"MARY ANGELL, sack maker, of No. 17. Brook Street, Holborn, deposed, that the deceased came to lodge at her house about nine or ten weeks ago; he took the room below the garret; he always slept in the same room; he was always very exact in his payments to her; and at one time, when she knew that he had paid her all the money he had in the world, she offered him sixpence back, which he refused to take, saying: 'I have that here (pointing to his forehead) which will get me more.' He used to sit up nearly all night, and she frequently found his bed untouched in the morning, when she went to make it. She knew that he always bought his loaves--one of which lasted him for a week--as stale as possible, that they might last the longer: and, two days before his death, he came home in a great passion with the baker's wife, who had refused to let him have another loaf until he paid her 3s. 6d. which he owed her previously. He, the deceased, appeared unusually grave on the 28th of August; and, on her asking him what ailed him, he answered pettishly: 'Nothing, nothing--why do you ask?' On the morning of the 24th August, he lay in bed longer than usual; got up about ten o'clock, and went out with a bundle of paper under his arm, which he said 'was a treasure to any one, but there were so many fools in the world that he would put them in a place of safety, lest they should meet with accident.' He returned about seven in the evening, looking very pale and dejected; and would not eat anything, but sat moping by the fire with his chin on his knees, and muttering rhymes in some old language to her. Witness saw him for the last time when {139} he got up to go to bed; he then kissed her (a thing he had never done in his life before), and then went upstairs, stamping on every stair as he went slowly up, as if he would break it. Witness stated that he did not come down next morning, but she was not alarmed, as he had lain longer than usual on the day before; but at eleven o'clock, Mrs. Wolfe, a neighbour's wife, coming in, they went and listened at the door, and tried to open it, but it was locked. At last, they got a man who was near to break it open; and they found him lying on the bed with his legs hanging over, quite dead: the bed had not been lain on. The floor was covered all over with little bits of paper; and on one piece the man read, in deceased's handwriting, 'I leave my soul to its Maker, my body to my mother and sister, and my curse to Bristol. If Mr. Ca....' The rest was torn off. The man then said he must have killed himself, which we did not think till then, not having seen the poison till an hour after. Deceased was very proud, but never unkind to any one. I do not think he was quite right in his mind lately. The man took away the paper, and I have not been able to find him out.