I now propose to give a sufficient number of examples to prove my point. In a poor street within two hundred yards of my own door I had frequently seen a beautiful boy of about four years old. His appearance, his clothing, his cleanliness, and even his speech, told unmistakably that he was not belonging to the poor. I knew the old people that he lived with, and felt quite sure that it was not owing to their exertions that he was so beautifully dressed and kept so spotlessly clean, for they were old, feeble, and very poor. But the old people had a daughter living with them, and it was the daughter who had charge of the child, for the little fellow was a "nurse-child." Good payment must have been given for the care of the child, for it was the only source of income for the household. The foster-mother was devoted to the boy, and he reflected every credit upon her love and care. Many times when I have met them I have spoken a cheery word to the little fellow, never dreaming of the coming tragedy, or that I should meet his real mother and discuss his death with her. The dead body of a boy between four and five years of age had been discovered in the women's lavatory of a North London railway-station. Without doubt the child had been ruthlessly murdered. His head had been smashed; his face was crushed beyond recognition. A calcined brick lay close by the body, and had evidently been used for perpetrating the deed. No other trace of the murder was forthcoming, and the body was taken to the nearest mortuary. Meanwhile the foster-mother and her aged parents were mourning the loss of the bonny boy, for the boy's mother had taken him from them that he might begin his education in a boarding-school for young children at Brighton. They had learned to love the child, and now he was gone. The old people missed him sadly, and the nurse-mother wept for him. The house seemed so dull without him. The murder occurred on a Saturday. On one of the early days of the ensuing week a neighbour chanced to tell the nurse-mother that she had read in a Sunday paper about the discovery of a child's mangled body at a North London railway-station, and also that the body remained unidentified at the mortuary. Although the nurse had not the slightest suspicion--for on the Saturday morning she had accompanied the boy and his mother to London Bridge, where tickets had been taken for Brighton, and the nurse had seen them safely on the correct platform and the train waiting--yet the loss of her nurse-child had so affected her that she wept as her neighbour told her of the newspaper account, and they went together to the mortuary, which was some miles away, to see the "other little dear." It was some years before the nurse recovered from the shock she sustained on her visit to the mortuary, for the mangled and disfigured body was that of her late charge--her "dear Manfred." I question whether even now she has recovered, for several times I know that she has been ill, and sometimes when I have been sent for, she seemed likely to lose her reason, the one and only thing that occupied her mind being the tragic discovery of her dear boy's maimed body. But the child's mother undoubtedly went to Brighton on that particular Saturday afternoon. She intended to go to Brighton, not for the purpose of placing her child in a school, but for another purpose by no means so praiseworthy, yet for a purpose that was esteemed by her a sufficient justification for the murder of the child. She had lured a young man into a promise to spend the week-end with her at Brighton, and some reason had to be found and given for her visit. Placing the child in a suitable school seemed a sufficient reason, so the nurse was instructed to get the boy's clothing ready and accompany her to London Bridge. This was accordingly done, and the nurse returned home, fully believing that the boy and his mother were on the way to Brighton. But the mother did not go to Brighton by that train. She allowed it to go without her, and when the nurse was safely away she left the platform, saying that she had missed it, but would return and go by a later train. She then took a bus for Broad Street Station, there taking a return ticket for Dalston, where she alighted. The lavatory in question was on the platform, consequently she did not pass the ticket-barrier. After accomplishing her object with the brick I have referred to, and which she had carried in her reticule all day for the purpose--for she had taken it from the garden of the house where she lived--she returned to Broad Street, giving her correct ticket up, and then on to London Bridge and Brighton early enough to meet the young man, who was about half her own age, and who spent the week-end with her.