o hours.

Did you tell her what your mother had ate or drank?--No, I did not,
only said my mother was very ill and very dry, and desired something
to drink.

[Sidenote: R. Littleton]

ROBERT LITTLETON, examined--I was clerk to Mr. Blandy almost two
years. The latter end of July last I went to my father's, in
Warwickshire, and returned again on the 9th August, and breakfasted
with Mr. Blandy and his daughter the next morning, which was on a
Saturday. He was in great agony, and complained very much. He had a
particular dish to drink his tea in. He tasted his tea, and did not
drink it, saying it had a gritty, bad taste, and asked Miss whether
she had not put too much of the black stuff in it, meaning Bohea tea.
She answered it was as usual. He tasted it again and said it had a bad
taste. She seemed to be in some sort of a tremor. He looked particular
at her, and she looked very much confused and hurried, and went out of
the room. Soon after my master poured it out into the cat's basin, and
set it to be filled again. After this, when he was not there, Miss
asked me what he did with the tea. I said he had not drunk it, but put
it into the cat's basin in the window; then she looked a good deal
confused and flurried. The next day Mr. Blandy, of Kingston, came
about half an hour after nine in the morning. They walked into the
parlour, and left me to breakfast by myself in the kitchen. I went to
church. When I returned, the prisoner desired me to walk with her
cousin into the garden; she delivered a letter to me, and desired me
to seal and direct it as usual, and put it into the post.

Had you ever directed any letter for her before?--I have, a great
many. I used to direct her letters to Mr. Cranstoun. [He is shown a
letter.] This is one.

Did you put it into the post?--I did not. I opened it, having just
before heard Mr. Blandy was poisoned by his own daughter. I
transcribed it, and took it to Mr. Norton, the apothecary at Henley,
and after that I showed it and read it to Mr. Blandy.

What did he say?--He said very little. He smiled and said, "Poor,
love-sick girl! What won't a girl do for a man she loves?" (or to that
effect).

Have you ever seen her write?--I have, very often.

Look at this letter; is it her own handwriting?--I cannot tell. It is
written worse than she used to write, but it is the same she gave me.

Do you remember Mr. Cranstoun coming there in August, 1750?--I do. It
was either the latter end o