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