THE GLASGOW POISONING CASE.

Lyttelton Times, Volume VIII, Issue 516, 14 October 1857, Page 4

THE GLASGOW POISONING CASE.

The very extraordinary interest with which this trial has been regarded, induces us to devote to it more space than we find it profitable to allow ordinarily to snch cases. The following digest of the evidence is taken from the 'Spectator,' July. 11:— The trial of Miss Smith before the High Court of Justiciary terminated on Thursday, the ninth day, in a verdict practically tantamount to an acquittal. Throughout the proceedings an unprecedented excitement has prevailed, not only in Scotland, where the local newspapers groaned under the burden of successive editions, but all over the country. With all the comparative fulness of the reports, supplied to the press from hour to hour by the short-hand writers, and supplemented by electric telegraph, they have been produced under sucli disadvantages, and the evidence is so extensive, that probably no complete and connected view of .the case, out of court, will be obtained until the trial shall be published in a separate form as one of the most remarkable of causes celebres. In the mean time, we must place upon our file as complete an outline of the case as the limited space and imperfect material at our disposal permit. The deceased Einile l'Angelier is first heard of (in the evidence advanced for the defence) as in 'the service of Dickson and Co., of Edinburgh,' in 18i-3. He came from Jersey, and appears to have returned thitbeiyfor one of the witnesses met him in Jersey in 1846. Afterwards he went to France; where it is supposed that he for some time acted as a courier, for he spoke of having given arsenic to horses on a journey to give them wind. He boasted of having been engaged in the revolution of 1848, and of having served in the National Guard. Subsequently he left France; and he is found in 1851 living at a tavern in Edinburgh called the Rainbow, in abject poverty; sleeping with the waiter of the tavern; so low in spirits, from a cross in love, that he frequently spoke of suicide,, talked of throwing himself out of a window six stories high, and of jumping off Leith pier. During his stay at the Rainbow, he often remarked how much the ladies admired him— they looked at him in the street. One of the witnesses once said in his presence that L'Angelier was 'rather a pretty little person:' upon which he went out, and on his return said that a lady in passing had expressed admiration of his ' pretty little feet.' This witness believed L'Angelier had concocted the story, and regarded him as 'a little vain fellow.' From Edinburgh he went to Dundee, and engaged in the service of a nurseryman there, for bed, board, and a few shillings a week. Here again he frequently spoke of killing himself. He wrote to his friend the waiter at the Rainbow— 'I never was so unhappy in my life: I wish I had courage to blow my brains out.' [All the witnesses on this point seem to have thought that he would have killed himself had he been brave enough.] At Dundee, where he was thought a ' moral' lad, but vain and boastful, he ate poppyseods once till he was giddy; talked of regularly using arsenic; and continued to boast of his intimacy with the ladies. From Dundee he went to Glasgow, but when or how there is no evidence; nor is there any evidence to show how he obtained the situation of clerk to Huggins and Co. But he was in Glasgow in 1853; for we find him dining with a Mr. Roberts, merchant, on the Christmas Day of that year. After dinner, he was so ill from an attack of vomiting and diarrhoea that he had to be sent home in a cab.

In the year when M. L'Angelier arrived in Glasgow, Miss Smith returned from a boardingschool at Clapton. She was then about seventeen. Her fatner is Mr. James Smith, an architect, in Glasgow; her mother is .said .to have been the natural daughter of the late Duke of Hamilton. When the scene opens, Mr. Smith lived in India Street; whence he removed to 7 Blythswood Square; and he had a country-house at Rowaleyn.

I L'Angelier appears to have seen Miss Smith some time before he was introduced to her; tor we find him in 1855 very anxious for an introduction. He begged a young man of his^acquaintance, Robert Baird, to introduce him. Baird applied to his uncle, who was in Huggins s warehouse; but the uncle declined: next he asked his mother to invite Miss Smith and L'Angelier to an eveningparty; but she declined. One day, in the street, Baird and L'Angelier met Miss Smith and her sister, and the introduction took place there and then. From the mass of letters read at the trial the progress of their intercourse through all its phases can be traced. The introduction, in the spring of 1855, rapidly ripened into intimacy. The first letter from Miss Smith to L'Angelier begins—'My dear Emile, I do not feel as I were writing to you for the first time. Though our intercourse has beeu very short, yet we have become as familiar friends. May we long continue so; and ere long may you be a friend of papa's is my most earnest desire.' Some time after, date not attainable, it appears she bade him adieu, and declined further correspondence; and she wrote to Miss Perry, [a respectable elderly lady, who acted as the confidante of both the parties,] asking her to 'comfort dear Emile.' 'Papa would not give his consent; so I am in duty bound to obey him.' But L'Angelier would not retreat so easily. He evidently wrote again; for in September Miss Smith wrote to him in a fond strain, and signed herself 'your ever devoted and fond Mini.' In December their personal intercourse had begun; for she writes on the 3rd of that month—'l did not expect the pleasure of seeing you last evening; of being fondled by you, dear, dear Emile.' She recommends him to consult Dr. M'Farlane, and not try to doctor himself; and a talk of marriage begins. In April and May 1856, the young lady's language increases in warmth; secret assignations are made—' The gate; halfpast ten; you understand, darling; and then, oh happiness!'—' As you say, we are man and wife; so we are, my pet; we shall,! trust, ever remain so.' She signs herself his 'ever devoted and loving wife.' A letter dated ' Helensburg, 7th,' [evidently 7th May, '56,] has this passage— 'Beloved, if we did wrong last night, it was in the excitement of our love. I suppose we ought to have waited till we were married. Yes, beloved, I did truly love you with my soul .... Oh, if we could have remained never more to have parted! . ... Any place with you, pet 1 shall always remember last night . . . . I shall write dear Mary, [Miss Perry] soon. What would she say if she knew we were so intimate? She would lose all her good opinion of us both, would she not?' In June 1856, she says —• I trust you will take care of yourself, and not forget your Mini. Oh, how I love that name of Mini! You shall always call me by that name; and, dearest Emile, if ever we should have a daughter, I should like you to allow me to call her Mini, for her father's sake.' In this style the letters proceed; beginning—'Beloved, dearly beloved husband,' and containing passages such as those we have quoted, and others not printed by the newspapers, and described as; unfit for publication. In July she says—' Our intimacy has not been criminal, as I am your wife before God; so it has been no sin our loving each other.' In .another she says—' I think a woman who can be untrue ought to be banished from society.' 'I, am as much your wife as if we had been married a year.' This was in July

185 S. The marriage, spoken of for September, was ' put off.' ' Minnoch left [Helensburgh] this morning. Say nothing to him in passing. I was not a moment with him by myself.' In Au.sjust, Emile came to a stolen interview at Helensburgh. He looked ' cross at first,' but ere he left he looked himself. ' Would you leave me to end my days in misery? for I can never be the wife of another, after our intimacy. [Here a blank occurs.] No one heard you last night. Next night it shall be a different window; that one is much too small.' Mr. Minnoch is spoken of as • most agreeable' in September. L'Angelier is reminded that her little sister is in her bedroom. ' I could not go out by the window, or leave the house and she there. It is only when P[:ipa3 is away I can see you, for then Janet sleeps with M[araraa].' L'Angelier is recommended to get ' brown envelopes' to drop into her window in the Glasgow house, because they are not seen so much as white ones. In November 1856 she writes—'lf M. and P. were from home, I could take you in very well at the front door, just the same way as I did in India Street; and I wont let a chance pass—l won't sweet pet of my soul, my only best-loved darling.'

Troubles arise between them in December 18f>6. L'Angelier is jealous; asks awkward questions; and complains of evasive answers. There seems some idea of an elopement, but the • horrid banns ' fill the youg lady with fear. The assignations at 'the window' continue to be made; but it is evident from her letters that L'Angelier was very jealous of her flirting with Mr. Minnoch. She consoles him by saying, that the first time papa and mamma are from hotfie, he shall be with her. On the 23rd -January she writes:—

'Emile, what would I not give at this moment to be your fond wife? My night-dress was on when you saw me; would to God you had been in the same attire. We would be happy. Endle, I adore you. I love you with my heart and soul. Ido vex and annoy you; but oh, sweet love, I do fondly, truly love you with my soul, to be your wife, your own sweet wife. I never felt so restless and unhappy as I have done for some time past I would do anything to keep sad thoughts from my mind; but in whatever place, some things make me feel sad A dark spot is in the future. What can it be? Oh God keep it from us! Oh may we be happy! Dear darling, pray for our happiness. I weep now, Emile, to think of our fate. If we could only get married, all would be well. But, alas alas! I see no chance, no chance of happiness for me.'

On the 28th January she accepted Mr. Minnoch's offer of marriage. Early in February she begins to speak to L'Angelier of coolness on both sides; to complain that her letters are returned to her, 'not for the first time;' and to ask for her own letters and likeness. ' Sunday night, half-past seven 4 Emile, my own beloved, you have just left

me. Oh, sweet darling, my heart and soul burns with love for you, my husband. What would I not give at this moment to be your fond wife. . . 'i But, oh sweet love, I dearly love you, and lonjj with heart and soul to be your wife. I never felt so restless and unhappy as I have done for some time past. I would do anything to keep sad thoughts from my mind. A dark spot is in my future. -What can it be? Oh, God, keep it from us, and may we be happy. I weep to think of our fate. If we could only be married, all would be well; but, alas, alas! I see no chance of happiness for me. . . .

'Mini L'Angelikh.'

♦ I trust that you may yet be happy, and get one more worthy of you than I. I am, &c. ♦M.'

• Thursday, seven o'clock. ' You may be astonished at this sudden change, but for some time back you must have noticed a coolness in my notes. My love for you has ceased, and that is why I was cool. I did once love you truly and fondly, but for some time back I have lost much of that love. There is no other reason for my conduct, and I think it but fair to let you know this. I might have gone on and become your wife, but I could not have loved you as I ought. My conduct you will condemn; but I did at one time love you with heart and soul. It has cost me much to tell you this—sleepless nights—but it was necessary you should know. If you remain in Glasgow, or go away, I hope you may succeed in all your endeavours. I know you will never injure the character of one you so fondly loved. No, Emile, I know you have honour and are a gentleman. What has passed you will not mention. I know when I ask you that you will comply.—Adieu.'

L'Angelier's reply filled her with terror—it appears to have been a threat to send the letters to her father. In an agony of alarm she wrote on the 10th February, passionately conjuring him not to bring her to open shame—deathmadness; and on the next day she wrote in this strain—

' Tuesday evening, 12 o'clock,

• Emile—l have this night received your note. Oh, it is kind of you to write to me. Emile, no one can know the intense agony of mind I have suffered last night and to-day. Emile, my father's wrath would kill me—you little know his temper. Emile, for the love you had once for me do not denounce me to P. Emile, if he should read my letters to you he will put me from him—he will hate me as a guilty wretch. I loved you, and wrote to you in my first ardent love—it was with my deepest love I loved you. It was for your love I adored you. I put on paper what I should not. I was free because I loved you with my heart. If he or any other one saw those fond letters to you, what would not be said of me ? On my bended knees I write to you, and ask you, as you hope for mercy at the judgment-day, do not inform on me—dp not make me a public shame. Emile, my love has been one of bitter disappointment. You and only you can make the rest of my life peaceful. My own conscience will be a punishment which I shall carry to my grave. I have deceived the best of men. You may forgive me,jbut God never will. For God's love forgive me and betray me not. For the love you once had to me do not bring down my father's wrath on me. It will kill my mother, who is not well. It will for ever cause me bitter unhappiness. lam humble before you and crave your mercy. You can give me forgiveness; and you,—oh, you only can make me happy for the rest of my life. I would not ask you to love me or ever make me your wife. lam too guilty'for that. I have deceived and told you too many falsehoods for you ever to respect me. But oh, will you not keep my secret from the world? Oh, will you not, for Christ's sake, denounce me? I shall be undone. I shall be ruined. Who would trust me? Shame will be my lot. Despise me, hate me, but make me not the public scandal. Forget me for ever. Blot out all remembrance of me I have used you ill. I did love you, and it was my soul's ambition to be your wife. I asked you to tell me my faults. You did so, and it made me cool towards you gradually. When you have found fault with me I have cooled. It was not love for another, for there is no one I love. My love has all been given to you. My heart is empty—cold I am unloved, lam despised. I told you I had ceased to love you—it was true. I did not love as I did; but, oh, till within the time of our coming to town, I loved you fondly. I longed to be your wife. I had fixed February. I longed for it. The time I could not leave my father's house. I grew discontented; then I ceased to love you. Oh, Emile, this is indeed the true statement. Now you can know my state of mind. Emile, I have suffered much for you. I lost much of my father's confidence since that September; and my mother has never been the same tome. No, she has never given me the same kind look. For the sake of my mother—her who gave me life—spare me from shame Oh Emile, you will in God's name hear my prayer? I ask God to forgive me. I have prayed that he might put in your heart to spare me from shame Never, never, while I live, can Ibe happy. No, no, I shall always have the thought I deceived you lam guilty; it w ffl be a punishment I i X tf" !° the day Of m? death- I an> hum- • wJiu crave your pardon; but I dare not. , While 1 have breath I shall ever think of you as ,my best friend, if you will only keep this be--1 tween ourselves. I blush to ask y?u. Yet ; Emile, wi you not grant me this my last favor? '■ iFonV* fT reveal^hat has passed Oh, for God's sake, for the love of Heaven, hear me I grow mad. I have been ill, very ai/all d£y I have had what has given me a false spirit had resort to what I should not have taken -but my bram is on fire. I feel as if death would indeed be sweet. Denounce me not Emile Enule thmk of our once happy days Sn me ♦*£ J° U ?, an: P^y for me as the m OS " wretched, guilty, miserable creature upon the earth I could stand anything but my father's delth ISPKhe UrS to^f'^ wiU »°?Luse hm; Four days afterwards sue B ay ß -L< Do uot come

and walk about, and become ill aeain v look bad on Sunday night and S You d»d I think you got Bici wfth Ognte^and the long want of food: so the nStf™ kte« meet, I shall make you eat a loaf of Seafe* 6 you go out. lam longing to meet S,^S [to bs continued.]