The Sun.
London, England, 1865-02-17 00:00:00

Inquest on Townley, the Murderer.

Yesterday afternoon Dr. Lankester, the coroner for the
Central Division of Middlesex, opened an inquest at the
House of Detention, Pentonville, on the body of George
Victor Townley, the murderer of Miss Goodwin. We an-
nounced the fact of his having committed suicide a few
days ago.

The jury having viewed the body, which presented a
frightful appearance, the front part of the forehead being
almost broken to pieces, the following evidence was taken

The Coroner in this case said it would be better for the
jury to dismiss from their minds any previous history of
the individual in question, but to pay attention to the
evidence to be brought forward to-day.
Samuel Hill, examined, said—l am instructing warder
baker. On Sunday last, about five minutes to five o'clock,
I was in the centre of the hall, underneath the landing,
when I heard a shout from above, and the deceased fell at
my feet. I do not know whether any one was in the gallery
from which he fell. I went immediately for the doctor. I
saw deceased removed to the infirmary. He appeared to be
insensible.

By a Juryman—l do not know who shouted from above.
I did not see the deceased after he was removed to the
surgery.
Mr. R. P. Green said—l am warder of 3 D ward in this
prison. I was on the top of the circular staircase on Sun-
day about five. I was superintending the prisoners coming
out of chapel. On the prisoners coming to B division there
was a stoppage, and I ordered them to walk on quicker I
While I was addressing them there was a shout, and
saw a prisoner lying on the central hall floor bleeding.
Some of the prisoners cried out, " Poor fellow, poor fellow,
he has killed himself." I ordered the prisoners to go to
their cells. The deceased belonged to the C division, and
all went to chapel.
Geo. Barman—l am a prisoner here. I was sitting to the
right of the deceased in the chapel on Sunday last. He was
very quiet until the last, when he sang the 319th Hymn
very loudly. He never did that before. He came out of
chapel, dropped his Prayer Book, put his hands on the rails,
put his feet on the steps and threw himself over the rails.
He fell down on his face, and cried " Oh !" •
By a Juror—l have not had any conversation with any
of the officials of the prison on this subject. All the pri-
soners were singing when the deceased sang. The deceased
was not in the habit of singing. He never told me he
wished to destroy himself. The deceased sang the two last
verses of the 319th Hymn.
Samuel Homegard—l am a prisoner in this prison. I was
coming out of chapel before the deceased. While the minis-
ter was reading the sermon the deceased was very quiet.
It was about five minutes to five—l was looking at the
clock—when my eyes caught the deceased. He was making
the second heave to go over the rails. I said to him last
Saturday, "How long ?" He said " Ten." I meant how
long he was in for. He sang very loudly the last hymn. I
have no fault to find with the treatment I have received in
prison.

Mr. Bradley, surgeon to the prison—On Sunday I was
called to the deceased. He was breathing heavily. There
was a wound over right eye-brow, which presented a frac-
ture of the bone. There was a cut on the right eyebrow.
There was an extensive fracture of the skull. The base of
the skull was broken up. The brain was lacerated. There
was a compound fracture of the knee. I believe he died
from the injuries done to the brain. He fell a distance of
27ft. The brain was healthy. There was no evidence of
any disease in the brain. Its weight was 55 ounces, rather
above the average. His age was 25 when convicted. He
was insensible from the time he fell until his death. He
was received from Bedlam in this prison on the 3d of Feb-
ruary, 1864. He appeared to be in good health. I assumed
if anything strange occurred it would have been reported
to me. I have seen nothing to induce me to believe that
he was insane. There has been no indication of insanity
in him. I have observed nothing unusual in his habits
and manners. He weighed less on the 13th of January
than on his admission, and I ordered him extra diet.
On a subsequent occasion he thanked me. Cases of
recurrent insanity, especially of homicidal or suicidal ten-
dencies, are constantly attended with lucid intervals. I
think the correspondence which passed between the deceased
and his family will show that there was hope in his mind.
Mr. Sherwin, the chaplain of the prison, deposed—l ob-
served the deceased, and during the first 12 months I
observed nothing approaching to insanity in him. The
dreadful act he committed in my opinion showing insanity.
From conversation I had with him on the subject which
sent him to prison I believe he was morally insane. He
admitted his crime, but denied his guilt. From his letters
I should say he was insane. His last letter but one was
not sent to his friends, as it was not written in conformity
to the rules of the prison. The rev. gentleman, at the wish
of the jury, read the letter in question :
I

" Bth February, 1865.
"My dearest Mother,—My writing gets worse and worse
partly, I suppose, from want of exercising it, and partly,
from the steel pen ; however, you won't mind, I daresay.
Letter paper is only issued on Wednesdays now, which is
the cause of the delay ; had I been aware of the new rule
you might have had this last week, tho' it is doubtful.
What can I say to you for your birthday any more mum ?
Little, I fear, to the purpose ; as for hopes and wishes ;
but altho' these are useless, there is still love ; would that
my love and gratitude were in any way sufficient to repay
you for all you have gone through for me; but I must sit
here Job's "comforter. A pretty way, indeed, of wishing
you many happy returns ! The fact is, mum dear, as is
usual with me, and lam muddled. I turn my brain inside
out, and there is nothing there—stagnant. It is true I
find what some people would call kind wishes, but then
that's all rubbish, so what can I do ? I can only give
you my best and kindest love, and tell you that I am
just as usual—no difference whatever, 'and what I have
already said, viz., that you must not trouble yourself
about me or my state, what we are all doing, and what's
the object of it, we can have no notion of it; it looks very
nonsensical, but that's no business of ours, and at any rate
we have had nothing to do with it, and perhaps we really
do only see the wrong side of the carpet. This, however,
is trite ; what I mean is, that such being the fact, past and
future being equally beyond our control, never mind what
happens to my body (you know law and society only pro-
fess to vent their spleen on the body), and consider that,
after all, it is only with me the loss of a few personal com-
forts, being dressed queerly, and made to look a greater
fright than ono naturally is, and condemned to live among
disagreeable people ;. whereas with you it is very different
and far worse, for I have tried to put myself in your place,
and have seen all that you would suffer, and fancy all
sorts of things, I cant exactly enumerate ; but if you only
saw how coolly I take it, and what little trouble there is
in one's life here, I really do think, my dear mum, you
would take heart. Remember, it is not with mo as with
most ; I have no one depending on me. lam provided for
for life, I may say, therefore I have really no cause to
take thought for the morrow. You know the peculiarities
of my temperament. Idiosyncracies—l suppose Mr.What's-
his-name would say—and where it not for the trouble that

my present position causes all of you, there would, I
think, be little to regret. It seems, odd, certainly, that
when all parties may be suited so easily, this wretched

bit of clay continues to eat, drink, sleep. &c., for no earthly
object. But here, again, we get beyond our depth, so
wisely stop ; and, after all, I would finish this (did you get

a lock of hair I sent you with the last lot of books—it was

in French), by wishing my darling mother as many
happy returns of the day as possible with such an un-
lucky wight of a son. By the way, I did not forget
Kate's birthday. I forgot to tell you so. I had a foolish
dislike to mentioning the birthdays at all, and half hoped
she would forget mine. Many thanks for the last two

letters and the cards which I have, and which the autho-
rities were good enough to let me read. I need not say
how glad I am to hear of your uniting with kind friends.
I won't say what comes uppermost in my mind, for this
reason. I have found the Scotchman's prayer useful. By
going on the opposite tact one only puts a stick into the
hands of one's fellow Yahoos to break one's own head with.
One gains experience here, and those coming into the
outer world will doubtless not fail to profit by it. Should
they happen to have been troubled with an excessive bene-
volence they wall find it understood, while those two ex-
cellent and useful-qualities—secretiveness and self esteem
—wlll be correspondingly developed. About visiting—
from something Kate said—l fancy you and she are think-
ing of coming. It is very, very good of you both, and I don't
knowhow to thank you: but, my dear mum, it must not be.
I told the governor so. I suppose he had not mentioned it.
Remember you would never have thought of such a thing
had it not been for a misrepresentation, and I am so far
from being grateful for the same that—well, never mind
what ; but you shall certainly never be exposed to any-
thing of the kind again, and I may tell you that the very
notion of your being within these walls, or in contact with
this place in any shape or way, is perfect torment to me,
and infinitely worse than anything else I have to bear. I
daresay there is not a man in the prison of any respecta-
bility who would not be heartily glad if the stupid and
cruel mockery of visiting were totally done away with.
When you can see me without insult to yourselves, well
and good ; but that is unlikely. Pardon me, dearest mum,
if this is abrupt. I would have said more—and more kindly
—but have no space. I would rather not more than two
came, and you can fix upon whom you would like to accom-
pany the governor: After all, one can say nothing at such
an interview, it must be unsatisfactory. And now, I must
thank you for the eight books the governor brought me,
especially for the Gil Blas' and Silvio Pellico.' I am
charmed with the latter. Do you know he sometimes re-
minds me of you ? You would see, for any one else would,
what I mean if you read it. Charley had it in French. Gil
Blas' I have nearly finished, and have had many a good
laugh over it. What a nice edition. But I am sorry you
should have got it for me purposely. Don't bring any
books for me, and don't send me any you are likely to
want for yourself. Many thanks for the Sunday Magazine.
I like it exceedingly, so thoroughly Catholic in its tone.
Thank you for Pascal and 011endorf ; the latter does not
at all matter being bound together. I think you had better
not send me any more books that will have to be returned,
excepting, perhaps, the magazine ; but I will speak to the
governor about it when I see him. There is always some
trouble about signing a paper. I don't think it will be
necessary to leave my books behind me when I go from
here. I will do so if you like ; but we can speak about it.
fancy other MINA have generally taken theirs. i Ana

nearly sure I should not be allowed to write when leaving,
besides, there might be no time; you never know when you
are going. Tell the governor this, with my kind love. I
don't think you (the governor) need be in any particular
hurry about seeing me. I have a notion I shall not go yet
awhile, but of course I know nothing, and it would be use-
less asking. Here I am, you see, at the end ; there are
plenty of other things I wanted to say, but I have crammed
in as much as I dare. My best love to Charles and Katy.
I always laugh a your and her letters. Did you see her
last? it was so like her. Thank you for the German
characters, and whoever was so kind as to copy them out
so carefully. With all my love, and thanks for your dear
letters, ever my own mother.—Your affectionate son,
(Signed) " GEO. V. TOWNIEY."

In answer to a question from the jury, the witness said
the deceased the first six months he was in the prison was
employed in weaving, and afterwards at shoemaking.
Mr. Townley, the father of the deceased, who was in
court during the inquiry, and who at times was moved to
tears, inquired if his son had, during his avocation, the un-
controlled use of tools ?
He was answered in the affirmative.

The question was put with the view of showing that the
deceased had opportunities of committing suicide previous
had he contemplated it.

The Coroner said that if the jury thought they had suffi-
cient evidence to enable them to come to a verdict he would
go no further into the case. They knew that the insanity
of the deceased had been Much discussed, and if they re-
quired evidence as to insanity having existed in the family
he would, if they thought proper, call Mr. Townley. The
jury did not desire to inflict this pain upon that gentleman,
who, however, stated that there had been no less than 11
cases of insanity in the family.
Mr. Bradley, the surgeon, was here recalled, and said—l
forgot to mention that upon examining the body I found
marks of indention in both arms, and from that I think he
attempted to bleed himself. There were wounds on both
arms. They were quite recent. I mention this to show
that there had been some kind of suicidal feeling upon him
,on the Sunday morning. He was seen by the warder when
he was washing on that morning, and those wounds were
not there then.

The jury then retired to consider the verdict, and after
an absence of a quarter of an hour returned the following
verdict :

" That the deceased destroyed himself by throwing him-
self from the gallery of the Model Prison, whilst in an un-
sound state of mind."

They append the following to their verdict :
"The jury regret that the letter was not sent, as they
find nothing in it contrary to the rules of the prison."

The Governor said that it should be forwarded to the
directors of convict prisons.

The inquiry then terminated.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIO JOURNALS.

-.-

TlMES.—After one wistful glance at peace, which,
it would almost seem, is not to be in our time, the
Americans have flung themselves once more into that
ghastly duel of which we can only find the like in a
nightmare, or in the personal encounters one hears of
in their own half-settled borders. We have to recall
the not uncommon case of two combatants, without
either the power or the wish to escape, inflicting the
most horrid injuries one on the other, and indifferent
to their own wounds so long as they had a chance
of striking the last fatal blow. From the two ships
lashed together as if in mockery of the old forced
and ill-sorted Union, the American eye now passes
to many a point of presumed weakness in the
enemy's defences, to open port, to deep inlet, and
rapid river, and mountain range, and broad valley,
wherever the vast continent may haply be pene-
trated. Every day it hopes to read the sweet tidings
of devastation and massacre in places whose very
names were sacred but the other day, and whose
flourishing statistics were taught to children in the
State schools. So utterly is the instinct of a whole
race changed, we may say in a day, and the very
spirit of self-immolation infused into the vast mul-
titude just before plethoric with wealth, saturated
with enjoyment, and intoxicated with vanity. Thus
far there is not the least sign of any real movement
in the direction of peace, in two successive and pro-
tracted interviews. So long as one side insists upon
a Union as thorough as that which the sword has
divided, and the other insists upon thorough inde-
pendence—sweetened possibly, though we do not yet
know this, by promises of political co-operation
there can be no peace. According to the old super-
stitution, the rust of the spear alone can heal the
wound which the point has made. Neither of the
belligerents is now master of his actions. He is the
victim of a terrible though self-imposed necessity,
which shows how a man may be a slave without
the excuse, the honour, and the comfort of a
master—a slave to a base passion, a slave
to a horrid purpose, a slave to a fearful
movement that can never be arrested, however
wantonly set going. It is the white man who now
must finish his task. It lies before him a huge pile
of unknown and still increasing bulk. Upon this
he has to toil incessantly under a burning sun, and
every element venting its worst spite on body and
soul. He has to hack and to hew, to beat and to
tear—to strain every sinew, rack every joint, and
exhaust every nerve. Bleeding at every vein and
every pore, aching, withered, and prostrate to the
last limit of consciousness, he has to go on, and on-
wards still, upon a labour inexhaustible and ever
self-renewing. But it is a work of blood and fire,
to unmake all he has made, to depopulate and blacken
the paradise it was his glory to have created. This
is his slavery. He cannot work his own deliverance,
and there is none—so at least he feels in his despe-
ration—to buy him out of it. To be the slave of an
idea is more or less the fate of individuals and com
munities. Men cannot indulge themselves in golden
anticipations as to the future without finding them-
selves before very long occupying the place rather
of the captive than of the charioteer in their own
triumphal car. The dream of a world-wide Con-
federation, united only for convenience, defence, and
endless aggression, had taken, as it is now found,
too strong a hold on the American mind. It had
grown up into the intensity and scarcely responsible
form of a monomania. It had become a new law of
justice and truth, _ that all nations were to bow to,
although ever so harshly propagated. We may now
afford to pity a mental possession than which none
had more excuse, but which surpassed all example.
In every age there have been Powers which could not
be content with their old limits, or even the older
and more modest forms of political association, and
which accordingly aimed to conquer the world or a
continent—to establish a new system, or impose new
principles of government. They have all run through
more changes than their authors ever expected, and
much more rapidly. The two greatest and most en-
during nations of antiquity have left grand tradi-
tions of art, science, and religion, but political ele-
ments of disunion rather than union. The Capitol
of Washington may not disdain to learn something
from the fortunes of that other Capitol on the Tiber.
That State was in succession a monarchy, an aristo-
cratic republic, a triumvirate, an empire ; first ag-
gressive, then standing on the defensive ; then two
Empires ; then the arena of universal and continual
warfare by migratory races ; then a spiritual do-
minion, then two spiritual dominions ; then a centre
of religious authority, recognized with severe limita-
tions and immense exceptions by some States of
Western Europe and some large communities in the
rest of the world. The Government which repre-
sents the United States, of course, thinks its foun-
dations deeper in moral truth and human necessity
than Rome. It starts with a new continent, in
which there is no considerable rival. The natural
secession of new colonies and dependencies from the
parent State, and the natural rejection of Old World
trammels, which has produced the independent com-
munities of America, is only the first step, so it
seems, to their confederation. Everything favours
the presumption that America has a destiny beyond
the ken of worn-out loyalties and.exploded bigotries.
We cannot wonder, we ought rather to admire, that
this new family of mankind, passing over the flood,
and resting on its own sacred mount, high and dry
from Old World violences and corruptions, should
indulge in such a dream, so comprehensive and so
glorious and so large. We admire, but envy not.
It is ,dream-land, and no more. The dreamers walk
as in a trance—political somnambulists--bound by
their own spell, serving a tyrant of their own inven-
tion, and running the course of inevitable ruin. The
great machine tears along, and, though the work of
their own hands, they cannot stop it, or even miti-
gate its fearful speed. It was made to distance all,
and to crush all, besides themselves ; but mankind
looks on aghast, and sees its makers the victims. It
is the immense scale of this fatal prepossession that
cuts off remedy and escape. The idol of American
worship embraces a continent—nay, a world ; it in-
eludes all the future ; it claims to subjugate the entire
realm of human thought. It is treason and heresy to
stop short of the whole visible and speculative sphere.
The world is to be regenerated in this new model—
the New World, then the Old. Accordingly, pre-
sent holders of this august destiny can give up no-
thing. It was decapitation in China to doubt that
the Emperor was brother of the Sun and Moon, and
it is political death in America to doubt that all
nations will receive the law from Washington, an-
nex themselves to its mild realm, and bow to its
easy yoke. In the Old World—which has been
battled, and buffeted, and beaten by hard facts, if
not into wisdom, at least into submission—when a
conquerer is defeated he gives up his conquest ;
when a State cannot fight the world, it says so and
gives in. By the same rule when a private man has
played for great stakes and lost he sits down and
makes the best of it. He knows that it is possible
to exist without a large fortune, without a high
position, without a dignified employment, without
many friends,without an acre of land, without even
a house to call his own. He congratulates himself
if he has not lost honour and sunk into a cast below
. his habits and natural ingtinctg. The most ever-

804
weening and overstepping ambition may end bt
commodating itself to a very humble place and
finding happiness in self-respect and self-eon
There are few, indeed, that have not had •to ,rhs—;
render a good deal of their early day-dreams. '—
American cannot do this. The dream, which othel
on this side the Atlantic can better describe
its grandeur, is too strong a reality for him.
on
ing worshipped it and obeyed it,—having laidble
its shrine all he held dear, he is now its hum%
slave. He must do as it bids him, and go thile
blood and flames to enforce its dire behests. be
partial sacrifice will appease it. All or nethingde,
asked for; all or nothing it demands at hi 511931,0
So long as that idol stands on its pedestal, the
ear
I must rage on ; and we see no symptom of its c".
overthrow.
DAILY NEWS.—An extension of the area of ratingoi
so far as applies to unions, will probably be one
the leading features of the new Poor law Bill tfseut
laid before Parliament this evening. The Pr— Da
system, with its hamlets filled with labourersqlog
its parishes without a single poor man d,vv,,ie for
within their precincts, is obviously respenawl.oht
many of the painful anomalies which come
from time to time. The squires and landoleir
who, acting in concert with neighbours of ou
own station, decline to have a single cottage
ney
their estates, and whose ground is conseclu,e-ees
tilled by labourers residing at some miles dis's of
from their daily work, virtually shift the duty„,,
providing for their poor on to other shoulders
wingt
their own. This, combiued with the dread of
ju
sent back ignominiously to their native Parw:ill,
the event of breaking down from mischance Iresi
health, prevents many a struggling labourer._,„,e-
seeking employment elsewhere than in the le-
seeking
diate vicinity of his birthplace. The poor hate the
deeply-rooted a horror of being handed back tcwis.
workhouse of their own neighbourhood whe°,B of
i.
fortune overtakes them as some of the rich any
seeing cottages on their land. Though a siu u-,A.
clearance of these objectionable dwellings conyte
ratively rare, a tacit understanding between 11!;ces
and steward that they shall under no circumsw ees
be repaired is not uncommon. Thus bid eg,rvith
they fall into ruin, and are finally swept awai,,esse
other rubbish, leaving their late tenants to :here
themselves as best they may, in parishes Lt of
labourers' cottages are still tolerated. The.f; de-
the number of houses of this character having
creased throughout the country in inverse Pi-esoi,,
tion to the increase of population, is advall.cis to
support of this statement, and certainly poui_ott,
the crying necessity for change. It is thofiu the
e
therefore, that by equalising the rating a °lsee
parishes within each union, and by, at th_,Ao
time, extending the area of settlement to a
extent, both ratepayers and paupers PI •
W
tically benefited. When the landowner has
of 01
his quota towards relieving the pauperism rest to
fifteen parishes, it will be no longer his inteer tbe
thrust those likely to become chargeable eviteate.
boundary line within which his estate
Jw is
Having to assist the poor in the distant ceuing
exactly the same proportion as the poor U
of ell-
almost at his park-gates, the inconvenience walk
ploying ill-housed labourers, who have °will 17.e1:
some miles to and from their day's work, row
come strongly apparent, and the probaehitions,
will be a withdrawal of the present Pr of s
and as a natural consequence the erectieolit
better class of labourers' cottages threngll gent
country. This is in itself a strong a „rP that
favour of the bill, and it is to be regretted not be
particular improvement to which it pointsc aliseti°ll
shared in by the metropolis. Neither 9,°,
I' theta'
of rating nor extension of settlement win d:4 the
selves have much effect on the dwelling& ifith
London poor, and we must content ourse systeo
the knowledge that some approach to a fair,°_„r (wed;
• of levying poor rates is likely to be
The ninety-eight parishes composing t'le hear t'l"
London Union, for example, will have t° f sePa;
burden of their poor collectively instead aslv-
rately ; and the Bank of England—fornw'., vtitselV
believe it does, almost an entire parish 11-s
will probably be charged at a higher rate tu-will Paci
while its poor and populous fellow parisrther act
benefited in a proportionate degree.
will
material modifications of the existing law but the
improbably be submitted to the
clauses making the ratepayers of differentrssig
co-equal in responsibility, and which are °' the,'
as,,be
to indirectly benefit the labourer as fullywill
will protect the interests of the pauper,
aids
tf
readily recognised as important efforts Ww,ierue
solution of one of the hardest social Pr°''
the day.
House,, A; striCtea