I was born a short distance from Montreal, in the year 1812 but when I was very young, my parents removed from that place to a village in the vicinity of Quebec, where I lived until my father was hung for the murder of Paine. I then lived with my mother until I was sixteen years of age, when I was married to Mr. Walters, and settled near the neighborhood of my late residence, in the lower part of Delaware.--When I had been married about three years, my husband’s health began to decline, and to free myself from the trials incident to a protracted illness, I gave him a dose of poison. I administered it through my negro cook. I strangled to death my first and only offspring when three days old, which was the only son nature ever furnished me with. Afterwards, in the fall of eighteen hundred and thirty-five, I shot a traveller who stopped for dinner on his way from Richmond, Virginia, to New York. We robbed him of eight hundred dollars.--His horse we afterwards sold in Baltimore for two hundred dollars. In the beginning of February following, I and my comrades followed two slave traders, stationed ourselves and fired upon them, and killed one of them instantly, of which no account was ever heard. I burned to death a negro child eighteen months old, soon after. In eighteen hundred and forty, with my own hands I killed Isac Smith of Baltimore, on his way home. About two months afterwards, I was accessory to the murder of a slave trader from Wilmington, Del. on his way to Norfolk, Va. We robbed him of four thousand dollars and a gold watch. Soon afterwards I killed a negro boy twelve years old, whom I owned as mistress. Last of all, we murdered Morse, the Quaker, after he had boarded three days at the house. I am guilty of ten murders with my own hands, and accessory to a great many others. I can confess no more. For I do not expect forgiveness, and feel already the pains of hell. She was seized with another fit of despair, crying out that she felt the wrath of God punishing her. Thus she went on until she sunk back on her pillow exhausted, and her immortal spirit winged its way to appear before the bar of its Judge, there to answer for the dreadful deeds committed in the body. Her death was truly heart-rending and awful, and should serve as a warning to all those who read this account to be prepared to meet their eternal Judge, to render such an account of their past lives as shall be acceptable in his sight. She breathed her last on the 25th of September, four days after trial, thus terminating the cruel and unhappy lives of father son and daughter.