path in life, who would not fear to have his every action published and criticised, his every motive analysed unfairly, and the most mischievous construction placed upon each deed or thought found capable of perversion. How much more terrible would it be, then, for any man to know that his wife or mother was to be subjected to such ordeal; that for no fault committed, for nothing but the delectation of an unscrupulous scoundrel and his admirers, a tender and sensitive lady was to be put to torture far worse than any physical punishment could ever have been, even in ages and countries whose only refinement was that of cruelty?

Arthur Orton is in prison, but there are still many who loudly assert their belief in his identity with the lost Sir Roger; there are others who are quite as strong in their avowals of doubt as to the name found for the huge mystery being the correct one; and there are again others who, caring little who or what the man may be, affect to credit many of his most villanous utterances. But do these people in their blind impetuosity ever give the merits of the case one thought? do they remember that Orton was detected in his every lie, and found as heinously guilty as man can be detected and found guilty, when the evidence against him admits of but circumstantial proof? They do not; and like the man who constantly avers that the earth is flat, and his congeners who deny the existence of a Being who is apparent in every one of His marvellous works, the believers in Orton must be placed in the catalogue of those who, either of malice prepense, or from mental affliction, take the wrong view of a subject as naturally as sparks fly upwards. If the man now in prison is Sir Roger Tichborne, then trial by jury, the selection of our judges, and the whole basis of our legal system—indeed, of almost every system by which calm and peaceful government is maintained, and the right of the subject duly regarded—must be radically wrong, and right is wrong also. If he is not Arthur Orton, then there never was an Arthur Orton, and Wapping is a place which has no existence out of the annals of the Tichborne trial.

The baronetcy of Tichborne, now Doughty-Tichborne, is not only old of itself, and connected with vast estates, but is held by a family well known in the history of this country, even as far as that history goes. No parvenu, whose rank is the result of success in cheesemongering or kindred pursuit, is the holder of the title, for, as Debrett tells us, the family of Tichborne was of great importance in Hampshire before the Conquest, and derives its name from the river Itchen, at the head of which it had estates; "hence it was called De Itchenbourne, since corrupted into Tichborne. Sir John de Tichborne, knight, sheriff of Southampton, on hearing of the death of Queen Elizabeth, immediately repaired to Winchester, and there proclaimed King James VI. (of Scotland) as King of England. In 1621, he was created a baronet, the honour of knighthood having been previously conferred upon three of his sons, while his fourth son Henry was subsequently knighted. Sir Henry, the third baronet, hazarded his life in defence of Charles I. in several enterprises, and his estates were sequestrated by the Parliamentarians. After the restoration he was successively Lieutenant of the New Forest, and Lieutenant of Ordnance." Other Tichbornes have been sufficiently prominent in their times to leave marks on the history of the country; and altogether riches and honours seemed, until comparatively recently, to be the unshadowed lot of the head of the family. That, however, large estates and long descent do not always secure perfect happiness, has been very well shown in the great trial just past, in many ways perfectly independent of the actual result, or of any question as to whether or not the claimant was he whom he professed to be.

Family differences and unpleasantnesses seem to have been the actual, even if remote, cause of the great imposition of Arthur Orton. Had matters been conducted as one might have anticipated they would among people blessed with the means of gratifying every whim and caprice, Roger Tichborne would have lived and died like other men, and his name would never have been known except as a quiet country gentleman of English origin and French tastes, which led him into more or less eccentricities, and caused him to be more or less popular among his neighbours and dependants. But this was not to be. All great families have their secret unpleasantnesses, and in these the Tichbornes were by no means behindhand. The Tichbornes generally had a knack of disagreeing, and this feeling was shown in excelsis by James, the father of Roger, and his wife, who lived abroad for many years, she being French in every sentiment, while the husband was but naturalized, and now and again exhibited a desire to return to his native land. When Roger was born there was but little chance of his ever becoming the owner of either titles or estates, and so his education was entirely foreign, his tutors being M. Chatillon, and a priest named Lefevre. As time wore on, it became evident that Mr. James Tichborne would in due course become Sir James, and he felt it his duty to secure to his son an English education. This the mother opposed most strenuously, and it was only by artifice that the boy was brought to England. Sir Henry Joseph Tichborne, who had succeeded to the baronetcy in 1821, had no son, and though time after time a child was born to him, Providence blessed him with no male heir. Again and again a child would be born at Tichborne, but it was always a girl. Sir Henry had seven children, of whom six lived, all celebrated for their good looks, and their tall and handsome proportions; but all were daughters. Still there was Sir Henry's brother, Edward Tichborne, who had taken large estates under the will of a Miss Doughty—which led to the present junction of the Doughty and Tichborne properties, and to the double surname—and with them had assumed the name of that lady, and he was after Sir Henry the next heir. Edward had a son and daughter. But one day there came the news to James and his wife in France, that Sir Edward's little boy had died, and then it was that the father perceived more clearly the error that he had made in permitting Roger to grow up ignorant of English habits and the English tongue. Edward Doughty was an old man. His brother James Tichborne himself was growing in years. The prospect of Roger one day becoming the head of the old house of Tichborne, which had once been so remote, had now become almost a certainty. It would not do for the Lord of Tichborne to be a Frenchman; sooner or later he must learn English, and receive an education fitting him to take the position which now appeared in store for him. All this was clear enough to Mr. James, but not so clear to his weak-headed and prejudiced wife. The father did, indeed, obtain her consent to take the boy over to England, and let him see his uncle and aunt, the Doughtys, at Upton, in Dorsetshire, and his uncle, Sir Henry, at the ancestral home down in Hampshire. But Roger was then but a child, and as he grew older Mrs. Tichborne became more than ever resolute in her determination that, come what might, her darling should be a Frenchman. What cared she for the old Hampshire traditions? France was to her the only land worth living in; a Frenchman's life was the only life worthy of the name. Her dear Roger might succeed to the title and estates, but she could not bear the thought of his going to England. It was in her imagination a land of cold bleak rains and unwholesome fogs. But it was worse; it was the country of a people who had been false to their ancient faith. Even the Tichbornes, though still Catholics, had not always been true to their religion. And so Mrs. Tichborne planned out for the future heir of Tichborne a life of perpetual absenteeism. He should marry into some distinguished family in France or Italy, and little short of a Princess should share his fortunes. If he went into the army it should be in some foreign service. But in no case should he go to Tichborne, or set foot in England again, if she could help it.

James Tichborne was like many other weak men who have self-willed wives. He put off the inevitable day as long as he could, but finally achieved his purpose by strategy. Roger was in his seventeenth year when the news arrived that Sir Henry had died. It was right that James Tichborne should be present at his brother's funeral, and reasonable that he should take with him the heir, as everyone regarded him to be. Accordingly Roger took leave of his mother under solemn injunctions to return quickly. But there was no intention of allowing him to return. The boy attended the funeral of his uncle at the old chapel at Tichborne, went to his grandfather's place at Knoyle, and thence, by the advice of relations and friends, and with the consent of the boy himself, he was taken down to the Jesuit College at Stonyhurst, and there placed in the seminary with the class of students known as "philosophers." When Mrs. Tichborne learnt that this step had been completed her fury knew no bounds. Roger wrote her kind and filial letters in French—ill-spelt it is true, but admirably worded, and testifying an amount of good sense which promised well for his manhood. But Mrs. Tichborne gave no reply, and for twelve months the son, though longing ardently for a letter, got no token of affection. Yet Mrs. Tichborne was not the person to see her son removed from her control without an effort. She upbraided her husband violently, and there was a renewal of the old scenes in the Tichborne household; but Roger was now far away, and the danger of Mr. Tichborne's yielding in a momentary fit of weakness was at an end. Meanwhile the mother wrote violent letters to the heads of the college, exposing family troubles in a way which called forth a remonstrance from even the lad himself. What was the precise nature of his studies at Stonyhurst, and what progress he made in them, are questions that have been much debated, but it is certain that he applied himself resolutely to the study of English, and made such progress that, although he could never speak it with so much purity and command of words as when conversing in his mother tongue, he learnt to write it with only occasional errors in spelling and construction. In Latin he made some little progress, and in mathematics more. He attended voluntary classes on chemistry, and his letters evidence an inclination for the study both of science and polite literature. At Stonyhurst Roger may be said to have passed the three happiest years of his life.

During the period just mentioned, the then last of the Tichbornes made many friends, and if he did not become what we understand as accomplished, he was refined and sensitive. During the vacations he used to visit his English relatives in turn; but there was one place above all others to which he preferred to go. This was the house at Tichborne, then in possession of his father's brother Sir Edward Doughty. There was a certain amount of delicacy in his position towards his uncle and his aunt Lady Doughty, which cannot but be intelligible to any one who has the least knowledge of human failings. It is not in the nature of things that either Lady Doughty or her husband could have been greatly predisposed towards the youthful stranger, and Roger was shy and reserved and over-sensitive. He had the misfortune to stand in the place which they must once have ardently hoped that their dead child would have lived to inherit. Sir Edward was in failing health, and his brother James was an old man. The time could not therefore be far distant when this youth, with his foreign habits and his strong French accent, would take possession of Tichborne Park with all the ancient lands. More than that, he would come into absolute possession of the new Doughty property, including the beautiful residence of Upton, near Poole, in Dorsetshire, for which Sir Edward and his family had so strong an affection. It was through Sir Edward alone that this property had been acquired, but the lady who had bequeathed it to him had no notion of founding a second family; in time all the lands and houses in various countries bequeathed by her, as well as those which were purchased by trustees under her will, were to go to swell the Tichborne estate, and to increase the grandeur and renown of the old house. Upton was the favourite home of the Doughtys. Sir Edward, who had been in the West Indies, had returned thence with his black servant named Andrew Bogle, then a boy, and had married—he and his wife doubtless for a long time looking on Upton as their home for life. It cost them a pang to remove even to the house at Tichborne. It was at Upton that their only surviving child Kate had spent her early years, and to return there and enjoy the fresh sea breezes in the summer holidays was always a fresh source of delight. It was hard to think that even Upton must pass from them, and that the day was probably not far distant when there would be nothing left for them but to yield up their home and estates to the new comer, and retire even upon a widow's handsome jointure and the fortune of Miss Kate. But if such feelings ever passed through the minds of the family at Tichborne, they could have been only transient. The shy, pale-faced boy with the long dark locks, came always to Tichborne in his holidays, making his way steadily in the favour of that household, and this not from interested motives on the part of Lady Doughty, as has been falsely alleged, and triumphantly disproved, but clearly from something in the nature of the youth which disarmed ill-feeling. Roger, despite his early training abroad, soon showed good sound English tastes. He took delight in country life; and though he did not bring down the partridges in the woods, or throw the fly upon the surface of the Itchen, with a degree of skill that would command much respect in the county of Hants, he did his best, and really liked the out-door life. In hunting he took delight from the time when he donned his first scarlet coat, and he rarely missed an opportunity of appearing at "the meet" in that neighbourhood. The time soon came when Roger had to think of a profession, and James Tichborne again gave mortal offence to his wife by determining that the young man should go into the army. Among the daughters of Sir Henry, was one who had married Colonel William Greenwood of the Grenadier Guards. Their house at Brookwood was but half an hour's ride from Tichborne, and Roger was fond of visiting there. Colonel Greenwood's brother George was also in the army, and he took kindly to Roger, and determined to do his best to get him on. So he took him one morning to the Horse Guards, and introduced him to the commander-in-chief, who promised him a commission. There was a little delay in keeping this promise, and the young man did not go troubling uncles again, but took the self-reliant course of writing direct to the Horse Guards, to remind the Commander-in-chief of what he had said; and before long Mr. Roger Charles Tichborne was gazetted a cornet in the 6th Dragoons, better known as the Carabineers. He passed his examination at Sandhurst satisfactorily, and went straight over to Dublin to join his regiment. From Dublin he went to the south of Ireland, and twice he came over to England on short visits. He went through the painful ordeal of practical joking which awaited every young officer in those days, and came out of it, not without annoyance and an occasional display of resentment, yet in a way which conciliated his brother officers; and few men were more liked in the regiment than Roger Tichborne, affectionately nicknamed among them "Teesh." In 1852 the Carabineers came over to England, and were quartered at Canterbury. They expected then to be sent to India, but the order was countermanded, and Roger saw himself doomed apparently to a life of inaction. There is a letter of Roger's among the mass of correspondence which he kept up at this period of his life, in which he notices the fact that his mother still dwelt upon her old idea of providing him with a wife in the shape of one of those Italian princesses of which he had heard so much, and with whom he had always been threatened. But Roger was by this time in love with his cousin, and his love was by no means happy. Roger had been for years visiting at Tichborne before he had ever seen his cousin Kate there. He had met her long before when he came over as a child from Paris on a visit, but Miss Doughty was too young at that time to have retained much impression of the little dark-haired French boy, who could hardly have said "Good morning, cousin," in her native tongue. When Roger was twenty years of age, they met for a few days at Bath, where both had come on the melancholy duty of taking leave of Mr. Seymour, then lying dangerously ill and near his death. Then they parted again; Roger went to Tichborne for a long stay, but Miss Doughty returned to school at the convent at Taunton. In the Midsummer holidays, however, they once more met at the house in Hampshire, and for six weeks the young cousins saw each other daily. Then Miss Doughty went away to Scotland with her parents; and the youth took upon himself the pleasant duty of going to see the party take their departure from St. Katherine's Wharf. October found the party again assembled at Tichborne Park; and there Roger took farewell of uncle, aunt, and cousin, to go to Ireland and join his regiment; and Miss Doughty, whose schooldays were not yet ended, went down to a convent at Newhall, in Essex. When Roger got a short leave of absence, his first thought was to visit his uncle and aunt, who had so affectionate a regard for him. There was a summer visit to Upton, in Dorsetshire, for a week, when Miss Doughty happened to be there; and there was a visit to Tichborne in January 1850, when there were great festivities, for Roger then attained his majority; again the cousins took farewell, and met no more for eighteen months. No wonder Roger loved Tichborne, with all its associations. In that well-ordered and affectionate household he found a tranquillity and happiness to which he had been a stranger in his own home. In his correspondence with his father and mother at this time there were no lack of tokens of a loving son; but no one was more sensible than Roger of the miseries of that life which he had led up to the day when he came away to pursue his studies at the Jesuit College, and to learn to be an Englishman. But there was another association, long unsuspected, yet growing steadily, until it absorbed all his thoughts, and gave to that neighbourhood a glory and a light invisible to other eyes. Roger had spent many happy hours with his cousin; she had grown in those few years from a girl almost into a woman, and he had come to love her deeply. To her he said not a word, to Sir Edward he dared not speak, but one day Roger took an opportunity of confiding to Lady Doughty the new secret of his life. His aunt did not discourage the idea; but Miss Doughty was still but a girl of fifteen; and there was the grave objection that the twain were first cousins. And besides, though Roger was of a kind and considerate disposition, truthful, honourable, and scrupulous in points of duty, he had certain habits which assumed serious proportions in the mind of a lady so strict in notions of propriety. He had in Paris acquired a habit of smoking immoderately. In the regiment he had been compelled, by evil customs then prevailing, to go through a noviciate in the matter of imbibing "military port;" and his habits had followed him to Tichborne, and the young officer had been seen at least on one occasion in a state of semi-intoxication—no less a word will describe his condition. He was also accustomed to bring in his portmanteau French novels, which were decidedly objectionable, though few young men would probably regard it as much sin to read them. So little did the young man appreciate her objections to this exciting kind of literature that he had actually recommended to his aunt some stories which no amount of humour and cleverness could prevent that pious lady regarding as debasing and absolutely immoral. How Lady Doughty felt under all the circumstances of Roger's love, as compared with his general conduct, will be best shown by the following letter:—

"1850. Tichborne Park, begun 29 Jan., finished 31st.

"MY DEAREST ROGER,—After three weeks being between life and death it has pleased God to restore me so far that I have this day for the first time been in the wheel chair to the drawing-room, and I hasten to begin my thanks to you for your letters, especially that private one, though it may yet be some days before I finish all I wish to say to you, for I am yet very weak, and my eyes scarcely allow of reading or writing.... Remember, dear Roger, that by that conversation in town you gave me every right to be deeply interested in your fate, and therefore doubly do I feel grieved when I see you abusing that noblest of God's gifts to man, reason, by diminishing its power.... I cannot recall to my mind the subject you say I was beginning in the drawing-room when interrupted; probably it might have had reference to the confidence which you say you do not repent having placed in me. No, dear Roger, never repent it; be fully assured that I never shall betray that confidence. You are young, and intercourse with life and the society you must mix with might very possibly change your feelings towards one now dear to you, or rather settle them into the affection of a brother towards a sister; but whatever may be the case hereafter, my line of duty is marked out, and ought steadily to be followed; that is, not to encourage anything that could fetter the future choice of either party before they had fully seen others and mixed with the world, and with all the fond care of a mother endeavour, while she is yet so young, to prevent her heart and mind from being occupied by ideas not suited to what should be her present occupations, and hereafter, with the blessing of God, guard her against the dangers she may be liable to be ensnared into by the position in which she is placed.... You have been, I rejoice to hear, raised in the opinion of all with whom you have lately had to transact business by your firmness and decision. You are in an honourable profession, which gives you occupation.... Resist drink, or a rash throwing away life, or wasting in any way the energies of a naturally strong, sensible mind, and really attached heart. Now write to me soon; tell me truly if I have tried your patience by this long letter which I venture to send, for it is when returning to life as I now feel that renewed love for all dear to one seems to take possession of our hearts, so you must forgive it if you find it long. Your uncle and cousin send their kindest love.—Adieu, dearest Roger, ever be assured of the sincere affection and real attachment of your aunt. KATHERINE DOUGHTY."

Roger protested that his failings had been exaggerated, and by his letters it is noticeable there is a trace of vexation that Lady Doughty should have lent an ear to coloured reports of his manner of life; but there is no abatement in the affectionate terms on which he stood with his aunt at Tichborne. Matters, however, could not long go on in this fashion. As yet Roger Tichborne had never spoken of his love to Miss Doughty, though it cannot be doubted that some tokens had revealed that secret. But love must find expression in something more than hints and tokens, and at last came the inevitable time. It was on Christmas eve, 1851, that Roger joyfully set foot in Tichborne Park once more. That was a happy meeting in all but the fact that Sir Edward Doughty was in weak health. Now comes the denoument. Miss Doughty had given Roger a keepsake volume of Father Faber's Hymns, and there was an exchange of gifts. Suddenly the truth flashed across the mind of the father, and he was vexed and angry. On a Sunday morning, when the two cousins had been walking in the garden enjoying the bright winter day, and they were sitting together at breakfast, a message came that Sir Edward desired to see his nephew in the library. The girl waited, but Roger did not come back to the breakfast table. The eyes of the cousins met sorrowfully in the chapel, and in the afternoon, with Lady Doughty's permission, they saw each other in the drawing-room to take farewell. For Sir Edward's fiat had gone forth. Marriage between first cousins was forbidden by the Church, and there were other reasons why he was resolute that this engagement should be broken off before it grew more serious. So it was arranged that on the very next morning the young man should leave the house for ever. Thus the great hope of Roger's life was suddenly extinguished, and there was nothing left for him but to sail with his regiment for India, and endeavour, if he could, to forget the past. Some days after that, at his cousin's request, he wrote out for her a narrative of his sorrows at this time, in which he said:—

"What I felt when I left my uncle it is difficult for me to explain. I was like thunderstruck. I came back to my room, and tried to pack up my things, but was obliged to give up the attempt, as my mind was quite absent. I sank on a chair, and remained there, my head buried between my two knees for more than half an hour. What was the nature of my thoughts, my dearest K., you may easily imagine. To think that I was obliged to leave you the next day, not to see you again—not, perhaps, for years, if ever I came back from India. The idea was breaking my heart. It passed on, giving me no relief, until about two o'clock, when my aunt told me that you wished to see me. That news gave me more pleasure than I could express; so much so that I never could have expected it. The evening that I saw you, my dear K., about five o'clock, you cannot conceive what pleasure it gave me. I saw you felt my going away, so I determined to tell you everything I felt towards you. What I told you it is not necessary to repeat, as I suppose you remember it. When I came away from the drawing-room my mind was so much oppressed that it was impossible to think of going to bed. I stopped up until two o'clock in the morning. I do not think it necessary, my dearest K., to tire you with all the details of what I have felt for you during these two days; suffice it to say, that I never felt more acute pain, especially during the night when I could not sleep. I promise to my own dearest Kate, on my word and honour, that I will be back in England, if she is not married or engaged, towards the end of the autumn of 1854, or the month of January 1855. If she is so engaged I shall remain in India for ten or fifteen years, and shall wish for her happiness, which I shall be too happy to promote."

Neither Roger nor Kate had, however, given up hope of some change. Lady Doughty, despite a secret dread of her nephew's habits, had a strong regard for him, and would be certain to plead his cause. And in a very few days circumstances unexpectedly favoured his suit. Sir Edward's malady grew worse, the physicians despaired, and he believed himself near his end. Roger was sent for hurriedly to take farewell of his uncle. As he approached the sick bed his uncle said, "I know, my dear Roger, the mutual attachment which exists between you and your cousin. If you were not so near related I should not object at all to a marriage between you two: but, however, wait, three years; then, if the attachment still exists between you, and you can get your father's consent, and also leave from the Church, it will be the will of God, and I will not object to it any longer."

To which Roger replied—"Ever since I have had the pleasure of knowing you and my cousin, I have always tried to act towards you two in the most honourable way I possibly could. The Church, as you know, grants dispensations on these occasions. Of course, if you approve of it, I will get my father's consent, and also leave from the Church, and do it in an honourable way in the eyes of God and of the world." These two speeches seem rather stilted and unnatural, yet this is how they have been given in evidence. Days passed, and Roger sat up night after night with his uncle. It was during those tedious watchings that he again wrote at Miss Doughty's request a narrative of his feelings, which ran thus:—

"TICHBORNE PARK, Feb. 4, 1852 (1.30 A.M.)

"I shall go on," he said, "with my confessions, only asking for some indulgence if you find them too long and too tedious. You are, my dearest K., the only one for whom I have formed so strong and sincere an attachment. I never could have believed, a few years ago, I was able to get so attached to another. You are the only young person who has shown me some kindness, for which I feel very thankful. It is in some respects rather a painful subject for me to have to acknowledge my faults; but, as I have undertaken the task, I must write all I have done, and what have been my thoughts, for the last five weeks. I had a very wrong idea when I left Ireland. It was this: I thought that you had entirely forgotten me. I was, nevertheless, very anxious to come to Tichborne for a short time to take a last farewell of you, my uncle, and my aunt. My mind and heart were then so much oppressed by these thoughts, that it was my intention not to come back from India for ten or fifteen years. I loved you, my dearest K., as dearly as ever. I would have done anything in this world to oblige you, and give you more of that happiness which I hoped I might see you enjoy. I would have given my life for your happiness' sake. To have seen all these things, I repeat again, with a dry eye and an unbroken heart, or for a person who has a strong feeling of attachment towards another to behold it, is almost beyond human power. These feelings will arise when I shall be thousands of miles from you, but I have taken my pains and sorrows and your happiness in this world, and said a prayer that you might bear the pains and sorrows of this world with courage and resignation, and by these means be happy in the next. When I came here I found I had been mistaken in the opinion I had formed, and I reproached myself bitterly for ever having such an idea. It is not necessary for me to mention that I got rid of these bad thoughts in a few minutes. Things went on happily until Sunday, January 11, 1852, when I was sent for by my uncle at breakfast. What took place between us I think it unnecessary to repeat, as you know already. I was obliged to leave the next morning by the first train for London. I never felt before so deeply in my life what it was to part with the only person I ever loved. How deeply I felt I cannot express, but I shall try to explain as much of it as I can in the next chapter.

"What I have suffered last night I cannot easily explain. You do not know, my own dearest K., what are my feelings towards you. You cannot conceive how much I loved you. It breaks my heart, my own dearest K., to think how long I shall be without seeing you. I do feel that more than I can tell you. You have the comfort of a home, and, moreover, at some time or other, some person to whom you can speak, and who will comfort you. I have none. I am thrown on the world quite alone, without a friend—nothing; but, however, I shall try and take courage, and I hope that when you will see me in three years you will find a change for the better. I shall employ these three years to reform my conduct, and become all that you wish to see me. I shall never, my own, my dearest K., forget the few moments I have spent with you; but, on the contrary, I shall only consider them as the happiest of my life. You cannot imagine how much pleasure your letter has given me. It proved to me, far beyond any possible doubt, what are your feelings towards me. I did not, it is true, require that proof to know how you felt for me. It is for that reason that I thank you most sincerely for that proof of confidence, by expressing yourself so kindly and openly to me. You may rest assured, my own dearest K., that nothing in this world will prevent me, except death in actual service, from coming back from India at the time I have named to you—the latter part of the autumn of 1854, or the beginning of 1855. It will be a great comfort for me, my own dearest K., when I shall be in India, to think of you. It will be, I may say, the only pleasure I shall have to think of the first person I ever loved. You may rest assured that nothing in the world will make me change. Moreover, if you wish me to come back sooner, only write to me, and I shall not remain five minutes in the army more than I can help. I shall always be happy to comply with your wishes, and come back as soon as possible. Again rest assured, my dearest K., that if in any situation of life I can be of help or service to you, I shall only be too happy, my dearest K., to serve and oblige you.—Your very affectionate cousin, R.C. TICHBORNE."