The Cotton Factory Times. — 1899-06-09 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

THE OEM OF ANTONY COWLEICE-:  "We have but little to add to the graphic statemoot of our Special Reporter. lie paid altogether  three visits to the house in which Antony Cowlrick's female friend. Blanche, rented a room; the last visit was paid at noon of this day. His desire was to obtain some information relating to the young woolen's history; he has been unsuccessful. Nothing is known of her history; she made her first appearance in the neighbourhood about three menthe ago, took a furnished room, lived a quiet life, and did not mix with the neighbours. She was never seen in public-houses, and had no visitors. All that is known of her relates to the little match girl, Fanny, her kindness to whom is the theme of admit-Mien and praise. Her name was Blanche— simply Blanche. She gave and was asked for no other. The police have nothing to say against her. There are few single young women living alone in the locality in which Blanche resided against whom the tongue of scandal is not busy, generally, it must be admitted, with sufficient reason • but nothing has been elicited to the discredit of Blanche. Thus far her record is a good one. "Nothing has been Been of Antony Cowlrick; he has vanished utterly from the sight of the police, who, although he was acquitted of the charge they brought against him, had determiued to keep their eyes on him. He has proved himself more than their match. The description given of him by our special reporter is that of a man of medium height, probably five feet eight inches, with spare frame, lithe and sinewy. His hair is auburn, and appeared to grow freely. This free growth, and the circumstance of his having been unshaved for weeks, render it difficult to destribe his features; all that can be said on this point is that his face was haggard and distressed, and that there dwelt upon it an expression which denoted deep trouble and perplexity. Every person who has followed this case in our columns, and who has carefully road the accounts we have presented to our readers, must feel a deep interest in the man. The impression lie made upon our specs' reporter—the prompt repayment of the sovereign he borrowed— his language and manners—even the collateral evidence supplied by what is known of his friend Blanche—all tell in his favour. And stronger than every circumstance combined are the concluding words of his letter to our special reporter. If you do not know what else to do with the money received by your paper in response to its appeal for subscriptions on my behalf, I can tell you—give toil the poor.' There spoke a man in whose bosom beats the true pulse of a lofty humanity. Antony Cowlrick, who, without doubt, since his release, has read all that has appeared in our columns concerning him, is aware that our last edition of yesterday contained a full list of subscriptions sent to our office for him, the total amount being £6B 17s. It is a sum worth having, and might be supposed to be especially acceptable to a man in Antony Cowlrick's apparently destitute condition —a man upon whose person, when he was arrested, was found some stale bread and cheese, and not a penny of money. In the face of this evidence of poverty, Anthony Cowlrick has not called for the handsome sum we hold in trust for him, and has instructed us to give it to the poor. We shall do so in a week from this date, unless Antony Cowlrick presents himself at our office to receive it ; or Unless those who have subscribed object. We trust they will not withdraw their subscriptions, which we promise shall be faithfully and worthily applied in charity's cause.  "Her;, then, for the present we leave the subject which has occupied so large a portion of our space. The man murdered in the house No. 119, Great Porter Square, lies in his grave, and his murderer is still at large. Any of our readers may have come hi contact with him this very day; we ourselves may have walked elbow to elbow with him in the crowded thoroughfares; and he will, of a certainty, if he be in England, read to•night the words we are now writing. Tremble, thou unspeakable monster! Though thou escape thy doom at the bar of earthly justice, God's hand lies heavy upon thee, and shall weigh thee down until the Judgment Day, when thou and thy victim shall stand face to face before the eternal throne!"  CHAPTER Mr.