19th October 1885
Reference Numbert18851019-1031
VerdictGuilty > unknown; Not Guilty > unknown

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1031. REBECCA JARRETT, WILLIAM THOMAS STEAD, SAMPSON JACQUES, WILLTAM BRAMWELL BOOTH , and ELIZABETH COMBE, Unlawfully taking Eliza Armstrong, aged 13, out of the possession and against the will of her father. Other Counts charging the taking from the possession of the mother.

THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL (SIR RICHARD WEBSTER ), MR. POLAND, and MR. R. S. WRIGHT conducted the Prosecution; MR. CHARLES RUSSELL, Q.C., and MR. CHARLES MATHEWS appeared for Jarrett; MR. WADDY, Q.C., MR. HORNE PAYNE, and MR. R. F. COLAM for Booth; MR. SUTHERST for Combe, and MR. H. MATTHEWS, Q.C., and MR. F. H. LEWIS for Jacques; Stead defended himself.

ELIZA ARMSTRONG . I was 13 years old last April—up to the beginning of June last I was living with my father, Charles, and mother, Elizabeth Armstrong, at 32, Charles Street, Lisson Grove—my eldest sister Elizabeth is 17; she was out at service—I have three little brothers, aged 11, 7, and 4—my father is a chimney-sweep—we had all been living at the same address for many years—I used to nurse and look after the youngest child, a baby—I attended at the Board school, and can read and write—I know Mrs. Broughton, who lived with her husband at No. 37 in the same street—on the 2nd June a little girl told me some one wanted a servant,

and I went to Mrs. Broughton's house—Mrs. Broughton and the prisoner Jarrett, whom I had not seen before, were there—Mrs. Broughton asked me whether my mother would let me go out to service—I said I would go and ask my mother—I did so; my mother came up and went with me to Mrs. Broughton's—Jarrett was still there—she asked my mother if she would let me go to service—mother asked her whereabouts she lived—I understood her to say Wimbledon—mother asked why she could not get another girl where she lived—Jarrett said she could do so, but she thought a poor girl would like to go to a home where she lived—I don't know if she said home or service—mother asked her what to do—she said to scrub and to clean oilcloth, because she could not kneel, and she would do the dusting and the other part of the work—I afterwards saw she was lame—my mother said "No," and went away—Jarrett said she had a French girl as a servant, who wanted to go home to her mother, and she thought she would let her go—I went home with my mother, leaving Mrs. Broughton and Jarrett together—I did not see them again that day—the next day was the Derby Day—I saw my mother with Mrs. Broughton about 11 on the morning of Wednesday (Derby Day), 3rd June—my mother told me something when she came back which Mrs. Broughton had said to her, and I went with her to Mrs. Broughton's—Mrs. Jarrett was there—she asked mother if I had any nice clothes to go in—mother said I had not; Jarrett said she would buy me some, because her husband was a particular man—Jarrett told me to go home, wash myself, and get myself all ready, and I was to go along with her to buy some clothes—I went home, my mother went with me—afterwards wards I came back to Mrs. Broughton's—Mrs. Jarrett was there, and put on her things, and went with me to the boot-shop at the corner of Charles Street—up to that time I had not heard what Jarrett's name was—while going to the boot-shop she said I should like going into her service very much—she then took me into several shops, and bought various articles of clothing for me—she paid for them and brought them with her—we went back to Mrs. Broughton's, where I put on my new clothes—nothing further was said by Jarrett, nothing was said about what my wages were to be—I went home for about an hour, and had dinner there—I had left Mrs. Jarrett trimming my new hat at Mrs. Broughton's—the other clothes I had got on—when I went home to dinner I saw my mother—I don't remember whether I saw my father—afterwards I went back to Mrs. Broughton's, at about 2 o'clock in the afternoon—my mother did not go with me—I saw Jarrett in the room, and she said she was going to start at 3 o'clock—I stayed there till 3—I had seen my mother at the door, and kissed her before I came away—my mother said she would see me off—at 3 o'clock she was to meet me in Mrs. Broughton's room—I waited at Mrs. Broughton's about an hour, till 3 o'clock, when Mrs. Jarrett said it was time to go—I was then all dressed ready to start, with the hat on which Jarrett had trimmed—Jarrett, Mrs. Broughton, and I went out together—nothing was said about mother not having come back—when we started Mrs. Broughton and Jarrett went into a public-house—I waited outside—Jarrett and I got into an omnibus at the corner of Chapel Street—my mother told me she was going somewhere—I had said nothing about that to Jarrett—I said good-bye to Mrs. Broughton—we got out of the omnibus past the Marble Arch, and went to a house I know now as 16, Albany Street—that was a private

house—I pointed it out to the inspector—Jarrett and I went into a sitting-room—there was a young lady there who I had never seen before—afterwards Mr. Stead came in—I did not know his name at the time, nor the name of the young lady—he asked me if I went to school—I paid "Yes"—he asked what school—I said "The Board School"—he asked if I went to Sunday school—I replied "Yes, to Harrow Road Sunday School at 9 in the morning and in the afternoon, and to the Richmond Street Sunday School on Sunday nights"—I went three times on Sundays—I had been attending the schools for four years, and I told him so—he asked whether I went to any of the treats there—I said "Yes, once to Epping Forrest and twice to Richmond"—he asked me if I wrote any grammar at the schools—I said "Yes"—he did not ask me any more—Mrs. Jarrett asked me to go into the other room—the young lady came with me—we all had tea together before I went out of the room—the conversation about the schools took place before tea—after tea Mrs. Jarrett took me into the next room—Mr. Stead went out then—Jarrett took me out and bought me some underclothing—I have pointed out all the shops to the inspector—I returned with her to Albany Street—when Jarrett, the young lady, and I were alone at Albany Street, Jarrett told me to put the things on, and I did so—I wrapped the old clothes up in a parcel—Mrs. Jarrett was combing my hair, and said, "Shall I cut you a Piccadilly fringe?"—I said my mother would not allow it—she did not cut it after I said that—after that, when we were ready to go out, Mrs. Jarrett and the young lady changed hats—I left the house with Mrs. Jarrett—the young lady came out with us—there was a Hansom's cab at the door, and I and Mrs. Jarrett got into it—the young lady said she was going to some place—the cab drove us to a house in Milton Street, Dorset Square—I think it was about 6 o'clock we started from Albany Street—the cab stopped at the house; Jarrett got out, paid the driver, and went into No. 3—I saw a man standing outside; I do not know who he was—it was a private house—Jarrett asked the servant who opened the door for Madame—I went into a room and saw Madame Mourey—she was French, because she could only speak English a little—the man I had seen outside was a stout man; he was French—Jarrett and Madame Mourey spoke together, I did not hear what they said—Madame Mourey took me into a little room—she pulled up my clothes; I was standing up; she put her hands in my private parts, touching the flesh; I tried to get away, and then she put her hands down—she had not said anything to me before doing this—I went to the next room, the door of which was open, where Jarrett was—Madame came into the room as well—I said to Jarrett, "She is a dirty woman"—Jarrett made no reply—she went out of the room with Madame, leaving me in the room for half an hour—they came back into the room together—Jarrett took me away from the house—I was still carrying the parcel of old things I had brought from Albany Street—there was a four-wheeled cab waiting outside the house—I saw nobody outside the house at all—Jarrett spoke to the cabman, and Jarrett and I got in, and were driven to Poland Street, Oxford Street—we stopped opposite a ham and beef shop—Jarrett got change, and paid the cabman—Jarrett and I walked a little way towards Oxford Street—I saw two men—we went into a house in Poland Street next door to the ham and beef shop—I pointed out the door to the inspector. (This was the upper

part of the ham and beef shop). The two men had gone into that house—Jarrett and I went upstairs into a front bedroom—Mr. Jacques was one of the two men who were outside and who went in—I did not see who the other was then—I have no doubt of Jaques—I saw him again when I returned from France; I knew him then—when I got into the bedroom the men came into the room—the men had something to drink in the next room—Jarrett also had something to drink in the same room as I was; the drink was something brown—she asked me if I would go to bed—I said I did not want to go to bed yet—Jarrett gave me a picture book, and said we would stay there that night, because she lived in a place a long way off, and it would take a very long time to get there—she did not say where we were to go in the morning—Jarrett asked me again to go to bed, and I did so; I undressed and got into bed—Jarrett did not undress, she said she was waiting up for the young lady to come home—afterwards Jarrett lay down outside the bed with her clothes on by my side—she put a handkerchief up to my note; I threw it away—she put it again to my nose, and said, "Give a good sniff up"—I said I would not have it, and threw it away—Jarrett said it was scent; it had a nasty smell—I was still awake afterwards—the door opened and some one came in—I could tell by the sound, I could not see because the curtains were round the bed—there was a lamp in the room—when the door opened Jarrett was off the bed and outside the curtains—she said, "She is all right," or something like that—I heard a man's voice, but I did not hear what was said—I screamed out, "There is a man in the room"—the man went away when I screamed out, and shut the door after him—Jarrett said "What is the matter?"—I said "There is a man in the room"—Jarrett pulled up the curtains and said "There is no man in the room"—I said "Because he is gone out"—I saw there was no one in the room when the curtains were pulled up by Jarrett—Jarrett left the room and returned in two or three minutes, saying "Get up and dress, there are too many men in this house"—that was about 1 o'clock—we had been in the house an hour—I did not see a clock or anything—I got up and dressed—she put her hat and jacket on, went out of the room and downstairs—I saw nothing of the two men, Jacques and the other—we got into a cab which was waiting outside the house, and a man who I do not know got on the box seat—the cab drove to some house, where the man got off the box and went in—Jarrett and I waited at the door inside the cab for an hour—after that the man came out and said to Jarrett "You can sleep here to-night"—Jarrett said "All right"—we got out of the cab and went into the house—before I was last examined at Bow Street I went to this house, which is No. 27, Nottingham Place—I know it is the same house; it is a nicely furnished private house—Jarrett and I went into a bedroom, undressed, and went to bed—she slept on a sofa; I on the bed—Jarrett said nothing to me about our stopping there that night—I went to sleep—I go up the next morning—I cannot say whether any one came into the room; no one came in while I was awake—next morning I got up to breakfast—while at breakfast Mrs. Combe, whom I then saw for the first time, and the young lady who had changed hats with Jarrett at Albany Street, came—Mrs. Combe asked me if I should like to go to a place along with her—I said "No"—Jarrett and Mrs. Combe went out of the room together, leaving me there—I was sitting crying when Jarrett and Mrs. Combe

returned—afterwards the young lady and Mr. Stead came in—Jarrett asked the young lady to go and buy me a cloak—she did so; meanwhile Mrs. Combe said she had a lot of little children and two song, one was dead and one was in the Salvation "Army"—Mr. Stead said "The cab is all ready; let us go down now"—I got into the cab with Jarrett, Mrs. Combe, and Mr. Stead—the young lady had not come back yet with the cloak—we went in the cab to some big railway station; I forget the name of it—I have shown the constable the station—we got to the station about 9 in the morning—the young lady was at the station with the cloak, and I put it on—I have it on now—at that time I had not been told where they were going to take me—Jarrett, Mrs. Combe, and I travelled in the train; Mr. Stead and the young lady seeing us off—we crossed the Channel and went to Paris—we got there about 6 in the evening—Jarrett or Mrs. Combe did not say where they were taking me—we went to the headquarters of the Salvation "Army" in Paris—I was employed in selling the War Cry in the streets of Paris—on June 5th Jarrett said she was going home to get her place ready for me to go there; that she would sleep there that night, and go to-morrow morning, and that Mrs. Combe would take me to a shop and buy me some more clothes—only she and me were together when she said this—Jarrett left on the afternoon of Saturday, the 6th, about 3 o'clock, and she told me I could write a letter to her if I wanted to—she told me she had given the "Captain" her address at the headquarters of the Salvation "Army" in Paris—I knew Miss Booth, the "Marshal," and Miss Green, the cook—two or three days after I was in Paris I wrote to my mother—I put no address on it; I didn't know what to put—Mrs. Combe wrote a letter for me—she was there with me a week—the letter I wrote I addressed to my mother, 32, Charles Street, Lisson Grove, Marylebone, and gave it o the "Captain," a young lady, to post—I put no stamp on it—I did not get any answer—I also wrote to Mrs. Jarrett, whose name I heard as Mrs. Sullivan when at Paris—I did not know her name at all till I got to Paris—the letter produced is the one I wrote to Jarrett, dated June 10th: "My dear Mrs. Sullivan,—I write these few lines to you hoping you are quite well. I am very happy. The 'Captain' is very good to me. Mrs. Combe is going away for a little time. She is gone about her business. She is soon coming back again. I hope you are going on all right. I have asked the Lord to bless you every night, and I hope you are soon coming to see me. I am getting on all right. I has plenty to eat an drink, and if you would write me a little letter it would be very pleasant to have one from you; and I hope I shall be able to go and see my mother soon and my little brothers and sisters. The 'Captain' is going away for two months, and I am going to be a good girl while she is gone. Well, that is all I got to say at present. Good-bye, and God bless you for my sake. As I was lying in my bed, some little thoughts came in my head; I thought of one, I thought of two, but first of all I thought of you. I received this answer to that letter: "Hope Cottage, Highcliff, Winchester. My dear Child,—I received your beautiful letter, which I had been longing to get from you, but I forget the address, and Mrs. Combe promised to write to me about you, so I was expecting to hear from you. I am not coming to see you, but you are coming to me. A lady has got to bring you straight to me. You are to come to my little cottage, but you are to see your mother and father; but you are God's child, and I hope that you are trying to be

good to Jesus, and then you can go home and tell your mother and father what He has done for you. I pray for you every night and morning, my dear child. I must say good-bye, my dear child, till I see you. I hope it will be next week or the week after, but the Captain will tell you. I am your true friend, MRS. SULLIVAN." Mrs. Combe remained in Paris about a week, and then left saying she would not be long, and was going on business for two or three days—she said nothing about writing before she left—I remained in Paris about four weeks—then Mrs. Combe's son, "Lieutenant" Combe, took me away—he is a Frenchman, but spoke English; he is about 25 years of age—we started at 8 p.m.; no one else was with us, and no one saw us off—we travelled all night, and next day arrived at Loriol—he took me to the house of M. and Madame Berard—there were some children there, and an English governess, Miss Fielder—"Lieutenant" Combe stayed there that night, and left next day—I was employed as a servant there—a few days after I arrived I received a letter from "Lieutenant" Combe, who had said he would write to me; the date is 19th July—on 22nd July I wrote this letter to my mother; the English governess addressed the envelope—at the same time I wrote to Madame Combe—both letters were put in one envelope by Madame Berard, addressed to Madame Combe—I did not see this envelope (produced) addressed to my mother—in the letter to my mother there was no address given, in consequence of a letter I received from Madame Combe—I did not get any answer for some time. (The letter from the witness to her mother was then read, stating that she was very happy and had a good place, which was a long way in France, she had good food to eat, and all she wanted. It again ended: "As I was lying in my bed, &c," as ✗b fore.) I afterwards received this letter from my mother, the day before I was going away. (This stated: "Me and your father were so pleased to hear from you, but not so pleased as we should be if we saw your dear face," &c. "And let me know where that woman took you to when you left me to go to service," &c. "And how you came to know those little rhymes you wrote in your letter.") I was then at Plaines de Bec, a little way from Loriol, where M. Berard had a country house—afterwards I went back to Loriol—I wrote another letter to my mother while at Plaines de Bec—Miss Fielder wrote part of it for me and the envelope. (The letter was read; the post-mark was 14th August). I returned to Loriol the day after the letter was written—while I was there two gentlemen came for me; "Captain" Baby of the Salvation "Army" was one of them—Miss Fielder told me to get ready to go—we had some dinner before we left—when I saw the two gentlemen I cried—I went with them by train as far as Arras, and then to Paris—I cried because I did not know what the men were going to do with me at first—I went back to the head quarters of the Salvation "Army," where I saw Miss Booth and Miss Green—Miss Green brought me back to England, where I arrived on Sunday, 23rd August—she was the cook—I was taken to Mr. Stead's house at Wimbledon—he asked me to go into the garden to pick some flowers, and asked whether I liked the place where I went to, and whether I was sick on the water—Mr. Jacques came into the garden and asked if I should like to go to a place, it was better than going to a drunken home—he said he would take me to a gentleman's family near the Bayswater Road—I said "I will see what my mother says"—he asked me whether I should like to go and see my mother—I

said "Yes, very much," and he took me into a room—I slept there, and saw my mother and sister at the house on the Monday—Mrs. Stead suggested that I should be taken to a room where I could be alone with my mother and sister, and I was left alone with them for half an hour—I had a talk with her about where I had been—we had some luncheon—the same evening I, my mother, and my sister were taken to Wimbledon Railway Station, where there were Inspector Borner, Mr. Jacques, and a Mr. Thicknesse—we all went to the office of the Solicitor to the Treasury, where I made a statement, which was taken down by Mr. Pollard—I told him my story.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. Except what the French lady did in Milton Street, nothing was done to distress or vex me—the handkerchief put to my nose annoyed me, but it had no effect on me—I pushed it away—Madame Combe was very kind to me—I was very happy in my place, and was comfortably clad and fed—I never saw Mrs. Jarrett before a lot of my schoolmates came to me on 2nd June, about 3 p.m., and told me she was looking for a girl—I did not know her name till I got to Paris, nor did my father or mother—I was not told that Jarrett had seen three other little girls at Mrs. Broughton's—my mother told me on the Tuesday that the strange lady had seen Alice West, who was too old; she was 15—she lived in the same house as my father and mother, with Mrs. Woodward—when I came home I understood that the strange lady had also seen a girl named Jane Farrer, who also was too old—she wanted a girl just over 13, and she was 19—I know Lizzie Stephens, but did not know she was going—I was anxious to go out to work—our family, six or seven, lived in one room—my sister was not able to spare anything for my father and mother—times are sometimes rather hard with my father—the strange lady told me when I went to see her that she wanted me to go to service with her—I went back and told my mother, who came across—Mrs. Broughton is not an intimate friend of my mother's—my mother told me that she had put the question to the lady, "Why don't you get a servant in the place where you live?"—I did not hear my mother say that—I heard the strange lady say she had had a French girl—I went out and left my mother and Mrs. Broughton and the strange lady together—I heard my mother say she would not let me go that day—I was annoyed at that, and kept talking to my mother next day, saying I wanted to go—on Wednesday morning, as far as I know, no message came from Mrs. Broughton or the strange lady, and my mother went to Mrs. Broughton's of her own accord—about 11 o'clock she came back and told me I could go—all the conversation about the place and the clothes is what my mother told me on Wednesday—I heard the lady on Wednesday ask my mother whether I had any clothes—all the rest of the conversation was told me by my mother—the lady told me herself that I should have to scrub the oilcloth—the lady asked my mother whether I had any clothes to go in—she replied "No"—the lady said she would buy me some, as her husband was a very particular man—she did buy me a complete rig out of inside and outside clothing—my mother said nothing about what wages I was to get, nor had I any idea—I had been out to service once before in Spring Street—the strange lady did not ask me anything about what work I could do, or what experience I had had, or for any reference to my previous employment, or whether I had been a servant before—my father left to go to work at 8 that morning—he came in at 1 o'clock for

a moment, and then went out again—I heard nothing said by mother to my father either on the Tuesday or Wednesday about my going away—my father said nothing to me about going away—I saw my mother when I went home at dinner time, but my father was not there—he had his meals at home on Tuesday and slept at home, and also his meals on Wednesday—my mother did tell me that she had told my father about my going away—she did not tell me what my father said, or that he was agreeable to my going, but she told me I was to go—I did not think it strange that the lady should buy all these new clothes for me—I knew my mother had not sufficient to pay for them, and I thought it odd—Mrs. Jarrett trimmed my hat for me and put some smart ribbon on it—I kissed my mother at the door about 2.30, and she said she was going to the Board School round the corner to leave the key that my little brothers could get in—I stayed till 3; she did not come, and I went away and never saw her again till I was at Wimbledon—I had not heard of Albany Street at that time—my mother did not say that she had been told by the strange lady that she and I were to sleep at Albany Street that night—I objected to having my hair cut across my forehead, because I thought it was unbecoming and my mother disliked it—Mrs. Jarrett asked me if I wanted a Piccadilly fringe—I forgot that when I was examined before—that makes you look ugly, and I did not like it, and I thought my mother would not like it—I was there on the Tuesday when she said some words about having a French girl—it is correct that on Wednesday, about 12 o'clock, mother went up to Mrs. Broughton's—I saw her, I was against the door with the baby—as far as I know no stranger had come from Mrs. Broughton's—I was present at an interview on the Wednesday—according to what I said at the police-court I was not—I said before the Magistrate "The account I gave in my examination-in-chief, &c., was given to me by my mother; I did not hear it myself; my mother told me all that; she did not tell me to say it here"—that is correct—it is correct that my mother told me about it after she came from Mrs. Broughton's—it was a mistake when I said I came away from the house after seeing Jarrett—at first she told me she was going to take me to Albany Street—that was when my mother left me to tidy myself up—at that time I had not heard I was going—I heard nothing about going to Albany Street—what I stated at the police-court is correct—I there said "When my mother came from Mrs. Broughton's she told my father all about that"—if my mother said she did not mention it to my father, that is not correct—I say now I never heard anything mentioned by my mother to my father, but my mother told me she had mentioned it to my father—I did not see Mrs. Jarrett and Mrs. Broughton go anywhere together—I did not see them go to the public-house—I said the public-house into which Mrs. Jarrett and my mother went was The Sailor—after a day or two in Paris Mrs. Jarrett bid me good-bye—she told me she hoped soon to bring me to a new cottage—she did not tell me where it was—I am sure she did not say it was at Winchester—I did not ask her—she gave me good advice, and told me to be a good child, and so forth—she said she wanted four little presents for four girls she had at home—she said Mrs. Broughton knew all about what she wanted me for—she said Mrs. Broughton did not want her to have me for a servant; she wanted her to have me for something else, and something worse—Jurrett said that in Paris on 5th June; she also said "You are now in the

safe hands of people who will care for you and look after you"—I did not know she meant anything bad by what she said—I said when last examined I did not believe her because Mrs. Broughton seemed a nice woman—I know now it meant something that was not good for me—so far as I know, up to 2nd June my mother had not set eyes on the strange lady, and knew nothing about what her past life and history had been—before I left on the Wednesday, so far as I know, my mother had not got the address to which I was going.

Cross-examined by Stead. On the Tuesday when I came to Mrs. Broughton's I am quite sure no one was there besides she and Jarrett—on the Wednesday Mr. Broughton was there and Farrar; I don't know if Farrer was there on the Tuesday, I did not see her, she was not there—she was there the first thing on the Wednesday when I came—she was there when I came after getting the new clothes; she was there the whole time—I was never at Mrs. Broughton's except when Jane Farrer was there.

Cross-examined by MR. HENRY MATTHEWS. The first time I saw Jacques was outside the ham and beef shop in Poland Street; he said nothing to me that evening—I heard neither him nor the other man with him say anything to Jarrett—when he and the other man were in the room with me and Jarrett, the woman of the house was called, and she could see us—they could see there was a little girl there—Jacques ordered drink from her, it was something brown, I could not tell what it was—I did not see Jacques again till I saw him at Wimbledon; it was he who asked whether I would like to see my father and mother—I did not learn it was he who had fetched my mother down to Wimbledon—he was very kind to me on that day.

Re-examined. The mistress to whom I sent my love in the letter was Mrs. Hayden, of Spring Street, for whom I had worked and done scrubbing and washing not very long before—I was there about two months; I went three times a week—I never learnt from Jarrett where the nice little cottage was to be—I got the letter saying "A lady is coming to fetch you from Paris straight to me"—I never heard where she was going to take me to—I was asked a great many things at the police-court—I was under examination for a great many hours on more than one day.

ELIZABETH ARMSTRONG . I am the wife of Charles Armstrong, and live at 32, Charles Street, Lisson Grove—my husband is a chimney-sweeper—I have six children, three boys and three girls—the eldest girl is seventeen; Eliza, the next, was thirteen last April; the baby is two years old; my boys are one eleven, another seven, and the other four—my eldest daughter was in service but left on account of her eyesight; she had been at work at the same place three or four months till Easter, when she stopped in the house—the boys went to a board school in Stephen Street—Eliza used to go to school, but latterly used to look after the baby while I was at work as a laundress—Eliza used to do a bit of work for Mrs. Hayden, of Spring Street, but she did not have enough to keep her in work altogether—Eliza washed and scrubbed there—it was Wednesday, June 3, Derby day, that Eliza left home with Mrs. Jarrett—I remember the previous day; Eliza came and said something to me—I then went to Mrs. Broughton's with Eliza, and I saw Mrs. Jarrett there—I did not know her name then, I did not learn it on that day—I

never asked her name, I thought Mrs. Broughton knew it, and that Mrs. Broughton knew all about her, she gave me such a good recommendation of the woman—I asked her if she was the person who wanted a servant girl—she replied "Yes"—I asked where she lived—she replied "Croydon"—I said "Could you not get a girl at Croydon? are there no registry offices there?"—she replied "Oh, yes, but I thought a poor person about here would like to part with one of her children to go into a good home"—I said "You will not have my child," and walked out—nothing more passed between us on that day—next day I was looking out of my window between 10 and 11 in the morning—Mrs. Broughton came along and said "Is Alice in?"—that was Alice West—I said "No"—she said "Is her aunt in?"—her aunt's name is Woodward, she was the person who used to mind the girl—I said "No," and came downstairs—she said "Becky has come again, I should like to give her a girl before she left"—I said "What kind of woman is she? do you think it would be all right if I let Eliza go? is she a genuine sort of woman?"—Mrs. Broughton replied "Oh, yes; do you think I should recommend a neighbour's child if I did not know the woman? she was a fellow-servant of mine at Claridge's Hotel; come in and see her"—I went to Mrs. Brighton's, No. 37, and saw Jarrett sitting on a chair there—Mrs. Broughton went in with me—Jarrett said "Will you let Eliza go? I will tell you what I want a girl for. You see I am a cripple and I cannot go about with a stick"—she had a stick with her—she said "I am married pretty comfortably off to a commercial traveller; I have a little six-roomed house, and I want a girl to kneel and clean about"—I believe Eliza was in the room at that time—I think she came in with us, I am almost sure—Jarrett said she had a good deal of travelling about and did not keep long in one place—I said Eliza could go on one condition, that she should write to me once a week, and that I should see her once a month—Jarrett turned to Eliza and said "Write to your mother as often as you like, as you can read and write"—Jarrett asked me how Eliza was off for clothes—I said "She is not very well off for clothes; the dress she has got on is dark, it will do for her to work about in;" I said "Her boots is strong, I buys the girls strong boots as well as the boys, to last the longest; they will do for her to work in; suppose you try her for a week, and write and let me know if she will suit, and I will buy her some clothes"—she said "Well, suppose I buy her some"—I said "If you do you will have to advance a month's wages"—she said she should like to get the little girl as nice as she could, to show her husband that she had a nice little girl, as he was very particular—she took the child out to the boot-shop—I did not go with her—she brought her back with the boots on to Mrs. Broughton's; I was at my own place; she took her out again and bought her a dress—she did not tell me what price the things were—I did not ask because I thought if she hired the girl, and the girl suited her, she would stop the money out of a month's wages if she purchased things—I did not know what the wages were to be, she was to try her first—Eliza had her dinner at my house—my husband was not at home—Eliza had the clothes on; she had put them on in Mrs. Broughton's—Jarrett trimmed the hat in Mrs. Broughton's parlour—Jarrett said nothing to me about what her name was—I first learnt her name from Mrs. Broughton after the child had gone away—except Croydon,

I did not know her address—Eliza was supposed to be going away at 3 o'clock in the afternoon—I learnt that by asking her what time she was going—I had to go upstairs to get the children their dinner—I left Eliza at Mrs. Broughton's—I last saw the child that afternoon about 3 o'clock—I then went round to the school to leave the key of my room-door, so that they might get in—my husband comes home all hours—I rang at the school door and could not make anybody hear—I wanted my boy to have the key so that my husband could get it when he came home, in case I was out, when I went to see Eliza off—I dare say I was away half an hour or 20 minutes—when I came back I saw Mrs. Broughton coming down the street; I said "Are they gone?"—she said "Yes, I saw her off by the 'bus at the corner of Chapel Street"—that is near our place—I had said nothing to my husband about the child going away to service either on the Tuesday or Wednesday, because my husband leaves all those things to me—it was arranged between us my daughter going to work at Mrs. Hayden's—my husband was very angry indeed when he came back, with me, for letting her go with a strange woman, but I told him it was all right—he struck me—he struck me in the morning because I wanted to go to a funeral, and he said I was not to go; and after I came home at night he struck me for letting her go—I received 1s. from Rebecca Jarrett that day; it was supposed to be a present for the baby—I bought Eliza a comb—that was after she bought the clothes, on Derby day—I also bought a pair of socks for the baby—besides that shilling I had never had a farthing from Jarrett—I am quite clear about that—nor any promise either from Jarrett or Mrs Broughton, nor anybody—my daughter went as a servant to Jarrett—I saw her again only at Bow Street—on the Wednesday following Mrs. Broughton brought me the letter produced—it was sent to Mrs. Broughton—she could not read it—she got some one else to read it for her and then brought it to me. (Read: "Hope Cottages, High Cliff, Winchester. Dear Nancy,—I dare say you are looking for this letter from me, but I am so happy to tell you that Eliza is all right and doing well with me. I have bought her a lot more clothes. She looks quite happy. She sends her love to her mother and father and to you. I am on a visit, and she is with me stopping for a week, but we go home next week. My love to you and Jack, and her mother and father, and to all at your home. I shall soon come and see you again, if you will let me. My love to all.—From yours truly, REBECCA, MRS. SULLIVAN." ) That was shown to me a week after Eliza left—it was signed "Rebecca, Mrs. Sullivan"—I thought that was her married name—I had no other information as to where my daughter was than that letter—I wrote to Eliza, and sent the letter in mistake to Manchester instead of Winchester, and the letter came back a week after from the Dead Letter Office—I thought they were trilling with me—I then felt no anxiety or alarm—I used to ask Mrs. Broughton about her, and she said, "I have not heard nothing, when I do I will bring you a letter"—the beginning of July my neighbours told me about what had appeared in the Pall Mall Gazette—I had not seen the Pall Mall Gazette before that—I went to the Magistrate the next day, Friday, Mr. Cooke at Marylebone, and again on the 11th because of this letter, which I did not have with me the previous day, signed "Rebecca, Mrs. Sullivan," and the Magistrate sent for it—on the Saturday I received this post-card. (The post-mark was Winchester, 11th July, 1885, fourth

delivery; it was addressed to the mother, 32, Charles Street, Lisson Grove, London, to this effect: "Saturday. Your daughter is all right and doing well, but I have been so poorly I have not been able to return to my own home yet, but as you are anxious to see her she shall come next week to see you.—Yours truly, MRS. SULLIVAN." ) Mrs. Broughton told me she had a post-card; she took it to the Magistrate—I took this post-card to the Magistrate as there was no address on it—the Magistrate told me I had made a mistake, and to write to Winchester, which I did, and got no answer—on 14th July Inspector Borner called at my house in Charles Street—I had not seen him before—on 1st August I went with Inspectors Borner and Conquest to the Salvation "Army" headquarters in Queen Victoria Street—I asked to see Mr. Booth—Mr. Borner gave me a bit of paper with Mr. Booth's name on it—that is the gentleman (pointing to the dock)—Mr. Booth asked me what I wanted—I told him I wanted my child—he said "Then you cannot have her"—I said "For why? you are not the person who engaged her as a servant"—he said "Have you 100l.?"—I said "No, Sir, I am only a poor woman"—he said "That is what it has cost me to send her away"—I said "How came you by her?"—he did not make any satisfactory answer; he said something about sending her abroad—I said "Be kind enough to send her back to England to go with me and Mrs. Broughton before a Magistrate, and say that I never sold her, as I had got the scandal of"—Mr. Booth said she would not know—I said "A girl of 13 would know whether she was sold or not"—he said "I will pay you her wages if you like, weekly or monthly"—he turned to Inspector Borner and said "How much do you think a girl of her age would require wages?"—Mr. Borner said that was a question he could not answer, that was best known to the mother—I said "All I want is my child"—Mr. Booth said "Would not it be a pity to take her away from such a good situation as she is in?"—Inspector Borner said "Yes, it would"—Mr. Booth said "You have received a letter from her?"—I said "Yes, there is no address on it"—I had not received any letter from my daughter except this one of 22nd July produced—I had not mentioned a letter to him—he said "Oh, that is what you want, the address?" and gave it me already written out on this piece of paper. (Produced: "Eliza Armstrong, care of Monsieur T. H. Berard, Loriol, Drome, France.") That was the first intimation I had of her address until the receipt of the letter of 22nd July—I had no idea she was out of the country—Inspector Borner said something about the woman being scandalised, and she thought her daughter had come to some harm—he was referring to me—he said "The mother thought her child had come to some harm"—Mr. Booth said "Before I sent her away I had her examined by one of my physicians, and I can show you a certificate to prove the child has not been tampered with"—I put my hands together and said "Thank God"—Mr. Booth then asked me to consult my husband—I consulted my husband—I wrote a letter to Mr. Booth on 4th August—I stamped and posted it myself—I addressed it to Mr. Bramwell Booth, 101, Victoria Street. (The certificate and letter were called for and not produced. INSPECTOR BORNER proved the notice to produce served on "Captain" Geysen, at the Headquarters of the Salvation "Army" and that Geysen undertook to give it to Mr. Booth). I kept no copy of the letter—as near as I can recollect I said: "Sir,—Me and my husband have been talking

about"—I cannot say whether I said "daughter" or "child"—"that went away on Derby Day with the intention of going to service with a woman named Rebecca Jarrett"—I do not recollect whether I said "Rebecca Jarrett" or "Sullivan"—"which it is proved she did not want a servant at all; and how you came by the child it is a mystery that must be found out. Sir, I think it is impossible that you can send a child out of her own country into a foreign country without the consent of her parents"—I hardly know what I said at the end; I know it was about the Lord Jesus Christ rewarding him for the money, if I did not, for sending her away; I thought he might bring her back then—I signed the letter "From the unhappy parents, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong"—the letter never came back to me—I put my own address inside, "Charles Street, Lisson Grove"—I posted this letter to my daughter on the same day and at the same office, commencing "Dear Child,—Me and your father"—I wrote it as soon as I got the address from Mr. Booth—I afterwards received a letter, partly in my daughter's writing and partly in somebody else's—soon after my husband went to France with Von Tornow—on 22nd August some one called on me; my neighbours told me who it was—on the Sunday two gentlemen called at 1.15—Mr. Jacques was one, but he had whiskers and a moustache; Mr. Thicknesse was the other—I thought my daughter was gone to France, and that my husband had gone to fetch her home—Jacques said "Are you Mrs. Armstrong?"—I said "Yes"—he said "Would you like to see your daughter?"—I said "Oh yes, Sir, very much indeed"—he said "Then you shall see her"—he asked me if my husband had come home from France, and I said "No"—I had never seen those gentlemen before, and I did not know how they had found out that my husband had gone to France—I do not now—Mr. Thicknesse pulled this letter out of his pocket in this Pall Mall Gazette envelope (produced)—Jacques said it came from Mr. Stead. (Read: "Pall Mall Gazette Office, Northumberland Street, Strand, August 22nd, 1885.—Mrs. Armstrong,—Madam,—I am informed to-day for the first time that you wish your daughter Eliza restored to you. She is well taken care of and very happy, but, of course, if you and Mr. Armstrong really wish to have her returned to you I am, and always have been, perfectly ready to comply with your request. As yet, however, you have not informed any one with whom I have been in communication, either the police or the Salvation 'Army' people, that you desire her to be taken from a good situation in order to have her back at home. If, however, you should now inform me that you want to have her back, I shall deliver her over on receipt of your letter to that effect. I would suggest, however, if you only wish to satisfy yourself that Eliza is all right and safe, that you and Mr. Armstrong should see her for yourselves, and then she should return to her situation, where she is giving satisfaction and doing very well.—I am, yours truly, Chief DIRECTOR. ") (The envelope was addressed to "Mrs. Armstrong, 32, Charles Street, Bell Street, Edgware Road.") I did not know who the Chief Director was—I had not heard of Mr. Stead before that—Thicknesse had another letter, which he said came from Eliza, but he would not give it to me now—Jacques said "Give it to the mother," but he said "No, I was informed to keep that one"—Thicknesse said "You shall see her to-morrow; you shall come with me to-morrow and you shall spend half an hour with her; I am sure you will not take her away then when she

tells you how happy and comfortable she has been"—I said "Yes, the moment I see her I shall take her away"—Jacques said "Suppose the mother spends half a day with her, I am sure she had better stop there"—I said "No, I will take her away directly I see her"—my eldest daughter then came into the room—Jacques asked me if that was another daughter of mine, and I said "Yes," that was my eldest daughter—he said "Would you not like to see your sister?"—she said "Oh yes, Sir, very much indeed," and she cried—he said "You shall see her tomorrow; what time will it suit you to go?"—they fixed 10, and afterwards 11 o'clock—Jacques said "Whatever you do, do not you say nothing about it to the police," and I said "No," but I thought it was right the police should know it—Inspector Borner called a quarter of an hour after they left—I showed him the letter and told him I was going to see my daughter at 11 on the morrow.

Saturday, October 24th.

ELIZABETH ARMSTRONG (continued). Borner came to me at half-past 9 on Monday, 24th August—Mr. Thicknesse came next—he said "Is this Mr. Armstrong?"—I said "No, Sir"—Borner said "I am an inspector of police"—I said to Mr. Thicknesse "I beg your pardon, Sir, before I go where are you going to take me?"—he said "To Wimbledon"—I said "I wish this gentleman (Borner) to go with me"—Mr. Thicknesse said "Well, I don't think it is required"—I said "I wish it"—Borner asked him his name—he gave it, and we then went out—Mr. Thicknesse, Borner, me, and my eldest daughter Elizabeth—we met Mr. Jacques at the top of the street, and we then went to Cheviot Street and took a cab and went to Wimbledon to Mr. Stead's house—Jacques did not say who he was—I had only seen him at my house on the Sunday—at Wimbledon I fancy I saw Mrs. Stead first—Miss Green brought the child in, and they all left the room with the exception of me and my two daughters—Miss Green was the person that was spoken of as the cook at the Salvation "Army" at Paris—it was arranged that I and my eldest daughter should see Eliza alone—my daughter came in when they had left—she was very glad indeed to see me, and cried and kissed me—we remained together talking for some half-hour or three-quarters—I asked her where she had been—after that we had some lunch—Jacques came in; he did not say anything then till we had had lunch—he then asked me if Eliza looked well—I said I thought she did, and I thought she had grown—he then asked me if I had not better let her stay where she was, and he would get her a situation, and I said "No"—he said the situation would be near my home, near the Bayswater Road—I said "No, Sir; I would get her one myself"—he said he would call on me; I might make up my mind in two or three days to let her go—shortly after that I went upstairs with Mr. Jacques; Mr. Thicknesse was up there—Jacques asked me to go—Mr. Thicknesse read a paper—before the paper was read, Jacques said "I will double Eliza's wages; suppose I make it even money; I will do that; you have had a long trouble," and produced 2l. 10s.—I signed this paper (produced)—the signature is the only writing of mine on it; it was already written out before I signed it. (This was dated 24th August, 1885, Wimbledon, and stated: "I have received my daughter Eliza safe and sound, together with double wages as agreed upon, for all the time she has been away. My daughter tells me she has been very happy and comfortable; that the

people she has been with have been very kind to her. I am quite satisfied that she has been subject to no outrage or illusage. Signed, ELIZA ARMSTRONG, and witnessed by Mr. Thicknesse, secretary of the Minors' Protection Committee.") The outrage was never mentioned; it was never read like that to me; I never could agree to that, because I never knew and don't know now; I would never sign my hand to that—I can read; it was all read out to me except the outrage and illusage—the "I am quite satisfied" was not read—at that same interview Jacques said "You need not trouble the police any more now"—he also said "Before you take your daughter away will you have her examined before me?"—I said "No"—I then came downstairs and saw Miss Green and Mrs. Stead, and then came away with Inspector Borner, Mr. Thicknesse, Mr. Jacques, and my two daughters, and went to the Treasury Solicitor's offices, and made a statement to that gentleman there, Mr. Pollard—I received two letters from my daughter while she was away, and the child wrote three—I never received one from Paris a few days after she left—I went down to Winchester with Mr. Hailes, of Lloyd's—I do not remember the date—Mrs. Broughton told me on the day the child went away that she had a sovereign—she said it was for being so kind to Jarrett.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. When I said my child was looking well and had grown I thought so, I saw considerable signs of improvement in her appearance—it was at Mrs. Stead's instance that I was left with my child to have a talk with her, I and my eldest daughter, and we had a long talk together by ourselves—Mrs. Stead said Mrs. Broughton was a very bad woman, and I said I didn't think she was as bad as Rebecca Jarrett, and she said, "Yes, worse"—when the reference was made by Mr. Booth on 1st August to some medical certificate to satisfy me that the child had not been outraged I expressed my pleasure that that was so—I believed what Mr. Booth had told me—on 4th August I wrote him a letter, in which I said God would reward him for all the trouble he had taken and for what he had done—I thought he would restore my child back to me, and I thought he had been acting from good motives—I understood Mr. Jacques's proposition to mean a medical examination—I did not say to him, "No, I am satisfied with what my child has told me;" I never asked the child the question—I was satisfied with the child saying that she had been kindly treated while she was in France—I said before the Magistrate, "I was satisfied with what the child had told me;" I did not mean "about the outrage;" I was satisfied by her saying she had been kindly treated while in France—I can read a little—the words "I have received my daughter Eliza safe and sound" were in the paper that was read to me by Mr. Thicknesse—I did not read the paper myself—he only read part of the paper—I signed it—I was an intimate friend of Mrs. Broughton's, only as a neighbour, just to pass the time of day and like that, to bid her good morning, that was all—she had lived in our neighbourhood between two and three years—I had never been into her room before, nor did she ever come into mine—we had not been drinking together or anything of that kind—I did not know what her character or previous history had been—I had never seen Jarrett before Tuesday, 2nd June, and knew nothing of her history; I did not know her name—I knew her name by the first letter, when she put "Mrs. Sullivan"—that was her marriage name—that was a week

after the child left—I had asked Mrs. Broughton what her name was—she said she knew the name as Jarrett when she was in service with her, but she did not know her marriage name—I asked Mrs. Broughton that question two or three days before I had the letter—I did not say anything to Mrs. Broughton on that—I uuderstood that Mrs. Broughton understood that she was married and well off, but did not know her name—I allowed my child to go because of Mrs. Broughton's statement as to her knowledge of this woman—I did not get her address before my child left; I thought Mrs. Broughton knew, because she was going to stay a week with her in the country—I asked her where she stayed on the Tuesday night, and she said she stayed with her mother in Albany Street—I have not said anything about this visit of Mrs. Broughton's to Jarrett until to-day—on the morning of 2nd June I went to Mrs. Broughton in consequence of something my child had said to me—I had also heard from a little girl that there was a strange woman there who was wanting a little girl—when I went over I asked her where she lived, and she said Croydon; if I said Wimbledon it was my mistake; I could not swear that she said Croydon, but I am almost sure she did—I never heard Winchester mentioned or Wimbledon—I said to her, "Can't you get a servant at Croydon? is there not a registry office there?"—I could not understand her coming to a street like ours to look for a girl when she might have got a servant nearer home; I thought there was something very queer and suspicious about it; to tell you the truth I did not care for the look of the woman at all, and that made me more suspicious—I said rather shortly, "You shan't have my child," and went away—it was on the Wednesday she said her mother kept a house in Albany Street—I said, "She has got good friends, then?" and she said "Yes"—Albany Street is not a great way from our house—I could not tell what kind of character Albany Street has—I made inquiry to try and find the house, but I could not; I and Mr. Hales made inquiry—in the interview with Mr. Booth no reference was made to Albany Street—nothing was said about where my child was going to sleep on the Wednesday—I understood that she was going out of town straight into the country, straight off to Croydon as I supposed; I am sure of that—I heard that Becky, as Mrs. Broughton called her, was at Mrs. Broughton's house on the Wednesday morning—I was looking out of my first-floor window and saw Mrs. Broughton—I went over to her, and asked her whether Jarrett was a genuine woman—she said she had been in service with her at Claridge's—I did not ask what as, or when—I had no information about her beyond what Mrs. Broughton said—I did not know on the Wednesday what her name was or her address—at the time I spoke to Mrs. Broughton on the Wednesday she was inquiring about the girl Alice—she inquired whether the child's aunt was in—she lives in the same house as May—it is a cottage with two rooms, one below and one above—Mrs. Broughton said, "Becky is come again, I should like to get her a girl to-day before she goes"—she said Jarrett kept a little four-roomed house, that her husband was a commercial traveller—she did not say she was living with a man; she said she was married, very comfortable, to a commercial traveller—Eliza was not in the room then; she came in afterwards—she did not say she wanted the child for a gentleman, I am quite certain of that, nothing of the kind—she asked me was the child a pure child—I asked her what she meant by that—she said,

"Well, is she a forward girl?"—I said, "Oh dear no, far from it"—she did not ask whether she had been in the habit of romping about the street with boys—I never allowed it—she asked whether she was well behaved, and I said "Yes"—she said her husband was a very particular man; she did not say "the gentleman"—I said I was willing to let the child go, after she told me what she wanted; a little girl to clean about—when the child came in, about 12 o'clock, she said "You will be a good girl, and help me; you see I cannot get about very well myself"—the child said "Yes, ma'am"—it was at that time that the scrubbing and cleaning was mentioned—I then left and went to my house—I came back in about a quarter of an hour—my mouth was then bleeding—my husband had struck me because I wanted to go to a funeral; he said I should not go, I said I would go, and he struck me—that would be a little after 12 o'clock—I did not tell my husband about the child going—not then; I was very cross, and I would not tell him—I did not see him before night, I think—I think he had been home, but I did not see him—I don't think I saw him till night—I won't swear I did not—I did not tell my daughter that I did tell my husband—if she has said so it is a mistake—I did not tell my husband; he leaves everything to me—he asked where Eliza was when he came home at night—I told him she had gone to service—he said "Who with?"—I said "A friend of Mrs. Broughton's"—he said "What made you let her go with a strange woman?"—I said "Oh, it's all right, Mrs. Broughton gives a very good account of her, she has lived fellow-servant with her; it's all right"—he did not ask me her name—I said she was a lady that kept a house in the country—that was all—we had a few words over it for my letting her go, and he struck me—that was between 8 and 9 o'clock—I never had a drop that day till after my husband struck me at night; I had none in the day—I was taken into custody about 10 o'clock, I think, or a little after—it was for having a few words with a person I knew—I was not drunk and disorderly; they put it down so—I was bailed out by the landlord of the Marquis of Anglesea—my husband assisted in getting bail for me—I was fined the next morning—when I came back with my mouth bleeding I did not ask for some money for drink—I did not want none; I had some upstairs—that was the time at which I got the shilling—in addition to the shilling I did not get 1l. paid into my hand by the strange woman—not one farthing; that I will swear—I swear it before my Maker—I will call the Lord as a witness for that—I was not struck with the fact of the woman offering to supply clothes, because when the child came back, and was dressed, she said it was her Sunday suit which she was supposed to wear on Sunday—the child had clothes fit enough for work—she did not want for clothes decent enough to do her work in—she had a plain and comfortable dress, a good pair of strong boots, and some good underneath clothes—I was startled at the fact of this strange woman coming for a girl on Tuesday—nothing was said or done on the Tuesday—on the Wednesday I was not surprised at her rigging out my child, because they were not showy clothes; they were very quiet clothes, neat, but not gaudy—nothing was said about wages—I thought that was to be agreed upon when the child had been there a week to see if she would suit—she was to go on trial for a week; nothing of that kind was said—the word wages was never mentioned to me—nothing was said about

wages at any time—I understood that she was going on trial for a week, and if she answered then the question of wages would come up, but nothing of that kind was said—I thought it was very kind of her to take out the child to be dressed—I have never known a similar case—she fitted her clothes on her, and trimmed her hat—I was to come and see her off—I was told they were to leave at 3 o'clock—I did not know they were going so precisely as 3 o'clock—I went to the School Board about 2.50 or 2.55—the School Board is round the corner—I was going to leave the key there with my little boy, so that when my husband came home to give it to him—the School Board does not "loose" till 4 o'clock, but you can leave a message, or you can leave a key—the boy would not get out till 4.30—I did not leave the key with a neighbour, because I thought my husband would not like it—Mrs. Woodward was not at home; no one was in the house—I kept ringing the bell, and could not get in; the bell is in the playground—I was ringing there about a quarter of an hour, I think—I had never left the key there before—I have to go about my own work sometimes and leave the house locked up—I take the key with me then—I expected my husband would be home before night—he comes home at all hours—it was known in the neighbourhood that my child had gone—the fact that a strange woman had come and had seen several little girls with a view to getting one bad been talked about among the neighbours—I did not know that till after my child had gone—I did not know on the Wednesday that the strange woman had been seeing several other little girls in the street with a view to see whether she could not get one of them—I am sure of that—I mean on the Tuesday—I did not know it on the Wednesday; I did not know it til after my child had gone; one little girl said "She wanted me to go, but I was too old," and another said "She wanted me to go, and I was too old"—I did not know about Jane Farrer till afterwards, and I did not know about Alice West, because Mrs. Broughton was coming to inquire of her aunt—I did not know of Lizzie Stevens till after—I did not tell my child on the Tuesday or Wednesday that what was wanted was a child just over thirteen; but I was told so by Mrs. Broughton and the strange woman—it did not strike me as odd why a girl 14, 15, or 16 should not do—it was Mrs. Jarrett who said that the one that was wanted was a girl or child over 13—she said between 13 and 14; she asked me if I was sure Lizzie was no more than 13; I said no, she was 13 last April—it did not strike me as at all singular why 14, or 15, or 16 should not do—after the child left it was talked of among my neighbours about my child going away, and then I heard more fully about three or four other girls who had been seen and were too old; one little girl lives near my house, named Margaret Fann; she was the child that the sister was to let go; she was ready to go, only the sister's husband would not let her go; the sister was willing she should go, and she was quit ready to go—Inspector Borner had been to see her—Jarrett had asked leave to see the sister; she was just over 13, she would have gone back to her sister, only the sister's husband would not allow her—I also heard a niece of Mrs. Broughton's spoken about—she told me herself, "I was too old, or I could have had the place if I liked"—she was I believe 17—Jane Farrer was also spoken of, I have heard since; she was too old; and Lizzie Stevens was too old—Margaret Fann was about the same age as my little child, and she was ready to go—my neighbours

that same week in which the 2nd and 3rd of June came, spoke to me rather angrily about this matter, because they could not make out why she did not write—Mrs. Stollard was one, and Mrs. Mudd was another; and others—my neighbours did not accuse me and Mrs. Broughton of selling the child that week, not till the Pall Mall Gazette came out; they did then make accusation against me—the Gazette came out on the Monday, and I was shown it on the Thursday—my neighbours had not complained that I had improperly parted with my child till after the Gazette came out; they used to talk to me about Eliza not writing at all; but not anything else till after the Gazette came out—my neighbours were not in effect charging me and Mrs. Broughton with having improperly parted with my child—I had not had angry discussions with them before 6th July—nothing of the sort occurred till after the Monday when the Gazette came out—I thought the child referred to in the Gazette might possibly have connection my child, because the child was taken away on the Derby day, and because she was thinking she was going to service; they said the name was Lily, and I thought they might have christened her Lily instead of Eliza; and also the article stated that she had never been in the country, except in school treats—I saw that it was stated in the article that the child had been sold; but I knew that could not be me because my child was not sold—on the Thursday that I read it I went to Mrs. Broughton, and I said to her "Mrs. Broughton, I suppose you have not had a letter?" she said "No; if I had I should have brought it to you, as I did the other one"—I said "What a dreadful thing that is in the Gazette"—she said "Yes, I am all of a tremble"—she was sitting at tea—nobody ever came to me till I went to the Magistrate—I said before the Magistrate "Two or three of my neighbours spoke to me about the disappearance of my child; Mrs. Stollard was one, Mrs. Mudd was another, and a good many persons stopped me in the street"—that was after the Gazette came out; not before—I mean in my own street—it was after the Pall Mall Gazette article—they said to me it looked as though I might have sold my child—that was after I said "The Pall Mall Gazette article increased my uneasiness"—after the Pall Mall Gazette came out on the Monday they read it, and then they told me it looked very much like as if I had sold the child—I never read it myself till the Thursday—not till afterwards—if I said that that was before the Pall Mall Gazette came out it was a mistake; it was afterwards—before the Gazette some of my neighbours said if I had not sold my child, it looked very much like it; so it did when they read the Gazette look very much like it, but I did not say so before—if I said so, that was my mistake; when I saw the Gazette it made me more uneasy—it was a mistake on my part if I said so, it was after the Gazette.

Cross-examined by MR. LEWIS. I recollect the interview with Mr. Jacques and Mr. Thicknesse—Mr. Jacques gave me money and told me not to mention the fact to the police—I had never seen Mr. Jacques or Mr. Thicknesse before—I had a long conversation with both—Mr. Jacques made an observation to me—throwing my memory back as far as I can, I am sure that that observation was not made by Mr. Thicknesse, but by Mr. Jacques—I have not mentioned it before—Mr. Thicknesse told Mr. Borner, not me, that he was secretary of the Minors' Association.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. When I went away from home on that Saturday afternoon that my daughter went away I had no notion how

long it would be before my husband returned—I did not expect him back till between 5 and 6, or 7—he went on a little business, if he did not succeed in it he was coming away earlier—at that time there was no probability, so far as I knew, of his returning before 6—the school was not loose till 4.30—I knew that my child was going with this strange woman at 3, and it was then five minutes to 3—it would take about ten minutes to go to the Board School and back—I was not forced to leave my home for any purpose that afternoon at all—I did not wait that five minutes to see my child off and then take the key to the Board School, because I did not know what station, or where they were going to take the child to go to the country, whether it was a 'bus or a cab—I did not know how long I should be away—I knew she was going at 3 o'clock, and that if I waited five minutes longer I would be able to kiss her and send her off, and yet I went straight away from home five minutes before she left because I did not think they were going exactly at 3 o'clock at all—what I went out of the house for, was to give the key to the child—I knew Mrs. Broughton was going to see her off as well as myself—I did not do it because I thought Mrs. Broughton could see her off, and that I need not—I cannot give any reason why I did it—I expected to see her again—I kissed her before she went away and wished her good-bye—the child said she was coming back again—I have no other answer to give—when I went over the second day to see Mrs. Jarrett, on the Wednesday, I did not ask her where she was going in the presence of Mr. Broughton—Mrs. Broughton did not say to me "There is Becky," Eliza—I am quite clear about that—I thought she was going to Croydon—I asked her where she was going—Jarrett did not say "I am going to Albany Street," Albany Street was never mentioned till night, when I asked Mrs. Broughton where Mrs. Jarrett stayed—Mrs. Jarrett was not there then—that was the same evening, Wednesday, the 3rd of the month—I asked Mrs. Broughton where Jarrett slept that night, Tuesday night, as she came on Wednesday morning, and she said she slept in Albany Street, Regent's Park, as her mother kept a house there—the first time I heard anything about Albany Street was after my daughter went away, not before—the same day, Wednesday, Mr. Hailes, the reporter of Lloyd's Newspaper, took me to Albany Street after I had been to the Magistrate—that was some weeks afterwards—I will not swear whether I said before the Magistrate that I first heard about Albany Street when Mr. Hailes, the reporter of Lloyd's Newspaper, took me there—at the first interview I had with Mr. Bramwell Booth, he and I and Inspector Conquest and Inspector Borner were present—I told him I wanted my child—I might have said "I want to see my child"—I will not swear I did not—he said that I could not—he did not say to me at once "The child is some distance off in France, and it will be expensive to fetch her over here:" he did not mention France to me—I did not hear him say the child was some distance off, and it would be expensive to fetch her over here—he said that it would be far better for me to let the child stay where she was; that he had given me her address, and I could write to her as much as I liked; it was better that she should remain where she was—I answered that I had got the address, and would go and ask my husband about it—I did not see Mr. Booth turn to Inspector Burner, and say either partially or directly to him or to me that he would

wait till he heard what my wishes were through the police; nothing to that effect—I had not known Mrs. Jarrett by sight, or in any way whatever, before she came for my daughter—I did not know anything at all about her character—I had never heard of her, either in name or anything about her of any sort or kind—I understood Mrs. Broughton's character to be perfectly good likewise—I had known her husband a good many years by working in the same street as where I live, in doing up the rooms and the houses—I had no quarrel at all with her on the Tuesday—I never had any words with her till the day I pasted the letters, when she stood at the door laughing—I did not call her any names on the Tuesday—I did not see anything more of her on Tuesday after I left the house, when I refused my child to go with Rebecca Jarrett—after I came out of the house when I refused for the child to go to service, I never saw any more of Mrs. Broughton—when I refused to let her go to service Jane Farrer might have been there—I cannot swear—when Mrs. Broughton suggested to me to let my daughter go to service I thought it was a desirable thing—I did not then think it would lead me to call her any ugly names, nor at any time during the whole week—I refused to let my daughter go on the Tuesday because I did not like the look of Mrs. Jarrett—I do not mean that I thought she was ugly, simply, but she did not look like a woman I should like to trust; I would not have done so but for Mrs. Broughton's recommendation—I called Mrs. Jarrett the strange woman; she was a strange woman to me then—Mrs. Broughton did not tell me that my child wanted to go to a place with a woman living in her room or to go to a place with a strange woman, or with anybody—it is not the fact that after Rebecca Jarrett had gone away on the first day, Mrs. Broughton saw Mrs. Armstrong out in the street, and then Mrs. Broughton told her that her child wanted to go to a place with a woman living in her room—it is not true as to Mrs. Broughton saying that about the child, nor that I turned round and called her names—I never had no conversation with Mrs. Broughton—I did not tell her that she was a b—cow, and that she should not have my daughter; oh no, Sir; I do not use such language; it is false—I never had any words with Mrs. Broughton till the day I posted the letter to my child, and she was standing there at the door laughing, and I said "You have got a nice lot to laugh at; there is a nice thing for a respectable commercial traveller's wife to do"—that was a week afterwards—that is quite false—Jane Farrer now lives in Highwood Street, I believe, or Allen Street—that is two or three minutes off—I have not seen her since she gave evidence before the Magistrate—I read her evidence in the paper, and I said "No wonder Rebecca Jarrett called her an untruthful girl; she is a very untruthful girl to say such a thing"—it is Jane Farrer that is telling the falsehood—I did not tell Mr. Booth in any way or form that I understood Rebecca to be a gay woman, nor anything like it—I did not know what she was; nor did he say to me "It is rather peculiar is it not, that you should let your child go with a woman of that character?"—if I had known she had been a gay woman I should not have let my child go with her—it is not a fact that when he asked me that question I stood still, and one of the inspectors exclaimed "Now, this just shows how difficult it is to get a plain statement out of her?"—that was not said—I told Mr. Booth that when the child left I understood she was going to Croydon—I do not recollect whether he said "Did you

understand that she was going to Croydon that night?"—I am not prepared to swear one way or the other—I might have said "No, I thought she was going to Mrs. Jarrett's mother," but I would not swear—Mr. Booth did not then say "Where to?"—he did not put them questions to me at all—I did not say in answer to that "Albany Street;" nor did he say "Why, do not you know what sort of a place Albany Street is?" nothing like it, nor did I say in reply "I understood that the woman kept a house there"—Mr. Booth did not then say "What, a bad house?"—he never mentioned such a thing to me about a bad house or a good house—before the Magistrate I said "A girl of 13 would know: I have had the scandal of the neighbours in the street that I sold my child for 5l. for improper purposes"—that was to Mr. Booth—I have got another daughter out in service older than this one here—she asked me if she should go, and I said yes—I had worked for the person who Lizzie was in place with, and while I worked there she worked there as well, and the missis wanted a girl to stop in the house, and I said yes, as Lizzie liked the place very well she could stop, and she stopped; she had worked there with me—I made the arrangement myself for her to go where she is; she did not.

Cross-examined by Stead. I read the Pall Mall Gazette first on the Thursday, and I went to the police-court on the Friday, and saw Inspector Borner on the Saturday—I hardly recollect whether I told him what it was that made me uneasy—I knew that he was the officer who was to inquire into the matter, because he told me—I did not tell him I thought my daughter was Lily; I thought she was, and I do now—I do not think I told the inspector who had to investigate the case that I thought that, but I had no reason for not telling him—I told the Magistrate, Mr. Cooke, that I thought Lily was Eliza—I do not know whether I told anybody else so—I never told my husband I thought Lily was Eliza, because I know the violent man he is—I did not read it to him, because it was too disgusting to read to anybody; that was the only reason, that it would shock his feelings—I was afraid to read it to him—if I told him that our child was the child, I knew what the consequences would be—it was not because of the idea of the effect of reading to him what was filthy or obscene, but because I was afraid if he thought Lily was Eliza he would have struck me; so that I, living in the same house with my husband, and knowing how anxious he was about the child, never told him or suggested to him in any way whatever that the people at the Pall Mall Gazette office knew anything about it; I did not know they did—I read an account in the Pall Mall Gazette, and thought it related to my daughter, more especially when I read the verse in the first letter I had—the first letter I never had; that was sent to you, I believe—I identified my child to be the "Lily" of the Pall Mall Gazette on the Thursday of the week the story was published, and yet I never thought the Pall Mall Gazette people knew anything about my daughter—I thought it was a very strange thing, but I never thought to make inquiry; where was I to make inquiry? I did not know where you lived—I did not think you knew anything about it—I should soon have applied to you if I had thought you knew anything about my child, I assure you—there were so many mixed up in it—the paper was the first thing that brought to my knowledge the story of "Lily"—I never asked anybody to come to your office, I should have come myself if I had known—I did not look to see if the address of the office was printed at the bottom of the

paper—I was not certain; the things looked much alike, but more especially when the letter come—the first letter I never had; I believe you had that—when my child wrote the second letter, that was the first I had, there was the verse in it, and that made me more certain that it was the child—about the beginning of August I got the first letter I had from my daughter, and that was the first that contained those verses; that was out of the Gazette—until I saw it in the Gazette I did not know the child knew the verse, but she told me since she did know it—I did not know it till I got the letter, and then it corresponded with the Gazette, and then I had a very strong suspicion that "Lily" was Eliza, and when I got the letter in August containing the very same verse which appeared in the Gazette, I felt pretty sure that it was the same—on July 9th I identified my daughter, because she was called "Lily," though my daughter's name is Eliza—there were two or three other reasons; there were other little things—you will please understand me properly—the first point was "Lily," the second point was Derby Day, and the third point was the Sunday-school treat—the child had never been to a Sunday-school treat, except to Epping Forest and Richmond; of course she had been to them two places by her Sunday-school treats, and when the letter came it made me the more sure it was the child, because of the verse—another thing was, that a neighbour came to ask the mother for the child—I thought Mrs. Broughton was the neighbour, the woman who had procured the child for Rebecca Jarrett for immoral purposes—I thought then Mrs. Broughton had procured the child for immoral purposes; but not at first, for it is not likely I should let the child go—I thought Mrs. Broughton had really got my daughter for immoral purposes, and after I read the Gazette I said what a dreadful thing it is, I cannot be easy, I will go to the Magistrate to-morrow—Mr. Broughton said "Perhaps she will come home on Monday"—I said "No," I have read the Pall Mall Gazette, and something strikes me that the child 'Lily' is my child"—he said "Becky would not do such a thing to your child"—I have told all the conversation I had with Mr. Broughton—he gave as good an account of Jarrett as Mrs. Broughton did—I did not say that Rebecca, and his wife had beguiled my child away—I did not tell him what I thought about his wife; I do not know why—they were both together having tea—Mrs. Broughton was all trembling when I went in, she said she had read the Gazette—she said "What a dreadful thing about the child; I do not suppose Becky would do a thing like that to your child"—I said "Well, you don't know anything about anybody," and I said "I will go and see about my child"—I did not tell Mr. Broughton that Mrs. Broughton had helped Mrs. Jarrett to get my child for an immoral purpose, but I thought then she had—I went to the Magistrate the next morning, but before that I went to Mrs. Broughton, and said "Mrs. Broughton, I am going to the Magistrate, will you give me that letter that I may show it to the Magistrate that first came from Rebecca Jarrett?"—she said "I will not give it you, because you will be sure to tell the neighbours in the street. You expect me to bring it back and then say I am a bad woman"—I said "I did say so, and I mean it," and she said she would not give it up till the officer saw it—I thought she had deceived me then—she said it was not my child, and I said I expected it was—I do not now think Mrs. Broughton deceived me—I think she is innocent; I think that woman deceived her as she did me—I began to believe she was innocent after

the inspector had been to her and said he did not think she was in it—the police told me she was innocent, and put all the blame upon Rebecca Jarrett; Mr. Thomas also said Mrs. Broughton was not to blame, and I do not think so now—I believed them rather than my own knowledge—about nine days after I had been to Marylebone Police-court I went to the Mansion House; Mr. Thomas brought me down, and then I told theaud whole story and showed the first letter—Mr. and Mrs. Broughton were there—I hardly recollect whether I was told then that my child was perfectly safe, it is no good my saying I can if I cannot—a gentleman said it was very neglectful on my part to let her go with a strange woman, and I told him I left it all to Mrs. Broughton—he may have said, "You may rely upon it your daughter is perfectly safe now," but I do not recollect it—as a mother being anxious about my daughter I should have been very glad to get news of that kind—I do not know the gentleman's name—I went away with Mr. Thomas; he did not tell me that day or any time afterwards that my child was perfectly safe, I am certain of that—I am not quite certain Mr. Thomas never told me my child was safe—I thought he was a good man, and I do now, who was taking a great interest in my child, and who wanted to put my mind at rest, and if he knew my child was safe he would have told me and only too glad—he never told me my child was all right (I did not think he knew) or that you were responsible for my child, I am quite sure of that—he never gave me any assurance to relieve my mind about my child—I never knew that he knew anything about it, or that you only were responsible—he never said to me that if he had not believed that I had sold my child he would have given her back at once—I addressed a letter to Mr. Bramwell Booth, 101, Queen Victoria Street, and he told me my daughter was in a good situation, and asked me to consult my husband as to whether she should stop there—I consulted my husband, I spoke to him—I went to see Mr. Booth, and he wanted 100l.; he would rather not give the child up, he would rather make her a ward in Chancery—he said I had better write to him—I cannot help what my husband says, I know very well what I told him—he was at home when I told him what Mr. Booth said—it is false if he says I did not communicate with him; in fact, after I had written the letter I read it to him before I sent it—that letter was written in reply to an offer made by Mr. Booth to give up my child if I and my husband wanted it given up—I wrote a letter to Mr. Catlin, of Lloyd's Newspaper, the week before last I think, in which I said, "If Mr. Bramwell Booth had offered to give me up my child when I applied to him it would have saved all this time and trouble," but he did not offer to give up the chil✗d; how could he if he wanted 100l.?—I wish you had my letter there to read it—I said at the police-court, "Me and my husband have been talking about our little girl that went away on Derby Day with the intention of going to service with a woman" (I cannot say whether I said Jarrett or Sullivan) "which is proved she did not want a servant at all. How you came by the child is a mystery, and must be found out. Sir, I think it is a thing impossible that you could stand to send a child out of her own country into a foreign country without the consent of the parents;" then I said something about Christ rewarding him if I did not—I thought that offer was only made on condition that the 100l. was paid—I know there is no mention of the

100l. in the letter—I did not know Jarrett's name was Sullivan till after I received the first letter that Mrs. Broughton sent me—Mrs. Broughton said her name was Becky, I did not know it was Sullivan—I must have told an untruth if I said that she told me her name was Sullivan—it was on Wednesday night Mrs. Broughton told me that the strange woman was living with her mother in Albany Street—she said that her mother kept the house in Albany Street—Mrs. Broughton told me Rebecca Jarrett, or whatever her name might be, slept at her mother's place close against the barracks—that was on the Wednesday night—if she says she told me on the Tuesday night she is not speaking the truth; at that rate she must have been there on the Monday nighy—I told Mr. Hailes, the reporter of Lloyd's Newspaper, what Mrs. Broughton told me about where she stayed—I told him that she told me she said she stayed at Albany Street at her mother's—he said "That is the place to make inquiries, then"—if I said at the police-court "I am positive I did not say anything to Mr. Hailes about Albany Street," I told a lie—I had no idea how much my daughter was to get a week, but a little girl of thirteen would get two shillings or half a crown a week I reckon—she was to get a month's wages advanced to get new clothes with—four weeks at two shillings a week would make eight shillings, or allowing half a crown, ten shillings—when she took the child out to buy the clothes I did not know what clothes she was going to buy, I thought it was a bit of print to make her a cotton dress or some aprons with—I did not know it was a suit—I saw the clothes which were bought for my daughter before she went away, and I did not think much of them—a 1 3/4 d. tie and a 3s. 11d. pair of boots was not very expensive—I did not see the underclothing, I only see the hat and boots—she had no cloak when she left me—I do not know whether the clothes, the frock, the hat, the ribbon, the scarf, could have been bought out of a month's wages—I have had two daughters—I have bought dresses for them—I buy cheap and I buy dear—I do not know how much they all cost, I do not know that they cost close upon 1l. out of a month's wages—on the Wednesday afternoon I did not go to Mrs. Broughton to ask her to lend me sixpence; I did not want sixpence—I will tell you what I did say; the baby was crying while Mrs. Jarrett was talking to me, I said "Lend me a penny to buy something for the baby, for I cannot hear what this person is saying;" she said "Yes, I will," and put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a shilling, not six-pence—if Mrs. Broughton says I came to her to borrow sixpence, that is untrue—I asked her for a penny, not for sixpence; I got a shilling—I bought a comb, and a pair of socks for the baby—I paid sixpence for the comb, fivepence-threefarthings for the socks, and I got drunk on the farthing—they said I got drunk with the shilling, but I could not get very drunk with that—I do not mean that I spent a farthing in drink, or any portion of the money; I bought a comb, which the child took away with her—I did buy some drink that night—my husband gave me the money, but not to get drunk on—I am not going to tell you if it was my housekeeping money—I took a glass after my husband struck me—I got money from my husband at night, when he came home—he gave me money before he asked for Eliza—it was for housekeeping—I did not go and get drunk on it; I am not a person that goes out drinking, I can assure you, although I have got that character from you aud other people

—I was locked up by the police for being drunk and disorderly, and that is not the first time, once was ten years ago—altogether I have been locked up three times—it is not true that I have been locked up and fined for using obscene language in the street—I do not use obscene language, but I was fined for it all the same, and I paid my fine—I was an intimate friend of Mrs. Broughton's before this happened in June—I only knew her as a neighbour—I mean that I was on good terms with her—she never called me Nancy; I called her Mrs. Broughton, and she called me Mrs. Armstrong—I never saw Mrs. Jarrett before she came to get my child—I saw her once when I was looking out of my window, but I should not recognise her again—I saw a person on crutches; I could not recognise her—that was a long time ago—I did not know her as Mrs. Jarrett or as Mrs. Sullivan—I mean that Mrs. Broughton has since told me that the woman on crutches was Mrs. Sullivan or Jarrett—when she said that I said I had often seen her she told an untruth—she asked if Eliza was a "pure" girl, and I said yes—I am quite sure that Jarrett asked if Eliza was a pure girl—it was a lie if I said "Never," when you asked me in the police-court—she did not mention boys in the street, she asked if Eliza was a pure girl, and I asked her what she meant—I do not know I am sure why I told a lie; I must have forgotten—I do not drink much—I know the Marquis of Anglesea—I do not go to a public-house in Kendal Street; I never make a practice of going to public-houses; if I sent for a drop of beer I sent to the public-house for it, sent the children—I used to send Eliza to the public-house if I wanted a drop of beer—I never allowed my children to come to a public-house; if I went out marketing on Saturday night, all my children were in bed—Eliza has gone for my beer, but never danced about in a public-house—they would not allow boys and girls to dance in their back parlours—it is certainly not true that she danced in a public-house; it would be rather a peculiar place to dance in—I had opportunities of talking to my daughter quite freely when in your house—no objection was made to my daughter being given up to me—as soon as I said "I want my daughter," my daughter was given to me—your wife left us alone so that we could talk quite plain—when I was talking with your wife and Eliza I said the examination was a great liberty, and she said that as a rule it was done—I said to Mrs. Stead "It is a great liberty having my daughter examined," and Mrs Stead said that it was usual—my daughter was in the back garden, and I was talking to your wife—your wife said as a rule children were examined—she did not say by a doctor or by a midwife—I said to your wife that it was very wrong taking my daughter to the midwife; of course it was a wrong thing, and I said it was a cruel thing to do, and that I had never heard about such a thing being done before—that was all about the midwife, the way she was taken to Milton Street—that was about the midwife and not the doctor we were talking about—I meant by a midwife when I said about such a thing, I never took her to one—I said I never heard of such a thing being done before—I was alluding to the midwife—your wife said such things were sometimes done—I cannot swear whether she did or did not say it was an ordinary thing to be done—she said as a rule it was done—I remember "as a rule"—I believe Eliza was walking about in the back garden then—I said I had been to see the midwife—I know she went into the back garden, but whether before or after I will not swear—I don't recollect telling

your wife how you went to Milton Street; I might have told her about the woman who talked so queer broken English; I can hardly recollect—Eliza might or might not have said "That is the woman that examined"—I never said a word to Eliza about such examination; I could never look at a child and make such a remark—I may not have talked about the examination to my daughter—to your wife; not to my daughter—I cannot say if I described the room to my daughter, and described the woman who talked so queer in the presence of your wife; I am very forgetful—I might have said "Yes, that is the woman;" I have got a very bad memory—I have not asked my daughter now—I learned from Mr. Thomas that he knew Jarrett, and knew her to he a bad woman, the day we went to the Mansion House—(The ATTORNEY-GENERAL: That was the 19th July)—he told us like this: it was not the first girl she had taken away under the same circumstances.

Re-examined. The clothes were not what have been called swell-looking clothes, but very neat and very quiet; I am sorry now I did not bring them with me for you to see—they can be produced—there was nothing to make a girl look flashy, but the same as you would dress a child to go to Sunday-school—the first time I was fined was nine or ten years ago; the second some two or three years ago; and the third on this night—one fine was 10s. and the other two 5s.—my husband is a strong-tempered man, and hits me sometimes—I don't know of my own knowledge what price the four things that were fetched came to—as far as I could I have never been in the habit of sending my children to public-houses to fetch beer for me, or letting them go with me there—I have brought them up as well as I could—I have sent them to day-school and Sunday-school, and never let then run about the streets—I have done the best I could for my children, and likewise my home—my eldest daughter was working at the same place—then the mistress asked her to stay on in the house, and I and my daughter talked it over with the mistress; she was saying what a good girl she was, and she wanted her to stay in the house and do the ironing—I agreed to her going there—that was a few months ago—the person who kept the place before lives a few doors away now, and sold the business; that was the person Eliza, worked for—I told Jarrett where Eliza had worked before, and told her she could have a character—she said she did not require a character; she looked like a girl that would suit—girls of 17 or 18 get more wages than girls of 13—you could not get a girl of 17 or 18 for as little as half a crown a week—Mrs. Lord, her sister, told me that Margaret Fann had been going to Mrs. Jarrett's service some little time after Eliza went away, after I had got the first letter Mrs. Broughton brought me, before I saw the Pall Mall Gazette; some time between the child's going away and the 6th July. (The ATTORNEY-GENERAL read portions of the article which appeared in the "Pall Mall Gazette" of 6th July.) The two school trips to Richmond and the one to Epping Forest were the places to which the children had gone—I knew it; she had never been in the country except on those occasions—I saw this on Tuesday after the Monday—I went to the Magistrate next day—I saw Mr. and Mrs. Broughton when they were at tea on Thursday night—I asked her for the letter the next day before I went to the Magistrate—the Magistrate sent the inspector direct to Mrs. Broughton for the letter—I did not get it—I said there was something in the Gazette that led me to believe it was my child, and then Mrs. Broughton

said "Oh no, Becky would not do a thing like that"—I now recollect I never saw those verses, and never heard my daughter say those verses before she went away, and I never saw them in any writing of my daughter's before I got the letter of the 22nd July—in the letter I wrote back on the 4th August, when I asked my daughter "How you came to know that little rhyme that you wrote in your letter you sent to me?" I referred to the verses in that letter; that was what I meant—Borner and Conquest were present at the interview I had with Mr. Bramwell Booth—I went to him on another occasion, but he would not see me—I had no other conversation with him except on the 1st August—except what Mr. Bramwell Booth said about a doctor's certificate, I had not heard anything about my daughter being examined at all until she came back—until I got that letter, the "Chief Director," handed to me by Mr. Thicknesse on the 1st August, I had never heard Mr. Stead's name in my life—I did not know, except from what they told me, who the Chief Director was—Mr. Thomas keeps a home at 200, Euston Road—he is the manager of the home—I had known Mrs. Broughton in the place living with her husband in our street two or three years—I did not know anything against her either as to her moral conduct or anything about her before my child went away; and when she told me Becky was a genuine woman I believed her—Mrs. Jarrett seemed kind to the child on that Wednesday when she was there with her—Mrs. Stead said to me at the beginning of the conversation at Wimbledon that Mrs. Broughton was worse than Rebecca Jarrett—I do not remember saying anything to Mrs. Stead about children she had taken away—with the exception of that one shilling which was handed me by Mrs. Jarrett in the way described, I did not receive a farthing—I had no hope or promise of money made to me, or anything else—Mrs. Broughton received a sovereign—I heard that on the Wednesday; she told me she gave it her out of kindness for sheltering her when she was ill—I asked Mrs. Broughton no more about the sovereign—she told me Jarrett owed her a lot of money—she said she had kept her a long time after her illness, after she came out of the infirmary—she told me she had been in the infirmary for I think she said a broken leg—I asked nothing more about the sovereign—having received that account of it I felt no anxiety or suspicion about it.

By Mr. Stead. I read this article which has just been read over, on the 9th of July—with the exception of two trips to Richmond and one to Epping Forest, my child has never been in the country in her life—I identified my daughter by that passage—I knew about the school trips when I went to the Magistrate at Marylebone—the Magistrate never asked me about that—I have mentioned them since—Mr. Thomas has not put them into my mind since; I have not seen Mr. Thomas—the police did not—I have heard from you about the school trips to-day for the first time—the connection between my daughter and the school treats came into my mind then, although I did not mention it then—when asked how many things led me to identify "Lily" with Eliza at the police-court it was in my mind, and I did not tell you—there are not other things in my mind I have not told you—the fact that another girl had been asked to go with Jarrett before my daughter was taken led me to think this story had connection with me—I had thought of that concidence before—those things have been spoken of to-day here; not at the police-court—it has been

found out since—I found it out—it is found out now—I do not know if it was in my mind when I was at the police-court; I have been too much worried over this—when I went to Mrs. Broughton to tell her of what a shock I had got I did not read the article over to her; I told her about the article—I told her of two or three things in the article which made me think it was my daughter—I did not tell her what—I did not tell her one of the things was I was a drunken woman, or that she was a brothel keeper—I told her something in it made me think it was the child—I did not tell her what the something was—she cannot read—her husband had told her about it; he cannot read either—I don't know if she was told about the story of "Lily;" she was told about the Gazette—when I went to see her she might have known something about the Derby Day story—I didn't know she had received money for my daughter—I never said anything to her—I never mentioned any of the circumstances in the article to her which led me to believe she was a wicked woman—I stood—I did not speak angrily to her—I spoke friendly to her—I did not think at the time that that woman had been taking my child away for an infamous purpose—I thought she let her go kindly at the time, and then afterwards it turned cut otherwise—I don't know what to think—I did not when I went to Mrs. Broughton's accuse her of having got 5l.—I did not ask Mrs. Broughton if she had got 4l. or 5l.—it would indeed have relieved my mind very much if I had thought it was not my daughter—if I had as much sense as you I would have talked to her, and challenged her with her guilt—there were two or three things in the Gazette made me think it was my child, and it will turn out it is—that is my business why I did not ask her—I don't know—perhaps some one else got the money instead of her; perhaps Jarrett had it—I don't know why I asked Mrs. Broughton no question—I did not ask Mrs. Broughton more particularly about Rebecca's character—I thought she knew all about her being a respectable woman; she said she was—very likely I understood what was meant by a bad woman; that she kept a bad house, and got young girls for prostitution—Mrs. Broughton did not know if Mrs. Jarrett had been getting any young girls—I did not ask her—she did not know what she had been doing since she left her place—I did not ask if she knew she was an old hand at procuration—I took trouble enough to ascertain what were lies and what were truth—what was the good of talking to a woman who cannot read or write—I didn't read it to her—I never thought of asking Mrs. Broughton, even if she had received money after my daughter had been taken away from Jarrett—Mrs. Broughton told me Mrs. Jarrett owed her a lot of money—there are letters to prove it; she has got letters—Mrs. Broughton told me Jarrett owed her some money, and that was a sovereign for it, and she would pay her some time when she got better off—Mrs. Broughton never told me it had been paid—I had not the article with me when I went to Mrs. Broughton's.

ELIZA ARMSTRONG (Re-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL ). Mrs. Jarrett bought for me to put on before I left home boots, a frock, trimmings for the hat, and the scarf—3s. 1 1/2 d. was paid for the boots; I think 8s. 6d. for the frock; 4s. 6d. for the hat and the trimmings and the feather, and 2 3/4 d. for the scarf—that was all bought before I left home—afterwards for the chemise I think 1s. 0 1/2 d. was paid; the drawers I think were 1s. 0 1/2 d.; I think the stockings were 6 3/4 d.—they were bought after

I had been at Albany Street—I know nothing about the price of the cloak—it is the cloak I have on.

Monday, October 26th.

ANN BROUGHTON . I am the wife of John Broughton, and have been married 10 years the 7th of next November—I am now living at 37, Charles Street, Lisson Grove—I have been living there with my husband since 21st September three years, and occupied one room—I have no children living—I was formerly employed at Claridge's Hotel, and used to go there daily to work—the prisoner Rebecca Jarrett was a monthly servant there employed as an ironer—that was the first time I knew her—I left there last January twelvemonth—Jarrett had left as near as I can guess two months before—she slept in the hotel—we were employed there together as near as I can guess from two to three months—she left because she was taken bad with a diseased hip—when she left she tried to get into the Mount Street Workhouse; she could not get in there, and I took her home—on that occasion she stayed with me as near as I can guess about a week—she shared my room and boarded and lodged with me—after that she went to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and then she came back and lived with me again for about a week—she then went to the New Infirmary, Notting Hill—she sent me a card to come and see her—she used to write post cards; she wrote one letter—I cannot read or write, nor my husband either—my husband is a handy man employed at Mr. Stokes's; he has been employed there from 20 to 21 years—Mr. Stokes is the secretary of the Marylebone Association for improving the dwellings of the industrial classes—when I received these letters and post-cards I had to get them read to me by the neighbours—since this case commenced I have looked up all 'my letters and papers—I always knew her as Rebecca Jarrett—these are the letters that I gave to Mr. Von Tornow that I received from Rebecca Jarrett from different places she has been in—I did not answer these letters myself, but after receiving them I went to see her at the New Infirmary and Bartholomew's Hospital—I saw her last about nine months before the beginning of June last—she was lame and walked with a stick—she came to see me at Charles Street—she told me she was in a place—early in June this year she came to see me; I thought it was on the Monday—she knocked at the door; I was in the yard, and I went to the street door—I said, "It is you, Becky"—I then asked her into my room—she said, "Good morning, Nancy; how are you getting on?"—I said, "Middling; how are you getting on?"—she said, "Middling-like"—I said, "Are you in place?"—she said, "No, I left that place, and I was out of work looking for a place, and I came across a commercial traveller," and she had got married to him, and was stopping with a friend of her husband's at Albany Street—she said she occupied a six roomed house at Wimbledon, and she wanted a little girl to clean around the carpet and the oilcloth, and asked if I knew of one—Jane Farrer was in the room; she was in the room before Jarrett came in, and I turned round and said, "Jane, will you go to place?"—she said, "Yes, Mrs. Broughton"—Jarrett turned round and said, "She is too big; how old are you?"—Jane paid, "Nineteen"—Jarrett said, "You are too old and too big, I want one younger than you"—Lizzie Stevens was going through the street, and I called her into my room—Jarrett asked how old she was—Lizzie said "Sixteen," and she said she was toe

old, she only wanted a girl to clean round the carpet, likewise the oilcloth on the staircase, to save her from kneeling, as she was afflicted—Lizzie Stevens then left the room and went out—and then Eliza Armstrong came in about five minutes after Lizzie Stevens had gone out—I knew Eliza Armstrong, just as a neighbour's child—she knocked at the room door and said, "Mrs. Broughton, where is the person that wants a servant?"—I said, "There she is, Eliza"—she says, "I should like to go to service"—I said, "Where is your mother?"—she says, "My mother is upstairs"—I says, "Go and fetch your mother"—she went out, and I never saw any more of her until the afternoon—this was in the morning—Jarrett said nothing after she had gone out, except that she would not take her without the mother's consent—Jarrett remained with me until four o'clock in the afternoon—she came in I believe between ten and eleven in the morning, and was there all day until 4 o'clock—she told me she was staying with a friend of her husband's in Albany Street, and before she went away she said she was that way the next morning, and she would call and see me—I saw Mrs. Armstrong that day in the evening about 7 o'clock—I said, "Mrs. Armstrong, there is Rebecca Jarrett, that used to come down to me from St. Bartholomew's Hospital, has come to ask me to get a girl for her to clean about the house for her"—she then turned round and abused me, and said, "I won't have people coming after my child; I am not going to let my child go for any b—wh—, I am not going to let her go to a b—service," and I was to go and b—myself—she was the worse for drink—the next day she said she was very sorry for having made use of the language—the next day, Wednesday, Jarrett called upon me again between 10 and half-past—she said, "Good morning, Nancy"—I said, "Good morning"—she said, "Did you get me a girl?"—I said, "No; cannot you go to a baker's shop"—she said, "Don't you know a nice little orphan girl that would be glad of a good home?"—I said, "Well, there is one up the street in the same house as Mrs. Armstrong is"—I went to Mrs. Armstrong's house, and saw her looking out of her own window, the first floor front—I said, "Mrs. Armstrong, I am going to see if Alice West would be glad to go to service"—she is a niece of Mrs. Woodward, and lives in the same house as Mrs. Armstrong—Mrs. Armstrong said, "Wait a minute, I want to speak to you"—she came downstairs and said, "Where is this person that wants a servant?"—I said, "She is sitting agin my room door," and I says, "You had better come down and see her yourself"—Mrs. Armstrong said, "My Eliza has been teazing me all the morning about wanting to go to the service"—I told her to come down herself to make an agreement with Jarrett—she told me not to take Alice West; she was too full of vermin—I said nothing to that—Alice West is about 15—Mrs. Armstrong went to my room where Jarrett was—she had her things on—I said she was the mother of the girl who came in yesterday—Mrs. Armstrong asked Jarrett if she was the person who wanted to take the girl as a servant—she said, "Yes. Are you the mother of the child?"—Mrs. Armstrong said, "Yes"—Jarrett says, "Are you willing to let your child go?"—Jane Farrer was in the room at the time—Mrs. Armstrong said, "What do you want her to do?"—Jarrett said, "To clean the carpet, and likewise the oilcloth on the stairs and hall, as I am occupying a six-roomed house at Wimbledon"—Mrs. Armstrong turned round and says,

"Well, my Eliza shall go, if it is for a servant you want her"—Mrs. Armstrong asked how much she would give her a week—Jarrett said she would not give her anything for the first month, but she should buy her clothes—Mrs. Armstrong heard that said—after the first month she should give her the money into her hands—with that she asked if she had any more tidy clothes—Eliza came in immediately after her mother—she heard all this conversation—at first only Jane Farrer was there—Eliza came in directly after her mother, and stood at the side of her—Jarrett asked Eliza if she was willing to go, and she said "Yes" she said she was wanting a girl only to clean, because she was afflicted—Rebecca Jarrett asked the mother if she had any tidy clothes, as she was willing to let Eliza go—Mrs. Armstrong said she had an old jacket upstairs and a felt hat—Jarrett looked at Eliza's feet, and asked her did she have any other pair of boots—the mother said "No"—Jarrett said again to Mrs. Armstrong "Are you willing to let her go?" and to Eliza "Eliza, are you willing to come to me?"—she said "Yes"—the mother stood by and said nothing—Jarrett said again to Mrs. Armstrong "Are you willing to let her go?" and she said "Yes"—she then said "Mrs. Armstrong, as you are willing to let the girl go, as she has got no other clothes, I shall take her out, if you like, and buy her some"—the mother said "Very well, but what time do you want to take her away?"—Jarrett said "3 o'clock"—she said "If you are willing to let her go, and she has got no other clothes, take her upstairs, and get her ready, and send her down to me about 1 or a little after"—Mrs. Armstrong said yes, she would—Jarrett said "I am going to stop to dinner along with our Nancy"—Mrs. Armstrong left the room—before Mrs. Armstrong and her daughter left the room the mother asked Jarrett "Could Eliza write to her?" or "When could she write?"—Jarrett said "Whenever she liked;" she would take her on a month's trial, and if she did not like the place she could come home; that she would fetch her back the same way that she took her—Mrs. Armstrong went away with Eliza to wash her, and Farrar went home to dinner—Jarrett and I remained together—Mrs. Armstrong and her daughter left close on 12—she took off her bonnet, and so on, and my husband came in—on Wednesday Jarrett gave me a sovereign between 10 and 11 o'clock in the morning—Jane Farrer was in the room at the time—she called me over, "Nancy"—I said "Yes, Becky"—she said "I am going to stop to dinner, and you have no money to get it"—I said "Yes, I have bacon in the cupboard, potatoes on the fire, and money in the cup"—she held her hands out like this and said "Take this, Nancy," and I said "No, Becky"—I did not see what it was—"I want nothing to get no dinner, for I have got it here"—"Take it," she says; "you have got a shawl in pawn"—I said "No"—I told her that I hadn't a shawl to my back—I told her "What did it matter to her about my shawl being in pawn?"—"Well, Nancy," she says, "I promised you I should try to pay you some day for the kind assistance done towards me in and out of the hospitals"—I said I did not expect nothing, and what I had done was with a good heart—I put out my hand, and she put it into my hand—I never looked to see what it was, and I put it behind the boards on the mantel-piece; it remained there until just between 1 and 2—I did not say more about it, and we sat and had dinner when my husband came in at 12 o'clock—the money she

had given me I put behind the vase on the mantel-piece—I looked at it when she had gone to buy the clothes—besides that money she had given me half a sovereign to get some whisky—she gave me the sovereign between 10 and 11—the half-sovereign was for a quartern of whisky; I went out and got the whisky, and got 9s. 6d. change, and that handed back to her—after dinner Eliza came back alone, and Jarrett asked her if she was ready to go with her to buy the clothes, and she took her out—that was a little after 1—she first bought a pair of boots—he mother came in while they were out and said to me "Mrs. Broughton, do you know what time they will be back?"—I said "I don't know"—she said "Go over to Chandler's to see" (Chandler's is a shoe-shop) "if Rebecca Jarrett is there, and ask her" (she called her "that person who is in the room") "What time she will be back"—I said "Very well I am going over"—I went over to Chandler's, and saw Jarrett and Eliza there, and said to her "Becky, Mrs. Armstrong wants to know what time you will be back"—she said "2 o'clock"—I came back and told Mrs. Armstrong—she said "I am going to a funeral, and I will depend upon you to see her off"—I said "Can't you stop to see her off?"—she said "I am going to see the funeral, and it might be too late"—I said "Very well, then"—she went away, and I did not see her again for some time—she was sober then—while Jarrett and Elliza were out I went to the mantel-piece and looked at the money behind the vase; it was a sovereign—I took it up and went out before they had returned to get something for tea at the baker's shop—Jane Farrer was with me—I showed her the money when I picked it up—at the baker's I bought some bread and changed the sovereign, and took the bread back-Rebecca Jarrett was standing at the street door; Eliza was gone home—Jarrett came in with some trimmings and a dress—I afterwards saw Eliza put those things on in my room—she had the new boots on—the hat was trimmed by Rebecca in my room—I had sent Farrer to the pawnshop for my shawl with some money out of the sovereign—the pawnshop was Chapman's—it was in pawn for half-a-crown—I got it out of pawn, and she brought it to me—the other things I got out of pawn afterwards—Jarrett and the little girl and myself left my house at five minutes to 3—Jarrett had a cup of tea before she went—before they left I saw Mrs. Armstrong receive some money—she came and knocked at the door—the little girl had not got the clothes on then—Rebecca Jarrett, me, and Jane Farrer were in the room, and Eliza—Mrs. Armstrong asked me for sixpence; she did not say what for; she asked me to give it her till Saturday—I told her I had not a sixpence in my possession—Rebecca Jarrett then put her hand in her purse, and turned round and said, "Here you are, Mrs. Armstrong, here is 1s."—Mrs. Armstrong said, "I thank you, that will do better"—Mrs. Armstrong then went away—that was about half-past 2 and from that to a quarter to 3—she was all right then—her mouth was cut and bleeding—she said nothing about her mouth being cut at the time—about five minutes to 3 I and Eliza and Rebecca left the house together—I went to the corner of Chapel Street, Edgware Road, to the omnibus—I had got the shawl then—I said, "Good-bye," and saw them off by the omnibus—that was about 3 o'clock—up to that time Jarrett had not told me the name of her husband. CHARLES VON TORNOW was here interposed. I saw Rebecca Jarrett twice write her name, and

I have seen the signature to these letters—in my judgment they are signed by her—one begins Sunday afternoon. Read: "Sunday afternoon, addressed to Mrs. Broughton, 37, Charles Street, Lisson Grove: Dear Nancy, I am very much surprised that you have not come to see or even wrote to me after your promise to me; but still, Nancy, if you have any fault to find with me in anything, why do not you come and tell me. I have written to you and sent you a card. I have sent Mr. Simmons when to come, but no one has come. A lady came to see me yesterday. She spoke about my box. I told her how I was placed. I have got to work, Nancy, to pay you for it, and she is going to write to you about it this week and tell you. I told her you was very kind towich me during the time I was with you; but I have not seen any one lately since I have been here, which is six weeks to-morrow. I expect to stop here a long time, so I think she is going to keep my box at her house till I get well again. But you will see what she says in your letter. Then she will tell me what you say in your letter back again, for she is coming to see me on Friday again, wich I hope you will come to some arrangement of what I owe you, so that I may come to some settling now with you. Give my love to Bash and Mrs. Simmons—" (Mrs. Broughton: Bash is my husband)" and tell her if she likes to come and see me I will send a card. I must say good-bye now.—From your grateful REBECCA JARRETT. C 2 Ward, Marylebone Infirmary, Notting Hill, London." The other letter was as follows: "Sheet Cottage, Petersfield, Hants. Dear Nancy, I do not know why you did not send the collars, but I suppose Sarah had not got the money. I have only 7s. down here, for my boot has broke again. I have had to pay 2s. for it to be mended—a brass plate on the sole and heel to hold the screw firm by. I am much better I think in myself, and my hip do feel a little stronger. I can walk a little, thank God, and I shall be quite two or three months before I shall be able to do anything for a living; so, dear Nancy, do not forsake me now. I have not a friend in this wide world but you and Sarah. If I cannot reward you and Bash for your kindness to me, God will prosper you in all your undertakings. But as soon as I am able to earn any money you shall have it, wich by God help will not be long. I have written to Miss Morley, and thank her for sending me here. I have told her what is the matter, for Miss Bonham-Carter told me Miss Morley does not think I am so bad with my hip, for Miss Morly only sent me here for three weeks, but they have given me another week to make a month. If I could get a month down by the sea-side I should get all right. They tell me here to go straight from here to it. I think if Miss Morly knew how I have no home or anywhere to go, she might get me, for Miss Bonham-Carter told me she has got a convalescent home of her own. I know she has taken a deal of trouble with me. I should have had to go into the workhouse if it had not been for Sarah and you"—(Sarah is a young girl who is gone to Canada, who worked at the hotel with us) "But if I could get myself quite well, I would endeavour to pay it all up again." (Two other short letters from Jarrett to Mrs. Broughton were also read from Hope Cottage, High Cliff, Winchester, stating, "I am so happy to tell you that Eliza is all right and doing well."

ANN BROUGHTON (Continued). I could not read, and I took that letter to Mrs. Armstrong—I left it with her just on 12 o'clock—I afterwards got it back—I heard nothing more of Rebecca—that

letter is need Rebecca, Mrs. Sullivan—that was the first time I had heard the name of Sullivan—about a month afterwards I remember Mrs. Armstrong talking to me about her child—I believe it was the 10th July—it was on a Friday morning—she said she was going before a Magistrate—I had got that letter then—I did not give her the letter, she never asked me for it—I gave it up when the officer came—on the Friday—the same day—Mrs. Armstrong and I did not have any words about her child, only she was going down to the police court to see if she could get her child home—we had no angry words—I got Farrer to write a letter for her—that was the same day—that was before I had given the letter up to the officer—they were to write so as to get the child, because she said as she was going to the court house, and the child was gone, that she would blame me for the child—in consequence of what she said I got Jane Farrer to write the letter for me—I told her what to write—I saw her write the letter—I posted it myself—she directed it—I put the stamp on and posted it at the post-office at the corner of Bell Street—the letter was to "Dear Beckie Jarrett"—it was addressed "Mrs. Sullivan, Wimbledon, near Hampton Court, likewise Rebecca—they said it was somewhere near HamptonCourt, Wimbledon was the place where the six-roomed house was—besides the letter I got Jane Farrer to write a telegram for me—that was the same day—I also received this postcard: "Saturday. Dear Nancy, I have been very poorly, but Eliza is doing right and doing well. If her mother wishes to see her I shall send her up to London with a friend of mine. Yours truly, Mrs. SULLIVAN."—I was afterwards taken to the Mansion House, and afterwards to the solicitor's office.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. The first time I met Rebecca Jarrett was at Claridge's Hotel about two years ago—she was in work there—she came there when I was in work—I had been there somewhat longer—I have left the hotel since last January twelvemonth—she left two months before last Christmas twelvemonth—I left Claridge's Hotel last Christmas twelvemonth—I left of my own accord—I did not know anything about what life Rebecca had been leading, that I swear—I and Rebecca became very intimate—she did not tell me that she had kept a gay house at Ward's Buildings, Manchester, nor at Bristol, nor close to where I live at Charles Street in Marylebone; I did not know where she kept houses—I know what a gay house is—she did not tell me at any time that she kept a gay house anywhere—I swear that I did not know that in High Street, Marylebone, she kept a gay house—High Street, Marylebone, is about 10 minutes' walk from Charles Street, where I live—I had not seen her for nine months before 2nd June—I had no communication with her between the date of those letters written from Petersfield, amongst other places, in 1883, until she came to see me in September, 1884—she said that she wrote me a letter, but I never answered it. Q. After 1883, the last of those letters being dated November, 1883, have you never had any letter from her? A. About two years ago. I cannot recollect whether I have had any letters from her since 1883, I might have had some; it is very awkward, as I did not read them myself—I cannot think whether between November, 1883, and the time that she came to see me on 2nd June I ever had any letter from her—I have got all the letters, and produced all that I have—she came to see me and called at my house about nine months before June, as near as I can guess

—she called to see me in September, 1884—I do not recollect where she told me she was living then; I do not remember whether I asked her—I do not remember whether she told me that she was living at Chiswick—she asked me about the box—I did not ask her what she was doing; I only asked her how she was getting on; how she was getting her bread I did not ask her and did not learn—I cannot say about hearing from her between September, 1884, and June of the present year, but I had not seen her from the beginning of June—I produced all the letters which she sent me—when she came in June she did not tell me what she was doing; she did not tell me what her position was, or that she had changed her name—she told me she was married to a commercial traveller, I am sure of that—the expression that she used was that she had had a slice of luck, that she was looking for a place, and that she fell in with a commercial traveller, and that she was married to him—I did not ask Becky where she had fallen in with the commercial traveller; she told me that she had come across him looking for a place—she said he was travelling about and never at one place; she did not tell me for whom, I did not ask; I did not ask where she bad met him; she did not tell the name, I did not ask—she told me in the room she was married, and then she said she was stopping with a friend of her husband in Albany Street for a week—I told that to Mrs. Armstrong after being at the Court-house—I told Mrs. Armstrong what Jarrett had said to me about Albany Street next day, the morning after Jarrett took the girl away—if the little girl has sworn that her mother told her that she was going to Albany Street I cannot explain how that happened—I did not tell the child—Mrs. Armstrong asked me where Jarrett was going to, and I said she was stopping with a friend of her husband's in Albany Street—I said before the Magistrate. Q. When Mrs. Armstrong came over on the second day to see Mrs. Jarrett did she ask her name? A. No, she did not, she asked where she was going, and I said "There is Beckey, ask her," and Mrs. Jarrett said "I am going to Albany Street"—that is correct—I am sure that she said that to Mrs. Armstrong—it is true that Mrs. Jarrett told Mrs. Armstrong that she and the child were going to Albany Street—I told Mrs. Armstrong the day after the child left that she had gone to Albany Street, because she came and asked me—I reminded her what Mrs. Jarrett said the day before, and that she was occupying a six-roomed house at Wimbledon—I never knew the name of the supposed commercial traveller, the husband, until I got the letter from Winchester—the letter which Mrs. Jarrett sent to Mrs. Armstrong is addressed as to "Eliza's mother"—she did not know Mrs. Armstrong's name without she heard me mention it in the room—I did not know what her supposed new married name was, and Mrs. Armstrong did not know it, and she apparently did not know the name of the mother of the child—the name of Jarrett was not mentioned to Mrs. Armstrong—I believe, when I went up to her, that I said that Rebecca Jarrett, who had worked with me at Claridge's Hotel, wanted a girl—I will not be sure that I called her Rebecca—I did not tell Mrs. Armstrong anything more about Rebecca on the Wednesday than I told her on the Tuesday—I am quite sure of that—I was with Mrs. Jarrett all the

time in the house; until 4 o'clock—on the Tuesday I never saw any conversation at all between Mrs. Armstrong and Mrs. Jarrett—Mrs. Armstrong never asked me whether Rebecca was a genuine woman or not—Mrs. Armstrong asked me how did I know Rebecca, and I said by working at Claridge's Hotel—Rebecca did not tell me that the girl she wanted must be a nice little girl just over 13—she did not inquire about the age at all; I am quite sure of that—Mary Plummer's name was not mentioned in my room; I am sure of it—she is my niece—I did not say at the police-court "Five girls were spoken of altogether about going, excluding Eliza Armstrong"—I could not have sworn that, because there were not five girls mentioned—my evidence was read over to me—I did not say in cross-examination "Five girls were spoken of altogether about going, excluding Eliza Armstrong"—there was only Jane Farrer, Elizabeth Stevens, and Eliza Armstrong, I mentioned, in my room; there was no one else—I do not know who put in Mary Plummer—Maggie Fann was standing at the street door—I said at the police-court "I said there is a young girl here, Jane Farrer"—Jarrett was staying at a friend of her husband's at Wimbledon—it was not Croydon—"She wanted a little girl to do house work. I said "There is a young girl here, Jane Farrer," who was in the room at the time, and I asked her if she would go"—"Mrs. Jarrett asked the girl's age," that was the first question she asked, "and on being told it was 18 said She is too old.' She did not want one quite so old. I said there was a younger one named Lizzie Stevens in Highwood Street. She was called in, but Jarrett said she was too big. Stevens was 17 years of age. Jarrett said she wanted only a girl between 13 and 14 years of age"—she said she did not want a girl quite so big—I cannot say whether that was what she said; I have such a bad recollection—I did not tell Mrs. Armstrong that the girl which was wanted was a girl just over 13—I told her that Jarrett wanted a young girl just to save her from kneeling—I said nothing about age to the mother—if Eliza has sworn that her mother told her that what was wanted was a little girl just over 13, I cannot explain where she heard it—Mrs. Armstrong neither saw me nor Rebecca on that first day at all until after Rebecca had gone, at 4 o'clock—Mrs. Armstrong came to me about 7; she was passing down the street—she called me a b—cow, and more than that—she called me it that day, and has called me it since—I do not know what she accused me for on that day, but she did use some very disgusting expressions to me, including the one I have mentioned—on the same day she had had a drop to drink—on the next morning when Rebecca came round I had no idea at all of looking for Eliza Armstrong—when I went to see Woodward's niece Mrs. Armstrong said "Take Eliza; my Eliza has been teasing me all the morning, and wants heart and soul to go to a place"—she asked me where Rebecca was—beyond asking me where she was and my telling her she was in my room, she did not ask me one single question about Rebecca's character—upon her saving "Take Eliza, the other girl is full of vermin," and so forth, I said to her "Go and make the agreement yourself, on condition that you get the name and address where the girl is going to"—I said that because I thought it would be satisfaction to her, and to me too—she had not said anything which induced me to say that—I said this because it would be a satisfaction if any harm should come to the child—I did not think any harm would come to it—it is a person's duty, or a mother's

duty, to see where a child is going when she is going with a stranger—I know that Mrs. Armstrong never did get the address, nor the name, not to my knowledge—I only got what she told me, that she was staying with a friend of her husband's at Albany Street, but that she had a four or six-roomed house at Wimbledon—the mother says Croydon—I had not the least misgivings or doubts in my mind at all about the kind of place she was going to at this time—I thought when she wanted to write to her daughter of course she need not come to ask me—I thought it would save me trouble—I had nothing bad whatever in my mind—this is what I said at the police-court: "Mrs. Armstrong said 'Wait a minute; I want to speak to you.' She then came out to me and said 'Where is the woman that wants the girl?' I said 'She is in my room.' Mrs. Armstrong said 'Do not take young Woodward, she is full of vermin.' I said 'Well, are you going to let Eliza go?' Mrs. Armstrong said 'Yes.' I then told her to come and make the agreement herself, on condition she got the name and address where the girl was going to. I said that to Mrs. Armstrong. We went together to my place, and saw Mrs. Jarrett there. I said 'Here comes Mrs. Armstrong, the mother of the girl you spoke to yesterday.' Jarrett said 'Are you willing to let the girl go?' Mrs. Armstrong said 'Yes.'" That is the order in which it occurred—if Mrs. Armstrong has sworn that on that occasion, when I brought her over to my room, and where she saw Rebecca, that Rebecca said "Is the girl pure," that is not correct—no, not such a thing was mentioned in my room, or anything of that kind—Rebecca asked me if I had seen her romping about, and I said only with boys and girls; I said only just out and about—Mrs. Armstrong was there at that time I believe—I knew this little girl, seeing her about the street—she spent the most of her time, when it was dry, in the street, nursing the baby—I have known them two or three years—it didn't strike me as odd that this strange person, strange to Mrs. Armstrong, and known only to me as a fellow-servant at Claridge's, should come in this particular street for a little girl—nothing of a bad opinion struck us about it—what made me say "Let her go on condition that you get the name and address," was I thought she was an uneducated child, and the mother would want to know about her daughter—I heard some of the conversation between Jarrett and Mrs. Armstrong—I never heard Mrs. Armstrong ask her why she could not get a little girl near her own home—I never heard anything of the kind mentioned, or whether there was a registry office there—Mrs. Jarrett offered me some coin in her hand—I did not know what it was—I stated at the Mansion House, in answer to Mr. Reid, that I thought it was a shilling; I did not know what it was, whether it was a shilling or not—I said at first I thought it was a shilling, and that I put it behind the mantelpiece—I appreciated her; I did not look for anything from her—she came and stayed with me about a week one time, and nearly a week another time, if she brought with her and spent 1l. 16s., I never saw it—I never received a shilling of her—she did not spend it partly for her own support when ill, and for what was wanted in the house—she did not bring it and spend it in the house—I did not ever make any claim on her for what I had done for her, only how she promised it to me—I recollect one of the letters read this morning, in which she makes reference gratefully to Mrs. Morley

and Miss Carter, and a reference to a box that she left in my house—it is a fact that there were two dresses taken out of that box—she told me to take them—they were cotton dresses—I did not pawn them, and I did not wear them—they laid in my place a long time—a person named Simmons, who used to live in the house borrowed them, and I have not seen them since—it is a fact that when the girl was at one of these benevolent homes, an officer from the Charity Organisation Society came to me about Rebecca's box, and paid me 10s. for keeping the box—I did not claim or wish for anything—I could not tell you whether all the letters which have been read here, the last of which is in November, 1883, were letters before the box was removed last year—I did not look to see what money it was she gave me, because I was getting my husband's dinner ready, and had no bad opinion in my mind—I do not often get money in that way—she did not, before she took away the child, give me 2l. in money, not a penny over the sovereign—it was between 2 and 3 o'clock when Mrs. Armstrong came in and asked me to lend her sixpence—if Mrs. Armstrong has said that what she asked for was not the loan of sixpence but a penny to buy something to quiet the child, it is not true; she asked me for sixpence—I recollect when she came up in the passage and was standing at the door with the child in her arms—Rebecca Jarrett was sitting near the door, and she handed something to her, but I could not tell you what it was, only by the way in which Rebecca repeated the words and said, "Here is a shilling for you, Mrs. Armstrong," and then handed something I did not see—after the child had been out and had the clothes bought, she went and washed at her mother's house, and came back—her old clothes were taken off her and the frock put on—the boots and hat were left behind in my room—the child went away with nothing except the new clothes purchased for her—the others were left in my room—I afterwards gave them to her mother the next day, Thursday; I was present when the question of clothos was discussed, and heard the mother say, "She has got a good frock and a strong pair of shoes, and clothes good enough for her to work in"—there was no arrangement when I should meet them next time or any future time—the working clothes were left loose, not in a bundle—I did not know whether the mother was going to send for them, or whether, as Jarrett said, she was coming home in a month's time—according to my view she was going away as a servant, and she would have dirty work to do—I do not know what clothes she would have if those were left behind; only the mother repeated the words, and said that they were quite good enough to work about in—that did not strike me as anything bad at all, certainly not—I got a letter from Cliff Cottage, Winchester—I got Jane Farrer to read that letter to me—there are a good many persons about the neighbourhood of the name of Sullivan—I do not know one who is a bricklayer; I am quite sure and certain of that, or a stonemason; they might be the best of characters, or the worst of characters, but I do not know them—I did not know that a person of the name of Sullivan had gone to Winchester—until you announced it I did not know any one since the time I gave it up to the chief officer; of course there might be some one of the

name—it was arranged that the child was to go away about 3 o'clock—it was arranged they were to go to Albany Street, and I saw them off in the omnibus at the Edgware Road—Mrs. Armstrong did not see the child off—she gave me permission to see her off, because of the funeral, while Jarrett was gone to buy the clothes—I did not hear Mrs. Armstrong say anything about coming round to the Board School with the key—I saw her with her mouth cut, between 2 and 3 o'clock—I had seen her earlier than that—she came in with the girl to speak to Jarrett between 11 and 12 o'clock—her mouth was not cut then—I am sure of that—if she says that her husband struck her and cut her mouth between 8 and 10 in the morning, that is not correct—she did not come in to me with her mouth cut then—between 2 and 3 o'clock her mouth was cut—I had seen her before when her mouth was not cut, between 11 and 12 o'clock—there is one letter I did not write, but I got some one to write letters for me—I never sent a letter, to my knowledge, with "Good night and sweet repose" in it—I never, to my knowledge, sent a letter with that disgusting thing. (MR. RUSSELL read to the witness a letter containing the words: "Dear Bash sends his kind love, and he hopes he will have some toast with you again")—I do not know what that means, unless it is toasted bread; it cannot be anything else—I do not know if it is—"I hope when you come home you will bring a bloke home with you"—that means a man—the Ted mentioned in that letter is Ted who used to work at Claridge's Hotel, I do not know any other—I do not know his other name—"Bash" is my husband—I do not know who I authorised to write that letter for me—I am not aware that I authorised any one to write it—I cannot think whether I dictated that letter in order that it might be sent to Rebecca—I would tell you if I could, but I cannot—I did not authorise any one to write that; I could not; it is too disgusting, I think; me write it, sir! I wish I could—before the Magistrate I heard the letter—I have thought about it several times since to see if I could acknowledge it—I will not pledge my oath that I did not ask some one to write a letter like that—I should think I think more of myself than have a letter like that written—I do not think I did direct that letter to be written—I did not do it—I would own to it if I could recollect it—it is very hard for me to say—if I directed it, you know more than I do—it is very, very seldom I ever write a letter—Rebecca Jarrett generally writes my letters—I cannot write, nor can my husband—Jane Farrer wrote the Winchester letter—I think it was Sarah that wrote my letters in 1883 and 1884—she was not living with me long; not many weeks—she did not share the room in which me and my husband lived—she earned her bread in the laundry—Rebecca and I have not talked about Sarah; nothing bad—she has got her living the same way as myself at Claridge's Hotel since I knew her, until such time as she went to Canada I never received anything but what belonged to me—I did not receive in addition two orders for 1l. each; so help me God, no; I swear that on my oath—I received no cheque, post-card, or nothing from France, except a letter from Winchester—a question was put to me at Bow Street if I received anything more—I said I received nothing except the 1l. she give me into my hand—the neighbours did not begin to talk to me of what had become of the little girl until the mother abused me—

I believe it was on the Thursday, as I took the post-card down on the Friday—the post-card, I believe, is in the gentleman's hand, and that will tell you—she abused me either that day or the day before—I say the day before—I do not know exactly—it was on the Thursday as I received a post-card on the Friday—I did not receive the post-card on the 10th June—her mother abused me on the Thursday as I received the post-card on the Friday—the letter was not received on the Thursday, and it was not that day she abused me—the neighbours never said anything at all to me, not until such time as the mother abused never on the Thursday—she abused me then as I received the post-card on the Friday—Mrs. Armstrong never asked me whether Jarrett was married or not—the child went on a month's trial not on a week's trial—Jarrett said that if the child did not like the place she could come home, and she would bring her home the same way she went—she did not tell me that she had just started a house, and that she wanted a pure girl for a gentleman I am quite clear upon that, nothing like it—she did not say that if I could help her she would pay me for it—she did not mention it in my room, not to me—Jane Farrer came in in the morning part—I was not in Court here when Mrs. Armstrong gave her evidence—she never mentioned the girl being pure, or whether she romped with boys—I do not know what girls are referred to in the letter of 1st September.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. After the disturbance had begun, and when my attention was drawn to it, I caused some letters to be written to Rebecca about this matter; one to Winchester and a telegram there—were three letters altogether—after the mother had accused me, in July I caused to be written to Rebecca two letters to Winchester and one to Wimbeldon, three altogether—Jane Farrer wrote two to Winchester; no, one to Winchester—I beg your pardon, there was one to Winchester and one to Wimbledon, and my brother wrote, in his dinner hour another to Winchester—I should know Jane Farrer's writing—it was not mentioned in the letter to Rebecca to ask her to send girl home as she stands, and not to give her any money or clothes until it was all over—I told her to send her home as soon as the could—I told her to put what she liked in, but to tell Rebecca Jarrett to send the child home as soon as she could—I do not remember saying "And do not give her any money or clothes until we see that this is all over"—I forget—I certainly did ask Jane Farrer to send that letter—I did not tell her to write that she was to send her back as she stood, and not to give her any money or clothes until this was all over—I will pledge my oath I did not—I suppose I must have said that—I told the mother to go and make the bargain herself—I was not responsible for it any way, as she was the mother of the child—I did not want to be blamed—I should not have considered myself to blame if wrong was to come of the girl, I should not have recommended her—I did not consider I was to blame in the matter, whether it went right or wrong, as the mother gave permission for the child to go; not on condition that the child was to be great trouble—if anything bad had happened to the child I should have been sorry to have recommended her—I should have been sorry if any harm had come to her—I was sorry that I had recommended the child after

I found that the mother was abusing me, and what the neighbours said—when I wrote those letters through Jane Farrer, I knew that the mother had been to the police-court, because she came and told me—I only knew that complaints were being made about it by the way in which the police kept coming to me—I did not tell Mrs. Armstrong what I had written; I do not think I did, nor did she tell me that she had written—no wages was mentioned, only that she would buy her clothes for the first month—I did not think that anything wrong had happened to the child. (Letter read: "Dear Rebecca, I write these few lines to you hoping you will soon be better, but do send Eliza home at once as I am in great trouble, and be surprised if she does not come back. Her mother been to the police-court to see if there are any tidings of her, so send her up as soon as you," and then there is a word which I cannot read, "and do not forget. Dear Rebecca, send her home as she stand, and do not give her any money or clothes until we see that this is all over.") Supposing that I did send that, then I suppose I meant it, as the mother came abusing me, and saying I sold the child for 5l., and I was not guilty of the crime, and saying I was a prostitute, and I had been a prostitute all my life—Mrs. Armstrong said that—she has only known me since I have been living in Charles Street—she also said that I was a brothel-keeper—Mrs. Armstrong said all that about me. Letter continued: "Until we see that this is all over. Her mother has sent for her girl's likeness to Kilburn to take it before the Magistrate to find her out. Her mother says that you was only going to give her 2s. a week?"—The agreement was not made in the room, but somebody told me that outside the street door—it was in the paper, but the amount of wages was not mentioned in my room—the question of wages was never mentioned in my presence at all; not the amount of wages—Mrs. Armstrong asked Rebecca Jarrett how much she would give her, and she said she would give her nothing for the first month, but she would buy her clothes—beyond that nothing was said about the amount. The letter says: "Dear Rebecca. She is going to summon me for she say that you give me a sovern for her." Mrs. Armstrong charged me with that. "So send her up as soon as possible. I have no more to say at present, so good-bye, your affectionate friend, NANCY BROUGHTON." Then the postscript: "Dear Rebecca. Write and tell me where I shall meet her, and what time." I was to meet her to see her straight home—the post-card was sent to me, and I heard the mother had one—Jarrett sent it—I was to meet her to bring her straight home, but I did not know what was in her post-card—she never told me, and I never told her—I had no idea what amount of wages she would be likely to get—for a girl like that I should think about half-a-crown a week—I knew that she had clothes given to her, because they were put on in my house—I do not know why they were not put on in her own house—the boots were put on at her own house—my house was not used on purpose for her to change her clothes—my house is as far from hers as the length of this Court—I do not know why the clothes were not sent to her own house, Jarrett brought them in my room with her—no reason was given for that—I did not think it odd her proposing to rig this servant out in a new suit of clothes, as she said her husband was a very peculiur man—I said at the police-court "I did think it rather funny, but as the mother

was in the room I did not interfere"—I did think it rather funny—I did not think this woman would be likely to give her more clothes; many charity ladies do that—I wrote that in my letter "Do not give her more money and clothes" from the way she pronounced it in my room—she said "Nothing for the first month, but she would give her clothes"—I did not think it was likely that she would go on finding her servant girl in clothes from any bad intention—I did not think she would be likely to give her any more clothes after she had set her up—I was not wicked-minded enough to have any bad opinion on my mind—I did not know there was any wrong going to be tacked to the poor girl—this is the telegram that I sent on 13th July: "Dear Rebecca, send Eliza home directly, as I am in trouble, for I am in fear of the police for the warrant out after Eliza"—I was in fear of the police when the mother came and accused me, and the police; that worried my mind.

Cross-examined by Stead. When I was at Claridge's Hotel I have met a man named Ted in the washhouse, worked with him—Rebecca Jarrett was sitting on the flats the same as all the rest of the servants at dinner-time—we used to romp and lark, the same thing as passes among fellow-servants—Rebecca never told me what kind of life she had led, I am quite certain she never did—I found my own grub and food there—we got no drink there—it is net true that I was dismissed from Claridge's for drunkenness; I left both times of my own accord; if the manageress at Claridge's says I was dismissed for drunkenness she is certainly not speaking the truth—it is not true that when I left of my own accord I bounced through the window; I wanted my bonnet and shawl—I said at the police-court, "and I bounced through the window;" it was a small window, but I did not jump through it; they hid my bonnet and jacket; I said I got a chair and walked right through it when Sarah Jones took my bonnet and shawl from me; I went rapidly through a window out of the hotel—after making that unceremonious exit from the hotel I did not go back again, I sent for my bonnet and shawl the next morning—I do not remember any girls that Rebecca used to tell me about of the name of Flo, or Annie, or Sarah, or Rosey, I do not know them I have never heard Rebecca talk to me about them, only when she pronounced the letter—she did not talk about the girls; she did not mention the name of Flo, Annie, Rosey, or Sarah—I never heard her talk to me about any of them as being her girls, or any one else—I never met any of those girls in company with Rebecca—I never knew that she had the management of those girls—I remember me and Becky going along the Edgware Road when a young girl came up and spoke to her; she did not introduce me, I left them and walked on—I do not know whether she was a fast girl—I did not see Mr. Thomas after the girl came home—he turned round and said Rebecca Jarrett was a bad woman—he did not say to me that Rebecca had got young girls before this, the same way in which she had got Eliza Armstrong—Jarrett was not taken in at the workhouse infirmary, because they thought she had too much money; they thought, through her living at Claridge's Hotel, that she had some money—I did not know that she had any money—when Jarrett came to my house she went to St. Bartholomew's Hospital—I believe she did leave some money with me to take care of

when she went there; I could not tell you how much it was; I gave it to her again I know—she did not give me a pound nor a half-sovereign, I am quite sure and certain of that; I think it was about 7s.—I remember taking that money and putting it in a cup on the mantelshelf—I do not remember receiving 1l. 16s. 6d. from Jarrett—I left the 7s. there until I gave it to her again; I believe it was at Bartholomew's Hospital, either that or the New Infirmary, I know it was one of the hospitals—I did not expect any money from her—I told Mrs. Armstrong, when she asked me about the pound, that Jarrett had given it to me for the kindness and assistance I had done her—I did not tell her that Jarrett owed me money—when the Charity Organisation people came to pay that money at the beginning of last year, I signed a receipt for 10s. in payment of the rent of the box—he asked me how much would I charge for the box being in my possession; I said I did not want anything—he said, "Well, how much do you think?"—I said, "Well, sir, I do not know, I will leave it to you"—he turned round and said, "Do you think half a sovereign will pay you?"—I said, "Sir, I will leave it to you," and he then paid me half a sovereign—the box remained in my house for more than six months—I did not charge anything; I would have given the box up without any money at all; I was not holding the box as security, but from mere friendliness—the 10s. cleared up everything between us—when Jarrett came to see me this last June myself and Jane Farrer were in the room—Jane Farrer was after being for an errand for me—she was in the room and I was in the yard—she had come in from an errand—I had nothing to do with Margaret Fann; I heard Rebecca Jarrett talk to her, but I do not know what she said—when Jarrett came to me I do not remember her saying to me that she had gone back to her old life—if she had said that I should have thought she meant service—she did not say that she had got a house and picked up again with Sullivan, with whom she had lived before; she never mentioned him—I never heard her—I am quite sure of that—she said she was married to a commercial traveller—I did not say to her then, "Good luck to you. Rebecca, it does not matter whether you are married or single?"—I am quite sure of that, I did not mention such a thing—I was not asked to get a girl just over 13—she did not say "I do not want a girl that has been romping about with boys in the street"—I will swear she did not tell me she wanted a girl for a man—so help me God she did not—she never said anything whatever about wanting a girl for a man in my room, and not in my hearing at all—I do not remember about a month ago being asked that question, and saying I could not swear, but she may have said it—I did not at the police-court or elsewhere say that Jarrett said that she wanted a girl for a man—I never had any doubt about it—when she asked me if Eliza had ever larked about with boys and girls I did not know what she meant; only the same as the rest of the children larking about—I did not know that she meant had she been a pure girl, and that no one had been meddling with her; nothing like that ever struck me—Mrs. Armstrong on the Tuesday night said "I will not let my child go after calling me names"—she said "You are a b—cow, I will not let my daughter go"—I do not know why she said that; of course I do excuse a woman when she has had a drop—she sometimes

calls me "Nance"—I was surprised that she should use that language, and walked indoors—I thought she blamed me for the girl going away—the woman had had a drop of drink, and of course I did not take much notice; I walked away—I do not know that she called me names which implied that she thought the place was very bad indeed; it is very excusable in a person with a drop of drink—Albany Street was first mentioned in my hearing on Tuesday night or Wednesday night; the first night before the child went away—Mrs. Armstrong was not there on the first night when the child went away—I never heard Mrs. Armstrong told about Albany Street till I told her myself the day after Eliza went away—I did not see Mrs. Armstrong on the night on which Eliza went away; not until the next morning—if Mrs. Armstrong states that she saw me on the Wednesday night she is either not stating the truth, or she has forgotten, or is wrong—I never said anything to Mrs. Armstrong about my going to stop a week in the country with Mrs. Jarrett—I never told Mrs. Armstrong Rebecca Jarrett was a genuine woman, or anything of the kind, I suppose she picked it out of the papers—Eliza was going for a month's trial—Rebecca Jarrett repeated in my room that it was for a month and not for a week—I said at the police-court that the child was going for a week on trial; she was to go for a month, and that she had to come back the same as she went—Jarrett did not say anything to me that she was to return the girl to me if she found she was not a pure girl; such a thing was never mentioned—when she said "If she did not suit" I understood by that, of course, if she was not able to do the work—I did not know what was meant by she would return her the same as she went no more than the poor mother did—I attached no bad meaning to it whatever—I said a month at the police-court—the question of scrubbing was mentioned when Mrs. Armstrong and Eliza were in the room; nothing was said about scrubbing until then—scrubbing and cleaning the oilcloths was mentioned on both days—Wednesday was the first day Mrs. Armstrong heard anything about it—when Rebecca gave me the sovereign I did not know how much it was—I said at the police-court it may have been a French halfpenny for anything I knew—I did not look to see what shape it was—I took it like this, and put it on the mantel-shelf—there were not two sovereigns there; so help me God there were not—whatshould I do with the other one?—I only found one sovereign behind the mantel-piece—I am sure and certain there was only one sovereign—when Rebecca gave me the sovereign, and I did not know how much it was, I said to her that she could not afford it—she offered it to me and told me to get some dinner, and get my shawl out of pawn; I could not tell what she said it was, I was too busy getting the dinner ready—she could have afforded a French halfpenny, I suppose—I took it from her hand and put it on the mantelpiece—I never thought of looking at it until such time as they were going to buy the clothes, between 1 and 2—I had found out what it was after buying the clothes, before she came back—I will not be sure whether I did say anything to her then; I will not be sure—I know I told her I fetched my shawl out of pawn—I was surprised when I found it was a sovereign; it was a great deal more than I expected—I believe I thanked her when she came back—I said, "Why, Becky! do you know what you have given me?"—she said, "I know, Nancy"—I

said, "Thank you; that is more than I expected"—I asked her what did she give it me for, and she said, "I promised it to you, Nancy"—I have never said this before to-day about thanking her—I did not want money for her staying to dinner—she did not say she gave it for the trouble I had been at in getting her a girl—the agreement was not made with the girl then; she asked me to get her a girl the next day—when she pronounced about the shawl I thought it might have been a half-sovereign or a sovereign; I did not know—I cannot tell any reason why I did not look at it—Mrs. Armstrong came round to my house on July 11th or 10th, or about that time—she came and read a bit of the Pall Mall Gazette, about some child of the name of "Lillie"—she did not ask me any questions about it. Q. And she came and talked to you about it? A. Yes—no one else had spoken to me about it before—I have not spoken to her since she went on to me, on the Thursday—the first time she came to me about her daughter was the time she abused me; at the same time she was posting two letters—it was after she went to the Magistrate she abused me—I have not seen her from the time she went to the Marylebone Court House to the time when she brought me in the piece of paper, after she went to the Court House—she abused me at the street door—that was on the Thursday, July the 9th, before I went to Court; that was after she had been to the Court—she had been in the morning, I think—I saw her the same morning—I was in my own room; she came into the room—she told me she was going to the Marylebone Court House, and she blamed me for her going away, and said if it had not been for me the child would not have gone—she did not stop to say that Jarrett was a genuine woman—that was the 10th; she came to abuse me afterwards—I do not know whether it was a week or a fortnight after she had come and told me she was going to the police-court—it was before I came down to the Mansion House—I was standing at my own street door—she had these two letters in her hand, and she said, "Here is Rebecca Jarrett, she has actually been trying to take another child away—another girl away"—I do not know what that referred to; I looked at her then—I never answered, I never spoke a word; I stood at the door all the time—she called me everything—she called me whore and prostitute, and said I had been a prostitute all my lifetime; and I was not married to the man I was living with, and I was only living with him, and that she would have me up, the same as she would have Jarrett up; I don't know why—that is what I looked at her for—I never answered a word, good, bad, or indifferent—it was in the street—every one was there, the place was crammed—I never said a word, so help me God—I thought I would leave her to say what she liked, and I went down afterwards to the Marylebone Court House—I thought I would not answer her as she came and took on so—she said I sold her child for 5l., and I was a drunken brothel-keeper—she has not said anything abusive to me since—we are friends so far as we speak while we are on this occasion, like good morning or evening. Q. Do you think that Mrs. Armstrong received one pound? A. I could not swear to what I did not see—I did not see Mrs. Jarrett follow Mrs. Armstrong to the door of the room—I saw Mrs. Armstrong take something from her purse and put it in her hand—Mrs. Jarrett sat close to the door—I saw Rebecca put money into her hand only—I heard Rebecca repeat the words, and she said, "There's a shilling"—she may have done it without my seeing

it; as I was about the room I did not see it, and what I did not see I cannot say—I went to the Marylebone Court House and told the warrant officer, and he told me to go down on Friday morning and apply to the Court—I did do so, and it was Mr. Cooke who sat, and I told him the state of affairs—I never took steps to explain to Mrs. Armstrong that I could not have been the person referred to in the Pall Mall Gazette—I never read the article—I only know what I heard one and the other say is in the Pall Mall Gazette—I beg your pardon, Mr. Thomas came in one Saturday morning—he read it to me all through—I very near dropped to hear such a thing, me being accused of selling a child for 5l.—that was some time after the mother accused me—I was very much astonished; for a woman not guilty of the crime to be charged with it; and then not only that, to be put down as a prostitute and a brothel-keeper—there was no truth in it; I never procured a child, and never kept a brothel—I have only the one room, and I pay 3s. a week for it—Mr. Thomas came in the room and I told him—Mrs. Armstrong has only called me names on two occasions: first when she called me a b—cow, on the Monday night; because she abused me I went to the Marylebone Court House—I was the worse for drink on the first occasion.

By MR. WADDY. When the girl went away I had no address of her, and did not expect to see her for a week or a month—I agree with Mrs. Armstrong that the clothes in which she went away would be properly described as nice Sunday clothes—I did not expect the girl to go and begin her work at once, if she was going to a place in Albany Street, and from Albany Street to Wimbledon.

Re-examined by MR. POLAND. It was on the Thursday, the 9th, that Mrs. Amstrong said she would have me up, and Jarrett as well; the same occasion that she abused me about being a drunken brothel-keeper—she said she was told that I was never no good—I went the same day to the police court—I went before the Magistrate the next day—I went up to the Court on the Thursday but did not go before the Magistrate because it was too late—I went again the Friday, next day; I saw the Magistrate then—I was too late on the Thursday—I told him what I knew about it—I went because I had been abused—Mrs. Armstrong was not there at the same time on Friday—I went at 10 o'clock in the morning—I went of my own accord, and the police officer told me on the Thursday to come down on the Friday—Mr. Thomas read the whole of the article to me before we went to the Mansion House—he called upon me on the Saturday morning, and read the whole of the article—I cannot read nor write—I told Fairer to write as soon as she could to Rebecca Jarrett and tell her to send the child home—I told her generally what to say—I waited while she was writing this down—she read it over to me after she had written it; then she directed it, and I posted it.

By the JURY. Mrs. Armstrong did say she would not let her daughter go for a b—whore—she called me a cow—she said she would not let her child go for a b—servant—I am clear about that—I never mentioned about b—wh—; that is a misunderstanding.

Tuesday, October 27th.

CHARLES ARMSTRONG . Eliza Armstrong is my daughter, and I live at Charles Street, Lisson Grove—I was born there, and lived there ever since—I am a chimney-sweeper by trade, working on my own account—

before that I was in the militia—I was discharged for weak eyes, with a character of 21 years pretty well, a full corporal, a good character, no scholar whatever—I was not at home when my daughter went away—it was on a Tuesday I think, Tuesday or Wednesday between 11 and 12 o'clock—I was not at home at breakfast time—I did not come home before 11 o'clock—I had breakfast with my daughter Eliza—that morning I had some words with my wife—she wanted to go to a funeral, and I said she should not, and she said she would, and of course we had a few words, and I struck her, and I was Tory sorry afterwards that I had done it—that was at eleven o'clock; it might be a little after—then I went out again to work—I got back again between seven and eight; it would be nigher eight o'clock—I saw my wife upstairs—I was going to work, and I said, "Where's Eliza?"—she says, "She is gone to service," and I says, "What?"—she said, "She is gone to service; she is gone to Croydon"—I understood it was Croydon—she says, "Mrs. Broughton has recommended her; a young woman, a lady, a fellow-servant at one time; she was very well off, and got married to a commercial traveller"—I said, "Why didn't you stop until I came home, and ask my leave," and we had a few more words—I struck her, and she went out, and I went and washed myself—I struck her again the same night for letting my child go away without my lief—I had not known before I went out in the morning that she was going away—Iater in the evening I heard my wife was locked up, and I went and got her bailed out quick—I went to the landlord of the public-house to bail her—some time afterwards I heard something, and I went over to France—I don't know if it was in August or July—it was on a Wednesday I know—it was a long time afterwards—I went to France to own my child—I wanted to see her—I did not find her—I cannot read nor write.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. The morning that my child left I went out about half-past 5 in the morning—I come back every half-hour or hour sometimes, and sometimes in an hour and two hours—I am not able to recollect that particular morning—I came back at 11 o'clock to have my breakfast—I was not back home before that—I have two places, a place to keep my goods, and where I live—I was not home at my house until 11 or 12, and had my breakfast—I remained at home about 20 minutes; that would be pretty close to 12—I went to my work after I had a row with the missus, then I went out again, and came in between 7 and 8; I daresay 8 o'clock—I was not at home between 11 and 12 on Wednesday, not until 8 o'clock at night—I had one child at service at this time; she began to go to service at 13 years of age, at a laundress, to wash at so much a day, the same as her mother; not at service—she used to come home and sleep—the quarrel about the funeral, when I struck my wife, was between 11 and 12, not quite 12—it was later than 3.45; I was not at home at that time—I might have spoken a few words to her then, but I did not strike her—I got home in the evening between 7 and 8—I struck my wife because the ought to have waited until I came home—I asked who she had gone with—she said Mrs. Broughton recommended her; she did not mention the name—I asked "What is the name of the lady?"—my wife could not tell me—I asked the address, and she said "Somewhere in Croydon"—I said "It won't take more than two hours to go down in my brother-in-law's trap and see her"—then she told me she did not know the address in Croydon, and it was upon that I

struck her—I thought she ought to have stopped until I came home—I did not ask whether there was any talk of wages; I never spoke to her, because she was locked up, and I did not speak to her till the next morning—she told me about the rig-out of new clothes in which my daughter had gone; I thought it was very fanny for a service like that—she had plain and neat clothes, and nailed boots; I gave 6s. 6d. for them—the old clothes came home; they are here—they were in the box when I came from France; I saw some of them—I did not know that she had not taken her clothes with her; I knew nothing at all about them—it was an odd thing that she should leave behind the working clothes and have a new rig out—my wife did not tell me that on 1st August she had been asked to consult me whether I wished my daughter back or not—if she had I would have told her different, because I wanted her home—my wife did not tell me that on 19th July she had been to the Mansion House and was assured that her child was safe and well and in decent service—I did not know that she had been to the Mansion House, and been examined there—it did not come to my knowledge that my neighbours in the street were saying that Mrs. Broughton had got money for selling the child—my wife had the blame; it was talked all about the neighbourhood—the talk began about a month or six weeks afterwards, when she never wrote to us—it was funny she did not write for three weeks; the neighbours began to talk then—I did not go to the Magistrate, nor to the Mansion House, nor to Mr. Booth; I left the whole mutter to my wife—I cannot tell you how the neighbours learnt that she did not write; I don't know.

Cross-examined by MR. HENRY MATTHEWS. Mr. Von Tornow took me to France; I had seen Inspector Borner a fortnight or three weeks before that—I had not seen somebody from Lloyd's Newspaper; my wife had, I believe—during the month of June I did not make any inquiry to learn where my child was; my wife did, I left it all to her—I did not go to Mrs. Broughton about her; it was not my place, I leave all these things to my wife.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. From first to last my wife never mentioned to me where the child had gone to, or where the woman lived—she was too frightened to tell me anything about it; she read it in the paper, but she did not like to tell me—she did not mention a place called Albany Street; I went to Albany Street a long while after—my wife never told me about her suspecting that her child was the one described in the Pall Mall Gazette—she never said anything to me about it.

Cross-examined by Stead. I cannot tell when I first heard anything about the Pall Mall Gazette; I could not read it—I heard some chaps reading it at the corner of the street—I could not tell whether that was a month or six weeks after my daughter went—I could not tell when it was that I heard my neighbours saying that my wife had sold the child; it was every day, three weeks or a month after the child went away, because the child did not write—she did not have the chance to write, I do not think—she was supposed to write every month; that was the agreement—that is what my wife told me when three weeks had passed, and no letter came, it was in everybody's mouth that my wife had sold the child, and they blamed me as well for it, and said I was quite as bad as my wife—of course they thought I knew something about it—I said I was not at home on the day she went away—I did not tell them that I had had words with my wife—I did not tell them my business at

all; they had nothing at all to do with it; do you think I tell everybody that I knock my wife about?—I never heard the Pall Mall Gazette mentioned—my wife never told me about the Pall Mall Gazette—I heard the chaps read it, but she did not tell me about it—I heard the chaps read it at the top of the street—I could not tell how long that waft after the neighbours had begun to talk—it was before I heard the neighbours say we had sold the child—I first heard the reading of the Pall Mall Gazette before I heard anything about the child—I did not study it myself; I cannot read, and I did not know—my wife knew nothing about it; she did not tell me nothing, and I did not say nothing to her; it was too grand, I would not listen to it, it was too bad—the Pall Mall Gazette, as you call it, was too grand—I mean it was beastly—the chaps did not say it referred to my daughter; they were making a regular laughing stock about it; about your paper—they did not mention my daughter at all, only about you and your paper; you are Mr. Stead, I expect—they did not mention your name, but a paper from the Pall Mall Gazette; nothing about you—they began to say that my wife had sold her when she did not write—the people found out that Mrs. Broughton had a sovereign, and they smelt a rat, and it was put on to Mrs. Broughton—she was blamed last, because it was found that she had a sovereign—I did not know that—she told my missus, I think—my missus did not tell me before we went to the Marylebone Police-station—I never knew anything about that until I went to the police-station—I heard people talking about it; I do not know whether she had heard it—my wife told me afterwards that Mrs. Broughton told her she did have it—I never asked my wife about it—I did not want to ask her—I heard that Mrs. Broughton had got a sovereign, which neighbours thought was for taking away my daughter—I never asked my wife whether she knew anything about it; it is not likely—I did not want to ask her—what did she want to go to the police-court for if she sold her child—when I found the child did not write I told her to go to the police-court; that was the best place—when I had heard that Mrs. Broughton had a sovereign I did not go to Mrs. Broughton—it was not my place to go there—my wife did go to Mrs. Broughton, and she asked her for a letter, and she denied it, and would not give it to her, because she told her she was going to the police-court—I did not know what letter it was—I felt very cross about it, and it struck me that my girl went away for a bad purpose—people do not give sovereigns away for nothing, I think—I did not think it was my business to go and make a row with Mrs. Broughton; I would not do such a thing—directly I heard about the sovereign I thought my daughter had gone for a bad purpose—I did not hear the neighbours say so—I thought my wife knew nothing about Mrs. Broughton having that sovereign—Mrs. Broughton told my wife about it afterwards, as far as I know, not before the last thing, until she went to the Magistrate—until then I had heard of the sovereign only from the neighbours—I heard the talk about the sovereign from the neighbours afterwards—I did not ask my wife if she knew about it—I am in the habit of leaving all these things about my daughter to my wife—she has full power to act for me in these things—I did not ask my wife at any time what explanation Mrs. Broughton had to give about that sovereign—my wife told me that she had heard that her daughter was safe; she said she had a letter from the daughter, but there, was no place to write back again—I was not at

dinner with my daughter the day she left—I call it breakfast and dinner—I was not at home about half-past two o'clock—I came back from work about seven or eight o'clock—I did not miss her when I first came home—I was stripped, and was going to wash myself, and I asked "Where is Eliza?" and my wife said "She is gone to service"—she said she was going along with Mrs. Broughton's fellow-servant, and she had got married to a commercial traveller, and she was going to Croydon—I said "How dare you let her go without my leave? You ought to have left that until I came home;" and she went away downstairs—that is all that passed—she did not ask me for seven or eight shillings; I gave it to her before I struck her, before she told me Eliza was gone, or she would not have got none—it was about half-past 8 or 9 o'clock on the Wednesday night that I gave her seven or eight shillings—she told me she went to Mr. Bramwell Booth one day—she told me she had been to Mr. Booth, and he said the child had cost him 100l., and she could not have the child—I do not recollect the date—it was the same night she came home—she said she turned round to him and said "How did you come by my child to cost you 100l."—she said he would not answer—I said "Why did he send her out of England?"—she said she did not know what to make of it—it is not likely that Mr. Booth, instead of asking for 100l., offered to pay her the wages of the child—we didn't want wages, we wanted our child—I am not aware that my wife told me that Mr. Booth offered to pay her money—she might have said so—I can't recollect about the wages—she said that Mr. Booth told her that my daughter was in a good situation, and well cared for; but not in the south of France selling War Crys—she never told me that the child was in a good situation, or that the child was well cared for—he knew that we wanted her back—my wife did not tell me that he offered to pay her wages and give her money besides—my wife did not say after this that she had to write a letter to Mr. Booth—she told me after she had wrote it though—I think she told me she wrote three, one for a copy and another going somewhere else, one to you, I think, and one to Mr. Booth—I could not tell you when she told me that—she did not read the letter over to me—I am quite certain of that—I authorised her to sign the letter in my name, any letter she liked to write—that is my general instruction—she could always write in my name, I am not afraid of that—she did not read it over to me—I might have heard of the letter afterwards and forgot it probably—that letter was written with my knowledge and sanction—I could not tell you when I first saw that letter—I see it on the table and it was in the envelope, and that is all—there was three of them; they wrote three at once—my missis told me that he would not give the child up under 100l.

By MR. WADDY. I have not said at any other place that I gave my wife the money that night—I had given it to my wife before she was locked up—there was some money on the mantelpiece—I did not mention that before—the money on the mantelpiece my wife took out with her as well—the money I gave my w fe I never saw again.

Re-examined. I went to 3, Milton Street one night, to the house of Madame Mourey; I went along with my wife—I could not fix the date—I did not go to Albany Street—I sent my wife to Marylebone Police-court—I do not know the name of the Magistrate—my wife asked Mrs. Broughton for a letter before she went to the police-court—she told me so—she went

three or four times, I think, to the police-court—I never went to the police-court until I was called as a witness in September—I had never given my wife permission to send the children away on service without consulting me—when she told me that Eliza had gone on service to a triend of Mrs. Broughton, at Croydon, I said to her that she ought not to have done it without my leave, and knocked her down—I gave her the 7s. or 8s. before any conversation took place at all—I did not give it her all; it was what I earned that day, for work I done that day—I gave it her for housekeeping purposes—some days I don't earn a shilling—the next day after my wife had been locked up my daughter paid the fine—it was the same night that she got locked up—I had 2s. or 3s.—I don't remember how much had to be paid—I had not got anything to pay it—my daughter, the one in service, found all the money—I can't read writing or print, nor can I write myself—I did not see a letter from Eliza that had no address on it; I don't think I did.

By the COURT. When I said, "I never gave my wife permission to send the children to service without consulting me, I leave the management of my family to my wife," I thought you meant the housekeeping—she had full power to act for me in the working, but not sending away the children and letting them go—I am quite clear about that—I am not certain that my wife never told me that she had been to the Mansion House on the 19th July—she might have told me—we have had quarrels before with regard to the children; once at the top of the street—she was kind and affectionate to the children—she is a hardworking woman, too—she takes a glass now and again when she is along with me—as a rule, she is kind and affectionate, and a clean woman too.

JANE FARRER . I live with my father, at 16, Harrow Street, Lisson Grove—I have no mother—I am nineteen years of age—I remember being at Mrs. Broughton's house in the beginning of June this year—Mrs. Jarrett is the person who came to Mrs. Broughton two days running—Monday was the last day—I am almost sure it was on the Monday she came first—when she came I was in Mrs. Broughton's room—Mrs. Broughton was in the yard—Jarrett knocked one Knock at the street-door—Mrs. Broughton came through the passage and asked her who she wanted—Mrs. Broughton said, "It's you, Becky" and then Mrs. Broughton asked her into the room, and then Rebecca Jarrett asked Mrs. Broughton how she was getting on, and Rebecca Jarrett said to Mrs. Broughton, "How are you?"—Mrs. Broughton said, "Very well," then Mrs. Broughton said, "How are you getting on?" and Rebecca said she had a slice of luck; she said that she was out of place, and while she was looking for a place she said she had come across a commercial traveller, to whom she had got married—she said she had a six-roomed house at Wimbledon, and her husband was a particular man—she said all this at the same time—Mrs. Broughton said she was glad to hear she was getting on so well; then Jarrett asked Mrs. Broughton if she knowed a girl that would like a place, as she could not kneel—she wanted a girl to clean the oil-cloth—Mrs. Broughton asked me if I would go—I said, "Yes"—Jarrett said I was too big—she asked me my age—I told her nineteen—that was after she said I was too big—she said she wanted one younger—Mrs. Broughton said she thought she could get Elizabeth Stevens—Elizabeth was passing down Charles Street—Mrs. Broughton called her over—Lizzie Stevens went with Mrs.

Broughton—I went upstairs—I did not hear no agreement between Lizzie Stevens and Mrs. Jarrett—I did not hear anything said—I went upstairs and after a bit I came down again—I went upstairs to my sister-in-law by my own wish—when I came down again Lizzie Stevens was going out of the room—about ten minutes afterwards Eliza Armstrong came in—Eliza Armstrong came and asked Mrs. Broughton if Jarrett was the woman who wanted the girl—she said, "Yes," and asked Eliza where her mother was—she said, "Upstairs"—Mrs. Broughton asked her to go and fetch her mother; and then Eliza said she was gone out—Jarrett had a cup of tea and went away—when Eliza said her mother had gone out Mrs. Broughton said she would not let her go without her mother's consent, and Rebecca Jarrett likewise said so—that was 11 o'clock, or a little after—I went away to dinner, and came back about three—no more girls came in whilst I was there—I was there until Jarrett went away—she walked lame, with a stick—the next day I was at Mrs. Broughton's again, about 10 or half-past—Jarrett came again, about half-past 10—I saw her come in—she told Mrs Broughton that she was going to stay to dinner, and Mrs. Broughton says, "Are you," and Jarrett said, "Yes"—she said, "You ain't got no money to get no dinner with"—Mrs. Broughton said, "Yes, I have"—Jarrett said, "No, you ain't"—Mrs. Broughton said, "Yes, I have; I have got it in the place"—Jarrett said, "Never mind, take this," offering her something—Mrs. Broughton said, "No, thank you, I have got my dinner"—Jarrett said, "Never mind, you have got a shawl in pawn"—Mrs. Broughton said, "That don't matter to you"—Jarrett said, "Yes, it do," and then Jarrett put something into Mrs. Broughton's hand, who put it on the mantel-piece, without seeming to look at it, behind the image—I did not see what it was—after that, about 11 or half-past, Jarrett asked Mrs. Broughton if she had a girl for her—she said "No"—Mrs. Broughton said "Can't you go to a baker's shop? there are plenty of bills there for servants"—Jarrett said she didn't want to go there; and said "Don't you know of a poor little orphan girl, that would like a good home?"—Mrs. Broughton said she thought she did, and she would go down to little Alice West—then Mrs. Armstrong came back into Mrs. Broughton's room with Mrs. Broughton, and told Jarrett that she had let her 'Liza go; then Jarrett asked Mrs. Armstrong if she was willing to let 'Liza go—she said "Yes," and then Jarrett asked 'Liza if she would like to go—'Liza said she would like to go—then Jarrett asked Mrs. Broughton if she had any better clothing—Mrs. Armstrong said "No," and Jarrett said "If you take her upstairs and wash her, I will buy her some," and 'Liza went upstairs with her mother and came back about 2 or half-past 2—that was all that was said at that time; when she came back I was still there—her mother did not come back with her—Jarrett then took her out to buy the clothes—Mrs. Broughton and Jarrett had dinner before 'Liza Armstrong came back; I did not dine with them—then Mrs. Jarrett and 'Liza went out to buy the clothes; they were away about an hour, and when they came back me and Mrs. Broughton had gone out—we came back about 3; Jarrett was at the street door and 'Liza Armstrong, and whilst having tea Jarrett trimmed the hat in Mrs. Broughton's room—Mrs. Armstrong came in, and asked Mrs. Broughton for sixpence; that was after the clothes were pawned—she said she had not got sixpence, and then Jarrett took something out of her purse and gave Mrs. Armstrong,

saying that, would do her much better—I did not see what it was, but Jarrett said it was a shilling, and Mrs. Armstrong went out, saying that she would see Mrs. Jarrett and 'Liza off; before that she asked Mrs. Broughton to see the girl off—after Mrs. Armstrong had gone I went out with Mrs. Broughton and she bought some bread; she took the coin that Jarrett had given her off the mantel-piece—I did not see what it was till we went to the baker's shop, and she put it down on the counter, and then I saw it was a sovereign—Mrs. Broughton went to see 'Liza Armstrong off, and I went home myself—I remember going to a pawn-shop that day for Mrs. Broughton's shawl; she gave me the money to take it out, and some other things also—some weeks after that Mrs. Broughton got me to write a letter for her; this is it. (Dated 10th July, and returned through the Dead Letter Office, therefore the COURT considered that it was not evidence.) Mrs. Broughton did not tell me what to put in it—on the second day Mrs. Broughton and Mrs. Armstrong said that 'Liza was to do the work—I heard Jarrett say she was living at Wimbledon—Jarrett said to Mrs. Broughton that her house was at Croydon, and her country house was at Wimbledon; that she had a six-roomed house at Wimbledon—this (produced) is the letter that Jarrett wrote to Mrs. Broughton—Mrs. Broughton brought it to my house and I read it to her—I sent a telegram like this, but this ain't my writing.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. Jarrett told Mrs. Broughton she was going from Albany Street to Wimbledon. (MR. RUSSELL here read the witness's evidence at the police-court at to the sovereign.) That is correct—I am not sure that Wimbledon was ever mentioned to Mrs. Armstrong—Jarrett said she was to take the girl to Albany Street first and then to Wimbledon—I was present when Jarrett and Mrs. Broughton were together up to the time that the shawl was mentioned—that was the second day—I was in company with them until the time that Jarrett went away the previous day, and heard all that passed, except at dinnertime, I was then away—when Jarrett came I did not know her name—she was called Becky—Mrs. Broughton told me her name was Rebecca Jarrett when she called on the first day—I did not hear her name was Sullivan till she wrote the letter, when she said she had met with a slice of luck, and came across a commercial traveller—Mrs. Broughton didn't ask the name, and Jarrett didn't tell her the name—she said she had got married to him; Mrs. Broughton didn't ask that, she volunteered that—she said her husband was a particular man—I believe I was asked to go to the place, and I was quite willing, but not particularly anxious to go—I had known Mrs. Broughton some time, and I was willing to go—the objection was that I was too big and too old—Jarrett said she wanted one younger than me, and she didn't want a girl over 14—Mrs. Broughton then said "Well, there's a young girl in High wood Street," and at that moment Lizzie Stevens was passing down the street, and Mrs. Broughton called her over—she is about as tall as myself—Jarrett told me after I came down that she was too old and too big—Mrs. Armstrong asked Rebecca Jarrett what she was going to give the child a week—Jarrett said she would give her no money, she would buy her clothes for the first month—that conversation was on the day Eliza was going away—I did not see Mrs. Armstrong until half-past 6 or 7 o'clock at night on the first day—Mrs. Jarrett was gone then—I did not see Mrs. Armstrong at all while

Jarrett was there on the first day—there was no question of wages at all as regards me, or, so far as I know, as regards Lizzie Stevens—Jarrett said she wanted a girl to clean, and Lizzie Stevens was too big and too old, and I saw her going away—it was after that that I saw Eliza come in—that was about 10 minutes after Lizzie Stevens had left—she asked if she could go to the place, and then Mrs. Broughton asked where her mother was, and at first she said that she was upstairs, and when she told her to fetch her she said she had gone out—Mrs. Broughton said she could not take her without her mother's consent; and Jarrett said "No, neither may I take her without her mother's consent," and then she told her to "hook it"—no other girls came that day—the next day I saw Jarrett about 10 or half-past—she told Mrs. Broughton that she was going to stay to dinner—she did not say at first, "Have you been able to get a little girl for me?" that was later—Jarrett said, "You have got a shawl in pawn?"—I do not know how she came to know that—when Mrs. Armstrong came in she asked Mrs. Broughton to go and see her off, and Jarrett asked her if she had a shawl—that was the day that Eliza went away—I don't know how Jarrett knew that the shawl was in pawn—I saw something handed, but what it was I do not know—I went to the baker's shop with Mrs. Broughton, and she produced a sovereign; she said she didn't know it was so much—she did not look at it; she took it from the mantelpiece—I do not think she looked at it at all until she threw it down on the counter to pay for two loaves—she then said she did not think Jarrett had given her so much—she said that Jarrett told her to get a shawl out, but she did not think it was so much money as she gave her—I saw Mrs. Armstrong while Jarrett was gone for the clothes before we went to the baker's shop—Mrs. Armstrong first came on the second day about 11 o'clock with Eliza—when Mrs. Armstrong came back with Eliza she first made some apology to Mrs. Broughton for the names she had called her the night before; and then, turning to Rebecca, she said, "You can take my Eliza; don't take Alice West"—that was the first thing she said about Eliza—Jarrett asked Mrs. Armstrong whether she was sure that she was willing to let the child go—Jarrett also asked the child whether she wished to go, and she said she should like to go—it was after that that the question of clothes was mentioned; if the child had any better clothes; she said "No," and Jarrett said if she would wash the child, she would take her and buy some clothes; and then the mother took Eliza upstairs and washed her, and Eliza came back—Mrs. Armstrong asked Jarrett what she would give her—she said she would give her nothing for the first month; she would buy her clothes for her—I think that was after the clothes were bought—nothing was said about what Eliza was to get, or whether she was to get anything till after the clothes were bought—I am quite clear about that—when Mrs. Armstrong asked for the loan of sixpence, that was after the clothes had been bought—it is not true that Mrs. Armstrong said, "I want a penny to buy something to quiet the baby," what she asked was the loan of sixpence—Mrs. Jarrett gave her something; Mrs. Armstrong looked at it; I don't know whether she said "That will do much better," and went away—she said nothing about going round to the Board School for the key, she asked her to see the child off, because she was going to a funeral—

Alice West is the girl who lives with the Woodwards—I did not hear Mrs. Armstrong give any reason why Mrs. Jarrett should not take her—while Mrs. Armstrong was down with Alice West I was with Mrs. Broughton, and then Mrs. Armstrong came back to Mrs. Broughton—I saw Margaret Fann outside Mrs. Broughton's door talking to Jarrett—I heard Mrs. Armstrong say to Jarrett not to take Alice West—Mrs. Armstrong apologised to Mrs. Broughton for what she said the night before—I was standing at my door with my sister-in-law's baby—she lives in the second-floor back—Mrs. Broughton was standing at the street door, and she met Mrs. Armstrong, who told her that Eliza had come into the room and wanted to go with a person there to service, and then Mrs. Armstrong said "No," and called her names, and said she would not let her go to any b—cow—she did not say to any "b—wh—;" I never heard that—I heard her say "No, I will not let my girl go to such a place, you b—cow"—I do not know any reason why she should call Mrs. Broughton names in that way—she said Eliza wanted to go to service with the person who was in her room; she didn't name the person—I didn't hear her call her Becky—I heard Mrs. Armstrong say, "I ain't going to let my girl go to service, you b—cow"—the other word was not mentioned at all—Mrs. Armstrong was in drink at that time—I have never been in service; I have been at daily work—I had never told Mrs. Broughton I wanted to go to service; but she asked me if I would go—I said "Yes"—she never asked Jarrett if I should do—Jarrett said I was too big and too old—in addition to the five girls that have been mentioned there was a sixth, Mary Plummer, Mrs. Broughton's niece—she is either sixteen or seventeen—she was not in there at all—I did not hear her name mentioned.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. This letter of July 18th is not my writing—I remember writing some of the letters, but there has been some more writing put down at the bottom—it is my writing, but something has been added at the bottom which is not my writing—the beginning of the letter is mine—nobody told me what to put in that letter that I wrote, I did it myself—Mrs. Broughton asked me if I would write a letter for her—I do not know that yesterday it was mentioned in Court—I wrote something because Mrs. Broughton wished me to write a letter—Mrs. Broughton told me, as she was no scholar, to put what I thought would send Eliza home—when I had finished it Mrs. Broughton posted it—I signed the letter "Your affectionate friend, Nancy Broughton"—Mrs. Broughton posted it at the corner of Chapel Street—I was with her, and saw her put it into the post—Mrs. Broughton told me that I was to write a letter that would get them to send Eliza home—she told me to write to Rebecca Jarrett, and to send it to Winchester—there is something at the bottom which is not in my handwriting, for I think it is too close together down at the bottom of the page, at the end of the letter—I have made a mistake—it is all my own handwriting—a moment ago I said that something had been added, because I thought "Nancy Broughton" was too close together—Mrs. Broughton gave me no information from which to write this letter—she asked me to write, and I thought I would, and she said she did not know what to put in it only to send Eliza home—at that time I had heard nothing about Eliza having gone away and not coming back—I had heard about Eliza, and about search being made for her—I knew that search was being made for Eliza, because her mother went to Marylebone Police-court—the mother came and told me—I said "Dear

Rebecca, send her home as she stands, and do not give her any money or clothes until we see that this is all over," because Mrs. Broughton asked me to put in to send her home the same as she went away—her mother came and called in to Mrs. Broughton, and told her she was at the police-court—I was there on the 10th July, I think it was, and I wrote the letter, it might be two or three days after—she had been to the police-court first—the letter is dated the 13th in my handwriting—she said nothing else when she came on the 10th—I had not seen her again between then and the time that I wrote the letter—I had not seen any one who had given information about it—the only information which I had when I wrote this letter was that Mrs. Armstrong had wanted her child back, and had been to the police-court about it—"until we see that this is all over" meant because Mrs. Armstrong accused her of selling the child for a sovereign, and she wanted the child to be brought home to show that she did not sell the child—I meant the disturbance about the child—I had heard that too—there was nothing else I heard from anybody that I can remember—her mother said she had the girl's likeness, and she would go if she could not see the child—she told me that on the day that she went to the police-court, the 10th—she said something was in the Pall Mall Gazette that corresponded with her child going away—I ain't sure whether it was before or after she went to the police-court—I heard her say it when she went to the police-court on either the 10th or 11th—I was at Mrs. Broughton's when she said it—I did not see her on more than one occasion—when Mrs. Armstrong came in and spoke to Mrs. Broughton on this 10th or 11th July Mrs. Armstrong read a small bit of printed paper—I heard it read, but I cannot say what was in it—then Mrs. Armstrong said she was going to Marylebone Police-court to see if she could not hear no advice of her child—she said that Jarrett promised to bring her up within a month, and it was over the month, and she was going to Kilburn, and to have the girl brought home—she said the reading in the Pall Mall Gazette corresponded with her girl going away—that was about all—about that time, as far as I can tell, she was quite friendly with Mrs. Broughton—Mrs. Armstrong said it was all through Mrs. Broughton that she let the girl go away—they used to speak now and again, when they met one another—on that occasion she was angry with Mrs. Broughton—I did not tell Mrs. Armstrong that I had written this letter—I did not tell anybody—she said if it had not been for her she would not have let the girl go—I cannot remember nothing else she said to her—Mrs. Armstrong said that Mrs. Broughton had got a sovereign for the child—she said "Jarrett give it to her for the kind assistance she had been towards her"—I cannot remember anything else—I have written letters for Mrs. Broughton twice—nobody was present when I wrote this letter—Mrs. Broughton has only brought the letter from Jarrett at Winchester for her to read.

Cross-examined by Stead. I was there on the first day that Jarrett came to see Mrs. Broughton all the time—I saw Eliza Armstrong come in, I was in the room; Eliza could have seen me—if Eliza Armstrong says she did not see me, thnt is false—when Eliza came into the room she spoke first—Eliza asked Mrs. Broughton if Rebecca Jarrett was the woman who wanted the girl—Mrs. Broughton did not ask Eliza to go with Jarrett—Jarrett said "Yes"—then Mrs. Broughton asked where her mother was, and she said "Upstairs"—

Mrs. Broughton said "Go and fetch your mother;" and she said "She has gone out"—Mrs. Broughton said she would not let her go without her mother's consent—I do not remember if I said at the police-court that Mrs. Broughton asked Eliza to take the place—if I said that, it was not true—Jarrett said she would not take the child without the parents' consent—I am quite sure Mrs. Broughton said she would not let Eliza go without her mother's consent; and then Rebecca Jarrett said "No, she would not think of taking her without her mother's consent"—she mentioned her mother; and she distinctly said she would not take the girl without her mother's consent—she did not say she must see the mother first—Mrs. Broughton said she would not let the girl go with Jarrett without her mother's consent—then Jarrett said she would not let the girl go without her mother's consent; and she must see the mother first—I heard that conversation between Mrs. Armstrong and Mrs. Broughton, in which Mrs. Armstrong used bad words—Mrs. Broughton made no reply; she walked indoors—she did not talk to me about it—I have said nothing to her about it; I asked no questions; I made no remark, nor did Mrs. Broughton make any remark to me—the next morning I was there when Jarrett came in first—she came straight in, knocked at the door, and came in, and said "Good morning"—Mrs. Broughton said "Good morning"—Jarrett then told Mrs. Broughton she was going to stay to dinner—Mrs. Broughton said she had her dinner in—"Did you get me a girl?" was not the first question she asked, I am quite sure about that—there was no other conversation at all before that except about the dinner—it went all straight off—when Jarrett told Mrs. Broughton that she was going to stop to dinner, Mrs. Broughton said she had dinner in—Rebecca Jarrett offered her some money to get the dinner, and Mrs. Broughton said she had the dinner—it would be about a quarter of an hour or half an hour after Rebecca entered the house that she offered Mrs. Broughton some money—the first thing I heard was about the dinner—I am not sure whether they sat quite quiet all the time for the first half-hour after Mrs. Jarrett came into the house—it was about a quarter of an hour after she came in before the question of the dinner came up—at the police-court I said I saw Jarrett go out with the girl to buy the clothes—after she came back, Rebecca Jarrett took something out of her purse—I saw that; that was not directly she came back; it was about 5 or 10 minutes before Mrs. Armstrong come in—she did not take something out of her purse twice—she gave Mrs. Broughton the money before Jarrett went out to buy the clothes—it was not for Mrs. Broughton she took the money out of her purse, because she had given Mrs. Broughton the money before—after she came back Rebecca Jarrett took something out of her purse to give to Mrs. Armstrong—I did not hear Mrs. Armstrong ask Mrs. Broughton if Rebecca Jarrett was a genuine woman—I am quite sure she never did when I was there, nor ask about her character, nor if she was a married woman, nor where she lived—all that Mrs. Armstrong knew was that Jarrett was going to take her to Albany Street—Mrs. Broughton told Mrs. Armstrong she was going to Albany Street—I heard her say that on July 10th—I was in the room when Mrs. Armstrong came in—Mrs. Armstrong spoke to Mrs. Broughton at the door—I could hear all that was said—after Mrs. Armstrong had gone to the police-court, Mrs. Broughton said nothing to me—I said nothing to Mrs. Broughton

—I knew Mrs. Armstrong, and I knew Mrs. Broughton intimately—I had never talked to Mrs. Brougnton about anything—I am not often in Mrs. Broughton's house—I was there when Jarrett came the first day, and when she came the second day, and when Mrs. Armstrong came on July 10th—those were not the only three days I have ever been in Mrs. Broughton's—I goes in generally now and again—I have my own sister-in-law in the house, and now and again I go in to Mrs. Broughton to fetch her errands, if she wants any—I never heard her make any remarks about anything—it is not a large room—I could hear if Mrs. Broughton made any remarks—I never heard her make any remarks to her neighbours I heard Mrs. Armstrong say that Mrs. Broughton had 1l.—I heard Mrs. Armstrong say she had more than 1l., but not that day—I did not hear Mrs. Armstrong say anything to Mrs. Broughton about this until after she went to the police-court—I did then—I said before the adjournment that I had only heard Mrs. Armstrong speak to Mrs. Broughton once—the something that I heard after she came from the police-court was out in the street—I do not know whether it was about this thing or not. Q. Well, you heard Mrs. Armstrong tell Mrs. Broughton she had more than 1l.? A. Not the same day as the girl went away—I heard Mrs. Armstrong tell Mrs. Broughton that she got more than 1l. for that child after the Pall Mall Gazette came out—I do not know what date it was—I think it was about two weeks, or a little after, after she went to the Court—two weeks after she had been to the police-court Mrs. Armstrong passed me by Mrs. Broughton's door, when she was going to the post with some letters in her hand Mrs. Broughton was standing at the street-door, and she began to call her names—I was there and heard them, because the room-door was open—I heard Mrs. Armstrong say to Mrs. Broughton, "You got more than 1l. for that child"—she did not say how much more—Mrs. Broughton said the sovereign was not given to her for the child; it was given for the kindness and assistance she had done towards Jarrett—Mrs. Broughton said she did not receive any more—Mrs. Broughton told Mrs. Armstrong she did not receive any more than 1l.—Mrs. Broughton said nothing more that I recollect—I did not hear Mrs. Broughton tell Mrs. Armstrong that she had 1l.—I never heard Mrs. Broughton tell Mrs. Armstrong that she (Mrs. Amstrong) had any money—I have heard no conversation about it since—no one ever said anything more to me about that, I am quite sure—no one has ever said anything to me about this case—Mrs. Broughton has said nothing to me about it since the first day I was in the room—I have seen Mrs. Broughton during the last two months—she has never mentioned Eliza Armstrong's name to me only when she asked me to write a letter; with that exception Mrs. Broughton has never said one word to me about this case; nor any one else round about among our neighbours—Inspector Borner has not spoken to me, nor told me what to say here—he brought Mrs. Broughton the address of Jarrett at Winchester, and told me to write the letter and put the piece of Lloyd's Newspaper in the letter—that is all that Inspector Borner has said to me about it.

By MR. WADDY. I have been going to Charles Street to Mrs. Broughton's now and again frequently, and no one has said anything to me or mentioned Eliza Armstrong's name except on two occasions: first when Mrs. Broughton asked me to write the letter to Winchester and the second when Inspector Borner asked me to put the Lloyd's cutting

in the letter going to Jarrett, until I went down to Whitehall—no one has said anything to me since then—I do not remember any other time but those three—no one spoke to me after I had given my evidence at the police-court; and when I was waiting to give my evidence no one spoke to me.

Re-examined. I think it was on the 19th August I went to Whitehall; the same day Mrs. Armstrong and Mrs. Broughton went there—in the letter of the 13th July the mother said she was going to get the likeness—her mother said that Rebecca Jarrett made the agreement to give the girl 2s. a week—I said, "Mrs. Armstrong said that you give me a 'sovern' for her" because Mrs. Broughton said it—I put the piece of Lloyd's Newspaper in the same letter to Winchester—Inspector Borner told me to put the piece of Lloyd's Newspaper in it—I put the back of the envelope for Jarrett to send the paper back again—the previous letter, dated 10th July. is in my handwriting—that was the day I first wrote a letter for Mrs. Broughton—that came back through the Dead Letter Office, the Wimbledon office—I put wimbledon on it because Jarrett said she had a six-roomed house at Wimbledon, and it was somewhere near Hampton Court—the date on the letter that Mr. Waddy has referred to is the 13th, that is in my handwriting—that was the day I wrote the second letter—I only wrote the two letters, the 10th and 13th July—I heard no noise or anything which would lead me to think there was more than one coin passed from the hands of Jarrett to Mrs. Broughton—there was nothing which enabled me to say one way or the other—after I had written that letter of the 13th I read it over to Mrs. Broughton, before it was posted, from beginning to end.

ELIZABETH STEVENS . I live at 7, Highwood Street, Marylebone, with my father; my mother is not living there—I was in the habit of going there in June last my sister was living there—I was in the Derby-day, in June, I went into that street to see her about ten minutes to one—at that time I had known Mrs. Broughton about three months—I saw Mrs. Broughton on that occasion at the street-door—she called me over—I went into her room, where I saw Jarrett, whom I did not know before—I did not know here name or who she was—I went into the room and Jarrett looked at me—she said, "You are too big," and then she asked me how old I was—I said seventeen—she said, "You are too big and too old"—she said, "I wanted a girl between 13 and 14 to do housework and clean oilcloths and carpets at Wimbledon; a six-roomed house"—she told me she had a broken thigh—she said they were a lot of roughs over there, and she did not want the girl to mix in with the roughs—I walked out of the room then, and went over to my sister's—when I got out in the street I mentioned only to Margaret Fann about a servent being wanted—I did not see Elizabeth Armstrong; I knew her—the girl I spoke to went to Mrs. Broughton's street-door; I did not see whether she went in—I went straight home then.

Cross-examined by MR. CHARLES MATHEWS. I was not looking for any service at this time.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. Mrs. Broughton knew nothing about me except she had seen me in the street, neither about my character, nor abilities, nor anything.

Cross-examined by Stead. She told me I was too big at first—then she asked me my age; I said 17—then she said she only wanted a girl

between 13 and 14, and then I knew I would not get the place, and I walked out of the place then, when she told me what place it was, and where it was, and what sort of house it was—I walked out of the room as soon as I knew I was too old—Jarrett told me about the oilcloths and scrubbing and all that—Jarrett told me I was too old, and would not suit her because I was too old—when she told me I was too big and too old she told me about the house, and she told me she wanted a girl between 13 and 14—I did not like the situation; she said I was too old.

HENRY WILLIAM SMITH . I live at Boston Place, Dorset Square, and drive a four-wheeled cab—I was with my cab on the Derby Day, Wednesday, 3rd June, at Quebec Street, near Marylebone Road—Jacques came up to me and told me to drive to 3, Milton Street, and stop this side of the door—he told me I was to drive afterwards to Poland Street, the ham and beef shop, I do not know the number—I then went to Milton Street to take up, and stopped a few yards short of No. 3—after Jacques had spoken to me I saw a second gentleman, to whom I do not speak positively, but I believe that was Mr. Stead—then afterwards a woman came out, and Jarrett, a woman walking lame with a stick, and the child, Eliza Armstrong, got into my cab—I drove them at once to Poland Street, to the ham and beef shop, about half-past 9 o'clock at night—within a minute alter I arrived I saw the same two gentlemen in Poland Street, Jacques and the other gentleman—Jarrett went into the shop and got change, and came and paid me—she and the child went towards the Oxford Street end; the two gentlemen, it seemed to me, turned east; I do not know what became of them, I turned west—they were together, the two gentlemen, Jarrett, and the child—I went away, and saw nothing more of them.

Cross-examined by MR. HENRY MATTHEWS. Quebec Street is within 50 yards of Milton Street—I did not go close to the gate, but I saw the woman and the child come out of the garden gate; I did not see them until they came out—I do not know how the two gentlemen came to Poland Street.

EDWARD BORNER (Police Inspector). I am an inspector in the Metropolitan Police Force attached to Scotland Yard—on Tuesday, 14th July, I went to Charles Street and saw Mrs. Armstrong there—I had not seen her at the police-court before—I also saw Mrs. Broughton—I was shown the letter of 10th June addressed "Hope Cottage, Highcliff, Winchester," and two post-cards on 14th July—on 15th July I went to Winchester—I found Hope Cottage closed; there was no means of getting in or any one there; it was in the day-time I was there—I then had a conversation with Mrs. Josephine Butler—I was able to learn nothing in Winchester about the woman Jarrett or the child Eliza Armstrong—after the interview with Mrs. Butler the following day, 16th July, I came back to London and went to see Mr. Bramwell Booth at the head-quarters of the Salvation "Army," 101, Queen Victoria Street—I said, "I am Inspector Borner; I have come to see you with respect to a case that appeared in Lloyd's Newspaper of last Sunday about a girl named Eliza Armstrong; I have been referred to you by Mrs. Josephine Butler, of Winchester"—he said, "Yes, I know something of the case, but I cannot tell you exactly where the child is at present, but if you like I will have inquiries made during the day, and let you know"—I thanked him, and asked him if he would send the address to Mr. Munroe. Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard; he said he would do so, and I left—I reported to Mr.

Munroe in the ordinary way—up to my next interview, 31st July, so far as I know, no address had been received—on that 31st July I attended at the Marylebone Police-court before Mr. Cooke, and after receiving his instructions went again to Mr. Booth at 101, Queen Victoria Street, and saw him—he said, "Since I saw you last my position as regards the girl Armstrong is very much altered; she is now under my control, and in service with a lady on the Continent; she is being well brought up and educated as a Christian"—I said, "I have come from Mr. Cooke, the Magistrate of Marylebone Police-court"—he said, "We shall be prepared to make application that the child should become a ward in Chancery rather than return to the same kind of living"—I asked him if he would see the mother the following day—he said, "Yes, any time between 11 and 4"—he said that he had had inquiries made, and found that the mother was a drunken woman, and the neighbourhood a bad one for the child to go to, or to return to—I then returned to the police-court and reported the facts to the Magistrate, and next day, 1st August, about 11 o'clock, after seeing the Magistrate the previous evening, Mrs. Armstrong, Inspector Conquest, and I went again to Mr. Booth's—I said to him, "This is Mrs. Armstrong," and to Mrs. Armstrong, "This is Mr. Booth, now speak to him"—she said, "I have come to speak to you about my child, I want her back"—he said, "You cannot have her, for she is in the South of France with a lady, being well brought up and educated"—she said, "Why cannot I have her back?"—he said, "Because I have been put to great expense; have you 100l.?"—she said, "No, Sir, I am only a poor woman"—he said, "Well, that is about what it cost me; why don't you let her remain? I will pay you her wages monthly, or how you like, and I will give you her address, and you can communicate with her, and when she comes to England you can see her; if you will sign a receipt I will pay you the wages due to her;" and turning to me he said, "What do you think, two or three shillings a week?"—I said, "That is a question which I cannot interfere in, it is for the parents"—Mrs. Armstrong said, "No, Sir, I want my child back"—I said to Mr. Booth, "The mother seems to be under the impression that the child has been tampered with or outraged"—he said to the mother, "I can assure you that when the child was brought to me she was pure"—the mother clasped her hands together and said, "Thank God for that," and burst out crying—Mr. Booth said, "She was examined by a medical gentleman, and I have a certificate, and if Mr. Cooke would like to see it I will find it"—I said, "I do not think that will be necessary, but I will mention it to Mr. Cooke"—he said, "Why don't you let her remain?"—she said, "Because I want her back to take before a Magistrate to prove that I never sold her"—Mr. Booth said, "She would not know whether she was sold"—the mother said, "Oh, yes, a girl of 13 would know whether she was sold or not"—he then got up from his seat and went to a desk—he said, "Well, if you are determined to have her back," taking from the desk a piece of paper, "there, this is her address, that is all I can do for you"—that was the piece of paper with "L'Oriel" on it, which was produced the other day—the mother thanked him, and he said, "You had better consult your husband, and let me know if you determine to let the child remain"—she said, "Yes, I will, Sir"—we then left.

By the COURT. During the whole of that conversation Booth did not

in any way suggest that the child had been sold, nor did he tell the mother that she had consented to the child going away.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Mr Booth did not say to Mrs. Armstrong "Did you not know or understand that Jarrett was a gay woman, or was keeping a gay house?"—Mr. Booth said "You knew that your child was going to Albany Street," Mrs. Armstrong said "Yes, I heard that Jarrett was staying there"—I said "This is the first time, Mrs. Armstrong, you have told me anything about Albany Street; you should have told me this before, as it might greatly have assisted me"—she replied "I thought I did"—before we left Booth said "Have you not received a letter from your child?" she said "Yes, but there is no address on it" that was all that passed at the interview to the best of my memory—on 2nd August I went for a holiday, and while at Wisbeach I received this letter; it is addressed to Inspector Bowen, which caused delay: "Salvation Army, 101, Queen Victoria Street, 7th August, 1885. Dear Sir,—I heard from friends in Winchester that Mrs. Armstrong went down there yeaterday inquiring for her child. I am surprised at this, because you well remember when she left me the other morning she was to consider with her husband whether they would agree to let the child remain where she is, accepting our assurance of its well-being, and communicate with me her decision through you. Have you heard anything further? From recent statements in the newspapers I cannot tell whether the woman is really anxious to have the child back, or whether she is being made the tool of others. I rely upon your letting me know what is the fact. I only desire the child's welfare; and I think it will be a great misfortune if it has to be sent back to its friends. I remain, yours faithfully, W. Bramwell Booth." I sent that to Scotland Yard—it is not correct, as stated there, that I had undertaken to let Mr. Booth know what the mother's decision was; that is a mistake—the paragraph in Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper was on 12th July, 1885—this is the extract (produced)—I do not remember having a conversation in July with Jane Farrer as to a letter going to be written to Winchester—I came back from my holiday on 19th August, and on the 23rd, Sunday, I went to Charles Street, Lisson Grove, and saw Mrs. Armstrong, who showed me the letter, which has been put in, signed "The Chief Director," with the stamp of the Pall Mall Gazette office—on Monday, the 24th, at half-past 9 o'clock, I went again to Mrs. Armstrong—Mr. Thickness came in—I told him who I was—it was arranged that we should go down to Wimbledon with Mrs. Armstrong—on leaving the house with Mrs. Armstrong and her eldest daughter I saw the defendant Jacques at the corner of the street—we went to Mr. Stead's house at Wimbledon, and Mr. Jacques said to Mrs. Stead "This is Mrs. Armstrong, the mother of the child," and Mrs. Stead shook hands with her—Stead was not there; we were shown into a room—Mrs. Stead left the room, and returned in about a minute with the girl Armstrong and Miss Green; the mother said "Oh my child!" they kissed each other, and put their arms round each other's necks and began to cry; the child seemed very glad to see her mother, and the mother to see the child—Mrs. Stead suggested that they should be left alone to recover themselves, and they were taken into another room and left alone with the eldest daughter—I went into the garden with Jacques, Mr. Thicknesse, and Mrs. Stead, and after about halt an hour Mrs. Stead went up into the room—when she came back she said to Mr. Jacques in my presence

"The mother is resolved to take the child home, and the girl is determined to go with her; they seem very firm on this"—Jacques said "Well, then, we must let then go"—I said "I am going to take the mother and child to Scotland Yard, and their statements will be taken; if you would like you can go with me"—Stead was not there—either Jacques Thicknesse said "Yes, we will go, as we want it made as public as possible"—Mr. Thicknesse is the secretary of the Minors' Protection Society—they accompanied me to the Treasury—the warrant for Jarrett's apprehension was issued on 22nd August, and I had been endeavouring to find her from the 22nd—on 29th August I went with Inspector Butcher to see Mr Booth at the Salvation "Army" headquarters—I said "I have come to see you with respect to Rebecca Jarrett, can you tell me where she is? You gave us the address of the girl Armstrong, and she has been restored to her parents; can you tell me where I can find Rebecca Jarrett"—he said "Yes; but perhaps it would be best that I should have her brought to London; she has been placed in my care by Mrs. Josephine Butler, who is at present on the continent, I will have her brought to London on Monday"—I said "If you will give me her address I will save you the trouble and expense"—he said "No, I will have her brought here; sometimes second thoughts are the best; what do you want to see her for?"—I said "It has been stated in the newspapers that Mrs. Armstrong sold her child; she denies it, and I want to see Mrs. Jarrett"—he said "It was Mrs. Broughton that had the money"—I said she also denies it—I heard from the solicitor that Jarrett surrendered at Scotland Yard at 2 o'clock on the Monday—when she came on 1st September to Scotland Yard her solicitor and a female, "Captain." Jones, were with her—on 3rd September I went to No. 3, Milton Street, into the house which was Madame Mourey's, and I noticed when I was in the room a curtained-off partition there—on 25th September I took Eliza Armstrong and her sister to 27, Nottingham Place, Marylebone Road—she identified the servant—it is a doctor's house—the child also pointed out to me No. 16, Albany Street, and the shops where the clothes were bought; and the door of the ham-and-beef shop in Poland Street, which has been spoken of as the next house, but is really the door of the ham-and-beef shop, No. 32.

Cross-examined by MR. HENRY MATTHEWS. I and Jacques went down in company together to Wimbledon with Mrs. Armstrong and the eldest daughter—Mr. Thicknesse spoke to Jacques, and told him who I was—he mentioned that I was an inspector of the police accompanying the mother and daughter down—I went to Mr. Stead's house with them, so that both Jacques and Thicknesse were thoroughly aware that the police had charge of Mrs. Armstrong, and her case and interest—their only observation when I asked them to go to Scotland Yard wag that they wished the utmost publicity.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. Mr. Booth said to me "Don't you think it would be much better for the child if she could remain in a good situation?"—my answer to that was, "Yes, I do think it would be much better for the child to stay"—I told Mr. Booth at the first interview I had come to see him in reference to the child, and he promised me the address—I did not ask for it then and there, because he promised it before I had time to ask for it—at the interview of the 29th August, when I spoke about Rebecca Jarrett, where it was stated that Mrs. Armstrong

had sold her child, he replied "No, it was Mrs. Broughton that had the money"—I have no recollection of a conversation at the first interview with regard to the characters, as Mr. Booth believed them to be, of the father and the mother—I have no recollection of his telling me first of all that he thought I ought, before I went any further, to inquire into the character of the Armstrongs; to the best of my belief he did not—Mr. Booth did mention a woman at Folkestone who was pretending to be a sister of mercy, and under that garb was carrying on this traffic in girls—I believe he said he had been making inquiries to find who this woman was—I do not remember saying I should like to have the information if he could get it—he said he would send it to the police—I did not say it had better go to Mr. Munroe—the only time Mr. Munroe was mentioned was with respect to the address of the child Armstrong—I suggested to Mrs. Armstrong and to Mrs. Broughton that a letter should be sent by each of them when I found that Rebecca Jarrett had left Winchester—I did not supply Mrs. Broughton or Jane Fairer with a piece of Lloyd's Newspaper to put into a letter to send—I had no idea of the contents of that letter—I had not seen Jane Farrer at that time—I supplied them with no extract—the only extract I had was gummed on paper, and that is in the possession of the Treasury now—I never instructed Jane Farrer to write.

Cross-examined by Mr. Stead. I had had this matter in charge from Scotland Yard—I am the only officer who has had it in charge, except when I have been assisted by one or two at an interview—the matter was in my hands—when I left town my reports had been submitted to the Commissioners—I was within three or four hours' call—I was called back on the 19th—I did not keep the case in my own hands after I had reported upon it—after I had reported, the responsibility for looking after it would rest with the Commissioners of Police—there is no person I can name who was personally responsible for conducting the inquiry after I reported upon it, unless the papers had been sent to some other officer—you can hold me responsible for the inquiries I have made myself—if I was out of town you would look to the Commissioners of Police—I first learnt from Mrs. Armstrong that "Lily" was regarded as identical with Eliza on the 31st July—I then read that article from the Pall Mall Gazette for the first time—I was struck with the identity between the letter that the mother showed me and the verses of the "Lily" story—if the mother has sworn in Court that she did not get the letter with the verses until August, that is wrong, because that letter was produced before Mr. Cooke, I believe—I think the letter was received about the 28th July—I was directed to attend before the Magistrate at Marylebone Police-court, and I attended before him, and took his instructions—I did not know that you had anything to do with the child at all—I did not come and ask some one at the Pall Mall Gazette office about it, because Mr. Booth told me that the child was under his control on the 31st July—on the same day that I saw the Pall Mall Gazette I saw Mr. Booth—that quite satisfied me—I had obtained the address very nearly three weeks before the father was sent to the South of France; that was the 19th August; I am speaking now of the 31st—I submitted reports, and I waited any further instructions—that cleared me of my official duty—I had so far traced her—I do not know why I should be going running about London and to the Gazette office when I found the person who had

control of the child—to my knowledge no one ever came from Scotland Yard to ask the Pall Mall Gazette people a single question about Eliza Armstrong—I had no cause to go to you or the Pall Mall Gazette—I did not come there—I was satisfied Mr. Booth had custody of the child—I did not send an officer running all over the South of France; the officer had started away before I got to London—so far I had completed my inquiry—when Mr. Booth told me he had control of the child I was satisfied; and on the following day he gave the address of that child—I was not aware that if I had come to the Pall Mall Gazette office I would hate got the information—if I had seen Mr. Booth, and had got no information from him, I possibly might have come to the office of the Pall Mall Gazette—possibly the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette might have given me some information—I did not think it worth while to try after I found Mr. Booth had control of the child—it did not occur to me, and no one mentioned to me to the effect that I had only to go across from Scotland Yard to Northumberland Street in order to have the child given back to me at once—on the 31st July I saw Mr. Thomas—I had but very little conversation with him—I did not know he had been interesting himself in this case at that time—I was speaking to Mrs. Armstrong, and Mr. Thomas called her away, and told her not to speak to me; he did not know who I was—afterwards he showed me the articles in the Pall Mall Gazette—he said nothing to me, because we were then called before the Magistrate—when I went down to Winchester on the 15th to inquire as to the whereabouts of the child I saw Mrs. Butler, and had conversation with her—to the best of my belief she said she had been engaged on the Secret Commission of the Pall Mall Gazette—the reason that sent me there was because Rebecca Jarrett wrote from Winchester—Mrs. Butler is the wife of the Canon of Winchester—I will not say she knew something about Eliza Armstrong, because of her connection with the Secret Commission—the Secret Commission came into the conversation with reference to the address of the child—she said she had been up in London engaged on the Secret Commission, and had only just returned from London—I never made any inquiry into the character of the mother of the child at that time, and did not know it—I had no idea that the mother was a drunken woman at that time—I know now that she is given to drink, but nothing further—I reported at Scotland Yard and washed my hands of the whole business on the 1st August—I advised the mother to say nothing of what I was doing as regards my actions—it was not that I recommended the mother to have no more to say about the matter—I said to Mr. Bramwell Booth it would be much better for the child, if she was in a good situation, to stay than to go back to that place, by which I meant the locality where she resided; it was a bad street—I thought it was better for her to remain in a good situation than to go back to a drunken home—I thought it would be a good thing if she was in a good situation—I did not say that to Mr. Booth—as regards myself, I never promised to communicate at all with regard to Mrs. Armstrong, I was leaving town the following day, and it would be an impossibility—she was not to communicate through the police—Mrs. Armstrong would communicate herself—I should think nothing was said at that interview that would lead Mrs. Armstrong to imagine that she had to communicate through the police—the conclusion at which the parents arrived was not to be conveyed through the police, but through the mother—nothing at

that interview occurred which could have led us both to come to the conclusion that the communication was to be made not through the parents but through the police—nothing I can recollect—I was not present at the Marylebone Police-court when Mrs. Armstrong made her application to Mr. Cooke—it was at a private interview with Mr. Cooke that Mr. Thomas showed the Pall Mall Gazette to me—I went down to your house with Mrs. Armstrong and the Misses Armstrong—possibly I may have there expressed myself concerning the bad character of Charles Street; it is a bad character place too—I took three or four detectives in plain clothes to your house because, in the first place, I held a warrant for the arrest of Rebecca Jarrett—I thought it possible that she might be the cause of bringing the girl back as she had taken her away, and I took them down to arrest Rebecca Jarrett for one thing, and the second thing to know who Mr. Jacques and Mr. Thicknesse were—Mr. Jacques had given the names—I thought the detectives would be able to find out at your house who they were.

Re-examined. I did not know whether Mrs. Broughton could write or not when I told her to write a letter—my instructions were to both the mother and Mrs. Broughton to write to Jarrett—Mrs. Armstrong's application to the Court was fully reported in Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper of the 12th July, 1885, and in the Pall Mall Gazette of 13th July, and in some of the other papers as well—I never heard that Mr. Stead or the Chief Director communicated with any one, except the letter which Mrs. Armstrong showed me on the 23rd August, and the public statement he made at the Conference at St. James's Hall on Friday the 21st; that was the earliest date at which any statement or communication was made in connection with what is called the Chief Director or Mr. Stead—I saw the report of the Conference on the following day, the 22nd—nothing was said about the Pall Mall Gazette being able to give that child back, information with regard to the child was refused, or any information which enabled me to trace Jarrett.

By the JURY. At the two interviews between me and Mr. Booth, he never suggested to me that the mother had sold this child—I did not supply or advise a piece of Lloyd's paper to be Sent in a letter—I believe Inspector Conquest saw Mr. Booth with respect to the letter he had sent me—he made no further inquiry with respect to the address of the child.

DR. HEYWOOD SMITH . I attend here on subpoena, and have given no statement to the Treasury, or to the Treasury officials—I received a letter, asking whether I would make a statement after the subpoena was served upon me—I practise at No. 18, Harley Street—I am a Doctor of Medicine, University of Oxford, and a Member of the Royal College of Physicians—I am not a member of the Salvation "Army," but am indirectly connected with it as a friend—I am acquainted with Mr. Bramwell Booth—on the night of the 3rd or morning of the 4th June I went to No. 27, Nottingham Place, between 2 and 3 in the morning, or about 3 o'clock—I had arranged to go there with Mr. Stead—I had seen Booth before I went there; I do not think with reference to going there—I merely saw Mr. Booth as I had seen Mr. Stead—it was Mr. Booth introduced me to Mr. Stead originally—I do not think I saw Booth with reference to this particular case; I think it was a general inquiry—I do not think I had seen Mr. Bramwell Booth with regard to my visit to Nottingham Place—Mr. Booth introduced me to Mr. Stead about five

months ago, about the end of May; I do not know how near the end of May, I cannot remember—I dare say it was before 31st May, because it was about the end of May; it is impossible for me to remember, say the last week in May—I have not the slightest recollection nearer than that—I was introduced to Mr. Stead to be of any help I could to him in the investigation he was about to make—I arranged with Mr. Stead to go to 27, Nottingham Place on the night of the 3rd June—I think it was about 11 o'clock at night; I was then at home—he came to my house in Harley Street—Eliza Armstrong was with him, and Jarrett—Eliza Armstrong and Jarrett came into my house; Mr. Stead came to speak to me first, and then Jarrett and Eliza Armstrong came in—Mr. Stead was talking to me, and I suppose it would be perhaps half an hour, or an hour, or so they remained at my house—I did nothing at all to Eliza Armstrong at my own house—when they left my house I knew where they were going to; I gave them a letter to a Miss Hutchinson at 27, Nottingham Place, asking Miss Hutchinson to take in Mrs. Sullivan and the child who accompanied her, "urgent case; money no object"—"Could Miss Hutchinson take in Mrs. Sullivan and the child who accompanied her? Urgent case. Will call in two hours. Money no object"—that, so far as I recollect, was the contents of the letter; it was a three-cornered note, written off and given by me to Mr. Stead—I believe Mr. Stead, Jarrett, and Eliza Armstrong left in the cab—subsequently I went to Nottingham Place; I got there, I think, a little after 2, Miss Hutchinson let me in—she had taken in patients for me before—I knew she was connected with the Salvation "Army"—Mr. Stead was not there when I got there—I had a conversation with Miss Hutchinson—I gave Miss Hutchinson some chloroform, which I had taken with me—I gave her instructions to give it to the child—I went into the room while Miss Hutchinson was administering the chloroform; Jarrett was in the room in bed all the time, in a different bed from the child; she was awake—I spoke to her, I dare say, by her name, Mrs. Sullivan; I think that is most likely, that is the name I put in my notes—I had got that name from Mrs. Stead—the chloroform affected the child, she went off under the influence of it—I examined her just by the touch only; I examined her private parts, to see in fact whether the child was a virgin—that was in the presence of Jarrett—of course I had understood, and fully believed, that the child had been purchased—it is possible to ascertain whether a child is a virgin merely by touch; the finger is partly inserted in the parts; nothing but the finger—I had asked for vaseline—Miss Hutchioson was not in the room at any part of the time during this examination; she was outside—the child did not wake at all during the time—I spoke to Jarrett and then went out of the room—I subsequently wrote out a certificate—I had it forwarded to Mr. Stead; I sent it under cover—that certificate was sent then to Mr. Booth—I sent that certificate under cover to Mr. Booth; the certificate was to Mr. Stead—I put it in an envelope, which I directed to Mr. Bramwell Booth, 101, Queen Victoria Street, I think—I did not make more than one copy of it—the substance of the certificate was to the effect that I had examined Eliza Armstrong, and found her to be virgo intacta—I sent that the same day, the morning of the 4th—I do not know how soon after that I saw Mr. Bramwell Bootn; I saw him at different times, and it is quite impossible for me to recollect when I saw him next—I have not the least idea how long afterwards—

I do not think I saw him the next day—sometimes I frequently see him, and sometimes weeks elapse—I really cannot say whether, at the beginning of June, on or about the 4th, I saw Mr. Booth pretty frequently—it would be really guess work if I did—I have no recollection at all—I do not remember if I had a conversation with Mr. Booth about Eliza Armstrong—at the request of Mr. Stead I had done a thing which I do not do frequently—I had not done such a thing before under similar circumstances—I may have done it to a patient, but had never made such a examination before under such circumstances—I have not the least recollection, my Lord, when I saw him next after that—I cannot recollect at all whether when I did see him I told about it—probably I did have a conversation about it, but so far as I can recollect it, it is quite true—I cannot recollect—I do not know why I sent the certificate to Queen Victoria Street and not straight to Mr. Stead unless Mr. Stead had asked me to send it under cover to Mr. Booth—Mr. Stead's name did not appear upon it at all, but I sent it to Mr. Booth to give to Mr. Stead, because it was for Mr. Stead that the certificate was written—I am not able to say now whether you had any conversation with Mr. Bramwell Booth on that subject after the 4th June—I might have had a conversation and forgotten—the arrangement was made with Mr. Stead that I should go and make this examination when he called at my house that night about eleven, I think—the arrangement was that I should go to the house, and see the girl, and examine her, nothing else—I was paid three guineas by Mr. Stead—I do not know the exact time—he sent me a cheque some time afterwards—I meant when I said in the letter "Money no object" that as an inducement for Miss Hutchinson to take in the case, because she was not accustomed to take in patients for one night, and she might have thought it was worth her while—it was my suggestion to send patients to Nottingham Place—I suggested the house—Mr. Stead paid her—I forget now whether it actually passed through my hands—Mr. Stead told me he wanted this girl examined—because I understood and fully believed the girl was purchased—Stead told me that he purchased the girl with the knowledge of the people from whom he purchased it, that it was for immoral purposes, and I knew that he intended to rescue the child—he told me on this night he intended to rescue the girl, and she was to be placed in the hands of people who would take care of her—the Salvation Army people, I suppose; and it was very important that the people who were going to rescue her should know that she was a pure girl and not a prostitute—he told me that when he came late at night on the 3rd June—I had not known anything about Eliza Armstrong before he came to me—I understand that they would not have taken the same interest in her if she had been a prostitute as they intended—I had been told that the girl had been taken to a French woman to examine, and what the Frenchwoman said about her—I think I was told that the supposed connection or the rape would be probably painful to her, and that the Frenchwoman had sold some chloroform to Mr. Stead—she sold to Mr. Stead some chloroform, I suppose for the girl to be put under, to drug her—Mr. Stead told me that—I was told that the woman had charged thirty shillings for the chloroform—Mr. Stead told me this about connection being painful, I suppose, to explain the case—he told me about the case—he was narrating to me what had already happened—he said that the Frenchwoman considered she was a

virgin—he gave me to understand that that was the result of the French-woman's examination—I forget whether he told me that a guinea had been paid for the Frenchwoman's certificate. Q. Did he tell you that he had paid for the Frenchwoman's certificate, verbal certificate? A. It is so difficult now to separate all that—some of the details are so unimportant—most likely on this night they told me they had paid the Frenchwoman for the examination—I do not know whether they told me anything as to what the Frenchwoman was to do after Eliza Armstrong had been ravished, or raped—he told me what the Frenchwoman's habits were with regard to children—I had never seen any other girl coming from this Frenchwoman before—it was with regard to that case, I think; and he said if the child was torn the Frenchwoman would patch her up—I do not represent that any other girl has ever been brought to me by Stead who has been in the hands of this Frenchwoman—that never has happened—I was to examine her again, because she had been in a brothel with Mr. Stead, lest any one should say anything against Mr. Stead—that was an additional witness—I knew from Mr. Stead that night that that girl was going to be taken or given over to the Salvation Army—I do not remember Mr. Stead saying that I was to send the certificate to Mr. Bramwell Booth, because he required it—I cannot say it was not so—(MRS. JARRETT. He makes people tell lies)—I do not see any other reason—it is highly probable that I did speak about Eliza Armstrong to Mr. Bramwell Booth at the meetings afterwards, perhaps on more occasions than one—I did not mean it was doubtful if I had any conversation—I understood the Counsel to ask how soon after I had seen Mr. Bramwell Booth—I think it was from him that I understood she had been sent abroad—I did not know where, except to France—I may have written to Mr. Bramwell Booth some time or another—I often do write to him—I have been in communication with him right up to the present time—with Mr. Stead too—I did not on that night of the 3rd June see Jacques—I did not know him—I do not think I saw Madame Combe—I did not know Madame Combe—I cannot remember when I first saw her in connection with Eliza Armstrong—I do not recollect having seen her.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. Previously to this I had had conversations with Mr. Bramwell Booth with regard to the wickedness and vice that he believed to exist with regard to young girls in London, and with Mr. Stead on the same subject—until Mr. Bramwell Booth introduced me to Mr. Stead I was a stranger to Mr. Stead—he told me in Mr. Stead's presence he should be glad if I would give Mr. Stead any information I could give upon this terrible subject, and refer Mr. Stead to any one else who I thought could guide him in his inquiries—on different occasions I saw Mr. Stead and Mr. Booth with regard to this matter—both were in a state of great indignation at the discoveries that were made—except these general remarks by Mr. Bramwell Booth, so far as I knew they had nothing whatever to do with the case of Eliza Armstrong until after she had passed out of my hands—whatever had taken place with regard to the girl up to that time had been, so far as I was told by Mr. Stead, Mr. Stead's work—I saw Mr. Booth about Eliza Armstrong that same evening, before she came there, and before this examination was made—I think it was between 10 and 11, at my house—when the child came I was informed by Mr. Stead that she had

actually gone through the process of being placed for a time in a brothel—after all experiment was over she was still a pure and unharmed girl—Mr. Stead told me that the girl had been sold, as he understood, by her parents to him for infamous purposes—Mr. Stead told me that he meant to stand between that child and harm, and that he should commit it to the care of the Salvation "Army," that it might be safe; that his only object was the rescue of the child from a life of infamy, and that he had prevailed upon Mr. Booth to take charge of the child from him; and that, for his own protection, as well as the protection of Mr. Booth, seeing that the child had been in that brothel, it was absolutely necessary that she should be certified that she was pure, otherwise the Salvation "Army" would not care to take charge of her—so far as I knew, either from Mr. Stead or from Mr. Bramwell Booth, from first to last Mr. Bramwell Booth had nothing to do with the purchasing of the child, or anything to do with it until after it had gone through Mr. Stead's hands.

Cross examined by MR. HORNE PAYNE. I am not quite clear if I had ever seen Mrs. Combe before—I wrote a short letter with the certificate.

Re-examined. Mr. Booth merely came to say that Mr. Stead would be coming in the course of the evening, to ask me about the case he had already purchased—I cannot remember the details of the conversation, but I suppose he made reference to the examination—I cannot recollect whether he told me the name of the girl, it was so unimportant a matter at the time as to the girl's, name—he came to tell me that probably Mr Stead would come with some girl he had purchased that night for me to examine—I do not remember if he told me more particulars—I had never been asked to examine a girl before by either Mr. Stead or Mr. Booth.

Wednesday, October 28th.

SARAH FENWICK HUTCHINSON . I live at 27, Nottingham Place, and occupy the drawing-room floor, the first floor, the second floor, and two rooms on the third floor—the occupier of the house, a doctor, occupies the ground floor; his name is on the door, and there is a night bell—I am in the habit of taking in patients for Dr. Heywood Smith; I have had a few of his cases—on Wednesday, 3rd June, I had one of his patients under my care—on the Wednesday I had gone to bed in the usual course, and late at night, or rather early next morning, I was aroused by the ringing of the night bell—I think it was between 12 and 1 o'clock when I heard the bell ring; then I listened to hear if the doctor's servant was getting up, because I knew it was the night bell ringing—the bell rang again, and then I got out of bed and heard the bell for the third time; and then I went on to the landing and heard the doctor's son, whose house it is, speak—I then heard that the persons at the door wanted to see me, and went down and saw Mr. Stead—I had never seen him before that time—he said that he had brought a note from Dr. Heywood Smith, and gave it to me, which I read, and destroyed it a few days aferwards—it was: "Can you take in Mrs. Sullivan and the child who accompanies her—an urgent case? We will call in two hours. Money no object"—I then asked Stead, who brought the note, if it was likely to be a long case, as I had only one room vacant, which was let for the following week—he said he thought it was a short case; I think he insinuated that the people had not been comfortable where they were—I do not recollect

the words he used—this is as much as I can remember—that was the effect of it as far as I can remember—I then said they might come in, and Mr. Stead left the house—he never gave me his name; I did not ask him—I took them to the drawing-room floor; they had been waiting in a cab whilst this conversation was going on—Jarrett said she was sorry to give me so much trouble; something of that kind; I do not exactly remember—I said to her that the doctor had said in his note that he would call in two honrs—she said she thought he was coming the next day; I understood her to say that—there were no beds made up when they came into the room; I made up the beds afterwards, one for the child and one for Mrs. Jarrett—they went to bed; I sat up waiting for the doctor—Dr. Heywood Smith came; I cannot exactly remember, but I think it was about 3 o'clock in the morning—I let him in; he knocked—when he came in he gave me some chloroform, that was in my sitting-room, and told me to go and wake Jarrett up—I did so—Dr. Heywood Smith told me to keep the child asleep if possible; she was asleep—I do not remember what Jarrett said—she did not get up when I woke her, but she did afterwards—I then began to give the chloroform to the child—Dr. Smith told me to do that; he did not say how I was to administer it; he told me to begin to give it to her—I had seen it given a great many times; I put it over her mouth—Dr. Heywood Smith put some of the chloroform on the handkerchief, and I put it over the mouth and nostrils—I kept it there a very short time—Dr. Smith came in soon after I commenced to give it, and he went on giving it; he took the handkerchief from me—he then asked me if I had any vaseline in the room—I said "No, but I will get some immediately.;" I went upstairs to my bedroom and got it, and brought it down and handed it to Dr. Heywood Smith—he was then talking to the woman, Mrs. Sullivan, and he said he did not require it—then Dr. Smith told me to lower the gas, and we left the room together—I did not see anything that was done (the gas had been turned up before), nor was I told—the child was asleep all the time—vaseline is used for different purposes; it is used now a good deal instead of cold cream—it is a greasy substance—when the gas was lowered by Dr. Smith we left the room together, and went into my sitting-room—he told me that somebody would come for the people the next morning—we had some conversation about the money to be paid me, and I was paid a guinea by Dr. Heywood Smith a few days afterwards—he then left, and I went to bed—the next morning two women and a man came to my house—I think Mrs. Combe was one of the women; I could not say positively; I never heard her name, nor the man's—I do not see him here—Jarrett and the child had their breakfast, and they left, I think, between 8 and 9 o'clock—before Jarrett left in the morning she did not say where she was going with the child, or about the case at all—I never heard the child's name—I did not ask them any question, because the doctor told me I was not to know anything about it, and he could not tell me—I had often seen Mr. Bramwell Booth before this night—I knew him by name and from having seen him at the meetings of the Salvation "Army"—I used to belong to the Salvation "Army"—before the time when these people came that night I knew nothing whatever about this case; I did not know that they were coming at all—I am not a member of the "Army" now; I have ceased to be so about a month ago—when I was applied to on 1st September by the Solicitor to the Treasury I made

a full statement of all that I knew about this matter—I went to the Solicitor's offices, and I was subpoenaed to attend here.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. Mr. Bramwell Booth never intervened in this case as far as I know.

CHARLES VON TORNOW (Recalled). I am an inspector of police at Scotland Yard—on 19th August I was directed by the Solicitor to the Treasury to take the father, Charles Armstrong, to France to bring the child back—I went to the South of France, to a place called L'Oriol, 396 miles south-east of Paris on the way to Marseilles—at Marseilles I saw M. Berard—I found M. Berard had gone up in the mountains—I got the assistance of the French police, and saw M. Berard at his place, and he gave me this letter as his authority for giving up the child—I found that the child had left—it is Bramwell Booth's signature—I have seen him sign his name twice—I have compared the translation; it is accurate in my judgment. (Read: "The Salvation 'Army,' 101, Queen Victoria Street, London; 5th August, 1885, Foreign Department. Addressed to T. H. Berard. Dear Sir, We beg you to send the little girl Eliza Armstrong, with the bearer of this authority, with the view to take her back. Saluting you, and with best thanks for your kindness, W. Bramwell Booth.") I took that to M. Berard, and I also arranged that a letter was to be searched for and sent to me—this letter was afterwards sent by the director of the French police to Scotland Yard—I have seen Mrs. Combe write—to the best of my belief that is her writing—this translation is, to the best of my belief, an accurate one. (Read: "Salvation 'Army,' 101, Queen Victoria Street, London. Dear Theodore, You will look for the arrival of Edouard, if that has not already taken place, with a little girl thirteen years old. I cannot, for prudence' sake, give you at this moment an explanation of her circumstauces, but she is a modest little girl, and if you don't take her at this critical moment she will be lost body and soul. Take care of her, then, until I release her. Put her to whatever work you like, for she is handy and active, and you can let her go where you like, telling her that I am informed of her behaviour. If you require it you will be compensated; but if you give her food in return for her work and a little kindness in her desertion God will lay it to your account. Complete, my dear, the work which I have commenced at my risk and peril. You are in safety where you will fear nothing. Embrrce my son for me and send the news of him; say that she is a little servant, but not that it is the Army that has got her for you. Edouard, your nephew, is not known as an officer. Try and obtain the Pall Mall Gazette of the past week, and you will see something that will astonish you. Kisses and caresses to the dear ones. Your affectionate sister.") (Telegram read:"Eleventh of July, Doctors' Commons. Handed in at 1.15. Bramwell Booth to Mrs. Bramwell Booth, 89, Darenth Road, Stamford Hill. Have no news yet, you telegraph again if no answer. Winchester, met three trains. Mrs. Butler gone. I am believing.") There is Doctors' Commons on the stamp, and rather illegibly July 11; this other telegram in French from Combe to Combe, 187, Quai Valme, Paris, to the best of my belief, is in the handwriting of Mrs Combe: "Conduct my protegee to L'Oriol." I have seen the envelope with the French postmark of 22nd July of Le Cailar—that is 130 miles further south, close to Marseilles—when I got back I found the child had been sent back.

LUKE NUNNELEY . I am a shorthand writer—I attended the meeting at St. James's Hall, on Friday, August 21st, when Mr. Stead made a speech—I took it down in shorthand, the first portion of it—I have marked the part in the Pall Mall Gazette down to where I am responsible for the report—I have corrected the Pall Mall by manuscript—there is a passage beginning, "Now, here I stand, perhaps the most abused and the most bepraised person in all England during the last eight weeks. The abuse I do not think that I deserve"—some one then cried "Eliza Armstrong," and then he made this statement further. (Read: "I will tell you about Armstrong. There is Mrs. Booth standing here as the representative of the Salvation 'Army,' who has been abused about Lizzie Armstrong, and I say that Mrs. Booth and General Booth, and all the Salvation 'Army,' who have been abused about Lizzie Armstrong, are as innocent of everything concerning taking that girl away as Mr. Stansfeld is. They had absolutely nothing to do with it (loud applause). I take some shame to myself that I have not taken an early opportunity of clearing the Salvation 'Army' absolutely from all responsibility in the matter, and I alone, standing before you now; I am solely responsible for taking Lizzie Armstrong away from her mother's house (loud applause). And I say this: that those good men and philanthropic strangers and others who are anxious to restore that child to her mother's house are taking upon themselves a responsibility greater by far than anything that the Secret Commission of the Pall Mall Gazette ever took upon itself in the whole course of investigation. We took that child from a place that was steeped in vice; from a mother who has admitted that she was going to a brothel as she thought, and instead of taking her to a brothel we placed her in good and Christian guardianship. (Great cheering.) I ought to make one explanation; we did take that girl to a brothel for about half-an-hour; she did not know it was a brothel. She simply knew the was going to an hotel, but no suspicion or shadow of a thought of anything wrong crossed that girl's mind; we took her there, and we took her away from there; we placed her in the hands of the Salvation 'Army,' who had absolutely nothing whatever to do with taking her from her mother's house, and nothing whatever to do with the taking her to the brothel afterwards." And then there is in ink—for the half-hour in all innocence the girl went there; and yet they have had to bear contumely, reproach, and slander, from people who knew, because I have told them myself that I alone was responsible, and the Booths had nothing whatever to do with it (cries of 'Shame'). If they had only come and asked me, instead of raising all this hubbub about people who had absolutely nothing to do with the taking away of the child, I could have put them straight in five minutes. But they never looked near at hand. Now, when I think of the abuse and the praise, and especially the praise, that I have received, I feel bowed down with a grave sense of humiliation.")

SOPHIA FRANCES HAMMOND . I am the wife of Major Hammond, of 21, Portman Place, Portman Square, and am honorary secretary of the Training Home for Girls at Chiswick Lane, Turnham Green—I know Rebecca Jarrett; she was a laundress employed in the laundry of that Home from, I think, March or April, 1884, until September, 1884; I could not tell you the exact date—there are always thirty girls there

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. I knew nothing of her history before

March, 1884, or what became of her after September, 1884—she told me she had got another place—I do not know that of my own knowledge, except that we gave her a character when she was leaving.

EDITH BINES . I live at 15, Holcroft Road, Hackney; that is a private house—I was living there on the 16th July last—no person of the name of Combe was living there at that time, or ever lived there—I do not know Mrs. Combe.

Cross-examined by MR. HORNE PAYNE. Mr. Vint lived there; he is a captain in the Salvation "Army" and corresponding secretary.

Thursday, 29th of October.

ELIZABETH ARMSTRONG (Recalled.) This letter (produced) is my handwriting; that is the letter which I said at the police-court and here that I sent to Mr. Booth—I remember what day I wrote it, but I altered it because I made a mistake in the date; the 4th was the day I sent it; I made a mistake, and I put a big "4" to make it more plainer. (Read: "1885, August 4,—Sir, Me and my husband has been talking about our child, which was taken away with the intention of going to service with a woman named Jarrett on Derby-day, which is proved that she did not want a servant at all. She has been taken to different places, and now you have sent her to France, and what for is a mystery, which must be found out. It is a thing impossible that you could stand to send my child out of her own country to a foreign country without the consent of the parents, as you never engaged her from me; and, therefore, we shall expect you to be so kind as to send her back to her home. God will reward you and pay you back for all the expenses gone to. God is always good and kind to all his good people that work for him. This concludes from the unhappy parents, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong, 35, Charles Street, Lisson Grove.")

Witnesses for the Defence.

REBECCA JARRETT . (The prisoner was sworn and examined as follows.) My name is Rebecca Jarrett—in the year 1883 I was at work in the laundry at Claridge's Hotel; about May, I think it was, I went—Mrs. Broughton was employed there during that time; she was employed in the wash-house and I was in the ironing room—I became acquainted with her—a girl named Sarah Jones was also employed there during that time, and I made her acquaintance there—I became intimate with Mrs. Broughton at that time—I visited at her house—I went there on the Sunday when the work was finished; on the Sundays I have been round three times to tea there—on one Sunday I remember some conversation occurring between us with reference to Sarah Jones—when I used to be in the laundry we used to go in the washhouse during our dinner-hour; we had young men employed there to look after the machinery—we used to carry on with a young man; there was two—it was on these occasions that it came out about my past life—I told her during the dinner-hours that I had been bad, and had kept a gay house—I mentioned Manchester to her, and Bristol, and I told her, through my health being so bad with my gay life, I had to give it up, and that was why I was trying to get on in the laundry—I don't think I mentioned any other places than those at which I kept a house—I think I was at Claridge's about three months—that would bring it down to about July, 1883, I think—when I left it I left Mrs. Broughton and the girl Sarah Jones there—I took my month's wages

from Claridge's and I went with Mrs. Broughton to try to get into Mount Street Infirmary—I was not successful—immediately after I left Claridge's I went to stay at Mrs. Broughton's—I left Claridge's on account of my hip coming to be bad—it troubled me and grew worse, and I had to leave—I went to Mrs. Broughton on the Monday and I left on the Thursday—from Mrs. Broughton's I went to St. Bartholomew's Hospital—I left at Mrs. Brougbton's the money that I drawed from Claridge's Hotel, 1l. 16s. 6d., my month's wages—I told her that the washing that was done for me during the time that I was in the hospital should be paid for out of it, and anything that I wanted should be supplied me; she was to buy and pay for it, and bring it in to me—I also left a box of clothes behind—I remained at St. Bartholomew's between five and six weeks—that would bring it to about September, 1883—from St. Bartholomew's Hospital I went straight to Petersfield—at Petersfield I addressed to Mrs. Broughton the two letters which have been put in, A and B—I recognise this letter, and this was the answer which I received—Mrs. Broughton had one room while I was with her, and in that room she and her husband lived—I slept in the same room with her and her husband—I was at Petersfield one month; that would bring me to about October, 1883—I was living in a convalescent cottage at Petersfield—from Petersfield I went to Mrs. Broughton for two days, and from there to Margate; during that time I occupied the same room in the same way; and after those two days I left my clothes behind me in the same box I had left there before—I did not take it with me when I went to Petersfield; I took the clothes out that I required—from Margate I wrote the two letters C and D; they are both in my handwriting—I remained at Margate two months, I think—that would bring me to about December, 1883; in that month I returned to London, and went to Mrs. Broughton's to put the clothes away that I had brought with me from Margate—when I went there I found my box was empty—Mrs. Broughton was out when I went, but a Mrs. Simmons, in the back room, was at home—in the end the box remained upon the premises whilst I went to the Marylebone Infirmary, Notting Hill—I stayed there until April, 1884; and then, through the agency of the Charity Organisation Society, they got my box for me; they also obtained a situation for me at Chiswick, which was spoken to by Miss Hammond—I took my box with me to Miss Hammond's; the gentleman who paid the debt went and fetched it, and I had it with me at Chiswick—that was in April, 1884—I remained in Chiswick until about September, and then I had to give up the situation because my health failed again; I could not stand—from September I turned out gay again—I stopped in Chiswick for about a month, then from Chiswick I went to High Street, Marylebone; I lived there until the latter end of November with Mr. Sullivan; he does all manner of jobs—we were living there together, cohabiting—he has been a commercial traveller, but he has given up the business for some time—at the time I was living with him he was living on the earnings I was getting, out—he was doing nothing, but I was—at the end of November I left London and went down to Northampton—there I came across some members of the Salvation "Army"—I wished to leave my old life, I wanted to enter into a better one, and I asked them to help me, which they did—I became a member of the Salvation "Army"—I lived with Mrs. Bramwell Booth from December until January in London—in that month, through

the agency of Mrs. Booth, I was was transferred to the Home which is kept by Mrs. Josephine Butler at Winchester—I was in the Home from January till the latter end of April or May—then the cottage was taken for me called "Hope Cottage," and I went there to live—I went to live there with myself, and another young person came to help—we went to the rescue work; we tried to rescue our fallen sisters; those who had been like myself—I assisted Mrs. Butler in the work she was carrying on at Winchester; besides Winchester I also went to Portsmouth, and assisted in the same kind of work there—on Sunday, the 24th of May in this, year I saw Mrs. Butler—upon that day I had a long conversation with her—it was in consequence of that conversation that I came to London on Monday, the 25th of May—I went to Mr. Stead's house in Northumberland Street—I believe it is the office of the Pall Mall Gasette—I saw Mr. Stead there, and had a long conversation with him—I told my history to Mr. Stead, the whole of my history without disguise—he told me to bring a proof out that a child could be got; I was to do it—he told me what I was to do it for—I was to bring it out to him that a child could be got for a gentleman, and to be used by him—he told me I was to go to the bad houses; he wanted me to get one of those who are kept in stock for gentlemen—there are some houses who do keep them in stock—in the conversation which I had with him I had told him that there were houses where they did keep children in stock; I knew it—I was to get a child from some brothel that supplies them—I was to get it from some brothel, or some one who was to know really for what purpose the child was going to be used for; that he would supply me with money to buy it with—I was quite unwilling to do this; but he insisted on me, as I had led a bad life, to atone for what I had done—I said I would see Mrs. Butler about it; but he told me he would not let me go home—he would write down to Mrs. Butler, and tell her what he had asked me to do—I think that was all the conversation upon that day—on the night of 25th May I stopped in London—on Tuesday, 26th, I took off my own clothes and put on gay clothes, and I went in them to a locality called Lady Lake Grove, Whitechapel—I did not hear anything afterwards from Mr. Stead as to whether he had heard anything from Mrs. Butler—I went to Lady Lake Grove on Tuesday afternoon—I had changed my clothes in the morning—I went to try and see if I could get a girl there—I went down in a cab—I made there certain inquiries, and in the afternoon returned to Winchester—I had taken off these other things before I went back, and put on the more sober clothing that I had before—in Winchester I saw Mrs. Josephine Butler, and between that Tuesday and the Saturday, the 30th May, I had conversations with her—on Saturday, the 30th May, I returned to London, to Waterloo Station—on that night, for the first time, I slept at No. 16, Albany Street—Albany Street is supposed to be full of gay houses—I don't know who live at 16—I was supposed to pick out a gay house in Albany Street, and it being very dark when we got down there, and seeing that there was a ticket with "lodgings to let" at 16, we thought that would be the place to go to—another young lady was with me—I stayed in Albany Street up to and after the morning of Tuesday, the 2nd June—between the Saturday on which I arrived and the Tuesday I saw Mr. Stead—on the morning of Tuesday I paid a visit to Mrs. Broughton—I had not

seen her for about nine months—I arrived at Mrs. Broughton's, to the best of my recollection, about a quarter to 11—there was a girl there alone—I have not recognised her yet; I cannot recognise her—Mrs. Broughton came in from the back yard—I knocked at the door, and Mrs. Broughton came to me; and she said "Halloa, Becky, it's you?"—I said "Yes"—she said "Come in and sit down"—I went in and sat down—I asked her how she was getting on—she said she had not done any work since she left Claridge's Hotel—she asked me how I was getting on myself—I told her that my hip had been bad, that I was not able to stand any longer at my work, and that I had gone back again to my old life—I told her that I had gone back again with Sullivan—she knew Sullivan; I do not say she knew him personally—she knew his name—she asked me if I was married, and I said "No, I was not married, but I was very comfortable, and I had got another house"—then the said "Good luck to you, old girl, it does not matter whether you are married or single, so long as you are comfortable and doing well; I have often thought of you, and wondered how you could get about now with your hip;" and then she told me that the crutches that I had had in the hospital she had still got, and would not allow her husband to chop them up—I told her I was able to get about much better, but I had to walk with a stick—during this time the girl left the room—whether that was Jane Farrer or not I cannot tell; I cannot recognise her—Mrs. Broughton went to fetch her husband, and told him I was there—he came in for just a few minutes, and asked me how I was getting on, but when I told him I was going to stop to dinner he went back again to his work—I had made up my mind to stop to dinner, nothing had been said about it—Mrs. Broughton remained in the room with me; no one else was there at that time—I then said, "Nancy, do you know what I am come up for?"—she said, "No, I don't"—I said, "I have a gentleman at my house who wants a girl" (I cannot exactly say whether I said "who wants a girl" or "I have to supply him with a girl"), but she must be pure"—I used the word "pure" to her—I said, "If you will help me now, and get me one, I will pay you for your trouble"—she did not say "yes" or "no" to that, she made no answer—then a young girl (if it was Jane Farrer) passed through the passage from the back to the front, and then Mrs. Broughton went to the door and brought her in the room, and said to me, "Is this the sort of one you want?"—I asked the girl how old she was—she told me that she was about 16—I told her that she was too old, I wanted one between 13 and 14—I believe that girl went out of the room, and went and fetched Margaret Stephens, and told her I wanted a girl—I believe she is called Lizzie Stephens, I do not know her name—directly I saw her I told her that she would not suit me, that she was too old—she left the room then, and I said to Mrs. Broughton "Not such a one as her, I want a young girl who is more interesting or pretty"—that was after Lizzie Stephens, because when she came in I funnd she was not interesting at all—then she went and fetched a little girl; I do not know her name—Alice something, I think—I heard she had a sister; I don't remember hearing her name until I came into Court—Mrs. Broughton brought her to me, and asked me if that was the sort of girl I wanted, and I said "Yes"—the child left the room, and went and fetched her sister, who asked me if I wanted a girl; I told her yes

—she looked very hard at me, but whether she liked my appearance or not I do not know, but she said that she must go and consult her husband about it, which she did—before that I forgot to say the sister asked me where I came from, and I said "From the country"—she then went away to consult her husband, and she came back and told me that he would not let her go; whether she told me her mother was dead, or whether she told me that her mother was away, I cannot say, but she said something to me about her mother leaving this little child in their care, and through that the husband would not let her go—she went out, and took with her her sister—then somehow or other Eliza Armstrong came in; she came by herself—she asked me if I was the person who wanted a girl, and I said "Yes;" then I said, "Where is your mother?"—she went over and fetched her mother; they both came back together into the room to me—Mrs. Armstrong asked me if I was the person that wanted a girl, and I said yes—she asked me where I had come from; I said "From the country"—she said she should not let her go away from her—Mrs. Armstrong then told me the child was working somewhere near, where she was earning a shilling or two for herself, and that she should not let her go with me—she went away from me then, and the child too; they both left together—that is all that I saw of them that day—I did not say to Mrs. Armstrong on that day that I came from Croydon, I never mentioned any place, I said "From the country"—I did not say I came from Wimbledon; nothing was said about my having a six-roomed house at Wimbledon—nothing was mentioned during the whole conversation about being married any further than what I have said—nothing at all was said to Eliza the first day about being required to scrub oilcloth; directly Mrs. Armstrong found I wanted her for the country she went away home in a temper—nothing was said that day about my increasing lameness making it difficult for me to kneel, and therefore wanting some assistance—no individual place was mentioned upon that day at all—when Mrs. Armstrong and Eliza left I was alone with Mrs. Broughton—it was then I said to Mrs. Broughton that Eliza and little Alice would be about the girl that I wanted; I asked Mrs. Broughton how old Alice was, and how old Eliza was, and she told me that Eliza was 13—I asked Mrs. Broughton if she thought she was a pure girl; she said yes, she thought she was all right—nothing more was said about Eliza that day—by "little Alice" I meant the sister, the little girl, I do not know her name—I think I heard Mrs. Broughton call her Alice, but what her Christian name really was I cannot tell—I stayed to dinner that day, the Tuesday—Mr. Broughton came home to dinner—he remained for the dinner-hour and then went away—I was left alone with Mrs. Broughton—I left between 2 and 3 o'clock, to the best of my recollection—there was no more conversation between us about a girl, only I begged of her to try and get me one—I told her that I would come the next day, and she promised me that she would try and see what she could do for me, then I left—I have given all of the conversation, so far as I remember it, which occurred between Mrs. Broughton and myself on that day, word for word—nothing was mentioned about a situation, or marriage, or that I was staying with a friend of my husband's in Albany Street—I believe I told them on the Wednesday I was stopping in Albany Street, not on the Tuesday—nothing whatever was said about Albany Street, either to Mrs.

Broughton or to Mrs. Armstrong—I had taken my hat and jacket off and put them on the bed, and taken my gloves off—I had no wedding ring on—then I returned to Albany Street and remained there that night, and on the Wednesday morning, 3rd June, I once more visited Mrs. Broughton—I believe I got there about half-past 10 or 11—I saw Mrs. Broughton alone—we greeted each other—she told me that she was hard-up and that she had no money, for she had been on the drink—I then said to her "Nancy, when are you going to give it up?"—I thought I should betray my character to her, and I had to draw my words in then—she told me she had been on the drink and she was dying for a lively—that was meaning she was getting faint—I then gave her half-a-sovereign, and she went out and got some whisky—I told her to have some and she would be better—she took some, and she gave me back the change, 1 believe 9s. 6d.—then I said to her "Nancy, have you got me a girl?"—she said "No, I could not get you one; I did try"—I said to her "I am very sorry, for I have come from the country and I do not want to go hack without one"—in the meantime her husband came in, Bash—that is a nickname of his—that is the nickname by which he is referred to in the letter—she said to him "I want to get Beck a girl;" and he mentioned one or two names to her—she did not say a word to him what it was for, and as he did not know what I wanted the girl for, I did not press on him to get one, and I would not let him send out for one—he went back again to his work—he only had to go next door—Mrs. Broughton went down the street, where she went I could not say, but she returned shortly after and said "Eliza's mother is coming up to you again"—I asked Mrs. Broughton who Eliza's mother was, for I forgot which one it was—she gave me the description of the woman who refused the child the day before—Mrs. Armstrong came into the room, and she said "Are you still in want of a girl?"—I said "Yes"—she said "I hear Mrs. Broughton has been down to Mrs. Woodward, but," she said, "Do not take her as she is full of vermin"—I said "Are yon willing to let me have Eliza, then?"—she said "Yes, for after you left yesterday Eliza has done nothing but worry me about it"—there was only me and Mrs. Broughton and herself in the room then—Eliza was not there—then I said to Mrs. Armstrong "Do you know who I am?"—she said "Well, I have seen you down this street when you were on your crutches"—I said "I am better now and able to walk about, but with a stick;" but I said "I have gone back again to Sullivan to live with him, and we keep another house, a gay house; I want a little girl about your daughter's age, she must be pure"—then I asked her if her daughter Eliza was pure—she said "Yes"—I told her that I wanted her for a gentleman; and if she liked to let me have her, I would give her some money—she hesitated, and drawed back a little, and then she said "Very well; I will let her go"—I said again "Are you quite willing to let her go?"—she said "Yes"—after that little Eliza came in—nothing was said as to the amount of money she was to receive further than I would give her some money—no sum was mentioned—then I believe Eliza came in—I feel sure that she came in then—I said to Eliza "I hear you have been worrying your mother to let you go with me; are you quite willing to come?"—she said "Yes"—then I said to Mrs. Armstrong "What sort of clothes has Eliza got?"—she said "Only what you see

she has on now and a jacket and a hat"—I told Eliza to go and put her hat and jacket on and come with me and I would buy her some more clothes—Mrs. Armstrong heard me say that—Eliza and her mother left Mrs. Broughton's house, and me and Mrs. Broughton were alone in the room—Mrs. Broughton asked me if I was going to stop to dinner—I said I wanted to get away as early as I could—then I said "Nancy, I am very glad that I have got a girl to go back with me"—I took my purse out of my pocket and I brought two sovereigns out of my purse, and I put them each into Mrs. Broughton's hands, and I said "Mrs. Broughton, this is for your trouble in getting me the girl, and if she does prove what I want her to be, you shall have more after; more money shall be sent after"—should be sent to Mrs. Broughton—I asked Mrs. Broughton if she was "pure"—nothing further was said, further than I gave her 2l. into her hands then, and I said more money should be sent to her if I found her to be what I wanted her to be—the phrase" what I wanted her to be" she knew, because I said beforehand what I wanted her for—I did not say "the rest of the money" just now; it was a mistake—I might have said that just now, but I meant to have said "more money;" I cannot say exactly to one little word, but this is what I meant, that if I found her to be pure and to be what I wanted her to be, I should send her more money, after I had proved her to be what I wanted—that is my recollection of what I first told Mrs. Broughton—this was about the dinner-hour—I do not remember if before dinner I saw anything more either of the girl or of the mother—I was stopping there to dinner—while Mrs. Broughton was at dinner I believe Eliza came in to me—nothing whatever was mentioned when I arrived upon that morning by Mrs. Broughton as to why I could not go to a baker's shop—nothing at all was said by me as to my requiring a nice little orphan girl who would like a good home—nothing about work was said at that time, nor about the girl being required fox a servant—nothing was mentioned about wages—I never mentioned that I would give her nothing for the first month, but that I would buy her clothes, and after the first month give her money into her own hands—I told Mrs. Armstrong in the morning the girl should go with me, and if she was what I wanted her to be, that she should be kept, but if she was not what I wanted her to be she should be returned the same way as I took her—nothing was said about a week's trial, that was the whole—I did not sit down to dinner; I believe Mr. and Mrs. Broughton did—while the dinner was going on at Mrs. Broughton's the little girl came back—nothing was said about the dinner whatever—at the time I gave the money I did not know she had a shawl in pawn—I never heard the word "bacon" used—nothing was said by me when I handed the money to Mrs. Broughton, that it was for the kindness that they had shown me, and for the debt that I owed in relation to that kindness; nothing at all of that kind was said—during dinner the little girl came back with her hat and jacket on—I asked her if she was ready to go with me, and she said "Yes"—I told Mrs. Broughton that I would not have any dinner, I would have a cup of tea when I came back; and with the child I went out—I made some purchases of clothes for her—they have been correctly described—the boots I got first; that occupied I should think an hour or an hour and a half—whilst we were out Mrs. Broughton called into the shoemaker's shop, and asked me in the shoemaker's shop how long I would be; she

was then with Mrs. Armstrong—I told her I would not be very long, about an hour or so, and then it was arranged that I should come back to Mrs. Broughton's; I sent little Eliza back with her boots at that time—I might have mentioned three o'clock as the hour at which I would start with the girl—the girl was to go back to Mrs. Broughton's with me, but the arrangement as told to Mrs. Broughton and Mrs. Armstrong was that we would start about 3 o'clock—they went away from the shoemaker's shop—I went on making purchases, and then came back—when I got to Mrs. Broughton's the room-door was locked; Mrs. Armstrong came to me in the passage—the girl went to look after Mrs. Broughton to see where she was gone, and it was whilst I was there alone that Mrs. Armstrong came to me in the passage—I said to Mrs. Armstrong "Look at the clothes I have bought for Eliza"—I had them with me—I said "What do you think of them?" she told me that they were very nice; then I told her again I hoped that little Eliza would be what I wanted her to be; then I asked Mrs. Armstrong whether she was really in the habit of playing with boys in the street—I asked that question to know if she was pure—Mrs. Armstrong answered me "Well, boys and girls together;" and it was then again that I said to her that if she was what I wanted her to be, a pure girl, I should keep her, but if she was not, I should return her the same way as I took her—by that time little Eliza had come back with Mrs. Broughton, or little Eliza came back alone—Mrs. Armstrong was still with me in the passage; she heard what her daughter said to me, which was that Mrs. Broughton had gone to get some tea, but that she would be back shortly—in the hearing of her mother I said to the little girl "Now, Eliza, go and wash yourself, and then come down to me, then we will put your frock on"—the child went away with her mother—at that time Mrs. Broughton had come back; she opened the room door, and together we went in—after that Eliza returned without her frock but with her jacket on—I had her things in Mrs. Broughton's room—they were put out for her to put on—I dressed her then and there—while I was dressing Eliza Mrs. Armstrong came with her mouth bleeding—I should think it was near 2 or just after 2 o'clock—I asked her what was the matter with her—she told me that she wanted to go to the funeral, and that her husband would not let her go, and that he had given her that blow in the mouth; she had the baby in her arms—she came in and she asked Mrs. Broughton to lend her a six-pence, and that she would pay it back on the Saturday; she wanted the money to pay her fare to the funeral, wherever the cemetery was—I went across to her and I said to her "Mrs. Armstrong, here is a shilling," which was really a shilling; the thought struck me that I had promised her this money, and that was what she meant; I had my purse in my hand, where I had taken the shilling from; I followed her to the door; it was then that I gave her the sovereign, and she said "This will do better"—I said nothing when I gave it to her—I did not say "Mrs. Armstrong, here is a sovereign for you;" I said to her "This is according to my promise to you;" I did not say no more to her—she said nothing at all after she said "This will do better" after I gave her the sovereign, then she went away, carrying the baby with her—she did not look at it when I gave it to her, she went right away—she did not look at the shilling, or either of them, she did not even say "Thank you"—this was done at the

door—there is a passage immediately outside that door—I stood just by the door, she stood just inside the passage—Mrs. Broughton herself was in the room, and the girl Eliza, who was being dressed, was there—no one else was there at all—the only time I saw Jane Farrer was when I entered in on Tuesday morning, and she was sitting inside the door—upon the Wednesday no one was in the room but me and Mrs. Broughton, Mrs. Armstrong, and little Eliza—Mrs. Armstrong never mentioned a penny; she asked Mrs. Broughton for the sixpence.

Friday, October 30th.

REBECCA JARRETT (Recalled by the COURT). I never heard Mrs. Armstrong at any time say she would not let her daughter go for a wh—, or words of that kind.

By MR. CHARLES MATHEWS. Mrs. Armstrong went away about a quarter past 2 in the day—I did not see her at all after that—nothing was said in her hearing as to my going, or as to my having been at Albany Street—before that Albany Street might have been mentioned to Mrs. Broughton—I believe Mrs. Broughton asked me where I was going to take the girl to—no I believe Mrs. Broughton asked me where I was stopping—I might have said Albany Street, I cannot say—that was in the course of the Wednesday morning—during the time that I was present with the girl at Mrs. Broughton's and after Mrs. Armstrong had left, the work was mentioned—I said to Eliza "Now, Eliza, these are nice things, ain't they? I want you to be a very good girl, and to help me all you can in my work"—I might have said that I had a six-roomed house—there was truth in that, I was at Hope Cottage—I never mentioned Wimbledon or Croydon—that I am clear upon—Mrs. Broughton might have been in the room, but not Mrs. Armstrong—in the absence of the child I said nothing whatever about service or about a six-roomed house—by this time I believe the child was dressed—I then said to her "Now, Eliza, go in and bid your father and mother good-bye"—the child then went away, and after a little while returned—I said to her "Have you seen your father and mother?"—she told me her mother was out, but her father was lying on the bed—then I said to her "What did he think of your new clothes?"—she said he said they were very nice—that was substantially all—three o'clock was the hour fixed for starting—I had mentioned that to Mrs. Armstrong—as the time got near, I asked Mrs. Broughton where was Mrs. Armstrong—she told me that she had gone out; that she had gone to a funeral, but had left her to see Eliza off—then I said to Mrs. Broughton "What a strange thing her mother does not come to see her off, because I sent her in to her father and to her mother to bid them good-bye, and if they did relent giving her over to mo I would take the sovereign back—that was what I thought; that was in my mind—she having understood it was for immoral purposes, I thought it strange she did not come to see her off—the three of us, Mrs. Broughton, myself, and Eliza Armstrong then started—we went into a public-house—I do not remember its name—it was in Bell Street—there I and Mrs. Broughton had something to drink—there was no conversation of importance in the public-house between Mrs. Broughton and myself—on coming out of it I went down to the

Marble Arch, where I said good-bye to Mrs. Broughton, and with the child got into an omnibus—we took the omnibus from the middle of Edgware Road—I went with the child to Albany Street, where I saw Mr. Stead and had a conversation with him—after that some underclothing was purchased for the child—when I put on the new things I took off her frock, and she came away with her chemise and two petticoats—they were made up in a little bundle, and, I believe, to the best of my recollection, they were left in Albany Street—the frock and the jacket and the hat were left at Mrs. Broughton's house—in Albany Street she had, in the first instance, the same underclothing as she took from the mother's house—that was entirely changed, and I believe the older underclothing was left in Albany Street—later in the evening I went with the child to 3, Milton Street—on coming out of Milton Street I did not receive anything from the hands of Madame Mourey—the chloroform was given to Mr. Jacques—from there I went to 32, Poland Street, and from there to 18, Harley Street, and then from Harley Street to 27, Nottingham Place, and at Nottingham Place I went to bed and to sleep—in the course of that night I was awakened and saw in the room Miss Hutchinson, and afterwards Dr. Heywood Smith—after leaving that house next morning, the 4th of June, I started on my journey to Paris from Charing Cross—Mr. Stead was there—he left us at the house and met us again on the platform—accompanied by the child and Madame Combe, I made the journey to Paris on the 4th of June, and put up at the quarters of the Salvation "Army"—I stayed there on the night of the 4th of June, and on the morning of the 5th I went from the headquarters—I asked at some barber's shop for directions—first of all I went to a man who was standing near the cab-rank; he spoke French, and I did not, and he could not understand me—he took me to the barber's shop, and a gentleman was there who spoke English—in consequence of directions which he gave me, I went to the post-office and there made certain inquiries—after a delay I discovered a foreigner who spoke broken English—I have in my mind a description of that man—I received two postal orders in English for 1l. each, and I gave him two golden sovereigns; I also laid 1s. down, and he gave me change in French coppers—the 1s. was to pay for the orders—I had with me at this time some envelopes; one of them was addressed to Mrs. Broughton; I had addressed it myself; I wrote the address in Paris at the Headquarters; I then put the postal orders in the envelope—they supplied me with a stamp; I paid for it—besides the postal orders I put nothing else into the envelope—I stuck it with the gum, and put it in the box outside the post office—I then wanted to go round Paris, and I went and got into one of their flys, and as I could not speak French I had asked Madame Combe to write me an address in case I lost myself, so that I could give this address to people who could speak French, and they would understand it, and this address I showed the man when I got into the fly—that was the address of the headquarters—I showed it to him, and he took me back to headquarters—I stayed in Paris that day, the 5th of June, and started for England at 6 o'clock—I saw Eliza Armstrong before I left—she said she was sorry I was going—I said to her, "Now, Eliza, my dear, I want you to be a very good girl; you were handed over to me for something worse by Mrs. Broughton"—I cannot say whether I said

then, "Your mother," but I believe I did—I believe I said, "And by your mother, too"—I won't really say that I did, but I believe I did—Madame Combe was in the room, and a captain in the "Army," Miss Young—they were both in the room when I said this to her—I came back to England on that night, and arrived at Charing Cross on the Saturday morning—I believe there had been an arrangement under which I was to be met by somebody on 6th of June—there was no one to meet me; I waited, but no one came—I had expected to see Mrs. Butler, but she was not there; nor any one—I then made my way to Waterloo, and there booked to Winchester, where I arrived that Saturday about dinner-time, and saw Mrs. Josephine Butler next morning, Sunday—she was not in Winchester when I arrived—on Sunday morning I had a lengthened conversation with her—there had been an arrangement with me with regard to the custody of the child—I believe it was first mentioned by Mr. Stead at the time that I arranged to get the child—I believe he said to me, "What shall we do with the child when we get it?"—I said that I felt sure Mrs. Butler will allow me to have her at the cottage with me, and when I came back I asked Mrs. Butler if she would let me have her—she said "Yes, by all means"—I believe I told that to Mr. Stead, or to some one—I cannot recollect whether it was said at Albany Street, or where—it was before I left for Paris—I believe this was said to me, that she was to be sent to Paris for a little while, then at the end she was to come back to me at Winchester—I believe Mr. Stead said that—I was to have her in Winchester, at the cottage—I remained in Winchester during the next week—I received from the child the letter of 10th June, addressed to "Mrs. Sullivan"—I believe it was about three weeks after—I remember the letter, but I do not remember receiving it so early—this is the letter—I wrote the answer to that soon after I got it, within the next week—I believe I wrote the letter to Mrs. Broughton commencing "Dear Nancy, signed Rebecca, Mrs. Sullivan" in the same week or the early part of the next—this is the letter—I wrote it from my own idea, I knew that a third person would read it, because I knew that Mrs. Broughton could not read nor write, so I assumed the character that I did assume when I went to her—I took the character of a gay woman when I went there, and I was not then leading a gay life—there is nothing in that letter indicating a gay woman—this is quite a good letter—I stayed on in Winchester for some considerable time—I remember one morning going to Mrs. Butler's when a Miss Humbert was expected from Paris—that morning it was arranged that me and Miss Humbert should meet Miss Humbert'a sister coming from Paris—I believe it was somewhere in July, I can't say in what part; but I went to Mrs. Butler's, to see if Miss Humbert had gone to the station—she is a friend of Mrs. Butler's, and I was to accompany her to meet Miss Humbert's sister and little Eliza, as I thought, and when I got close to Mrs. Butler's she told me that Miss Humbert had gone by herself, and as she thought it was too far for me to walk I was to stop there till they came—I waited there until about half-past 8 o'clock—we found Miss Humbert came alone without Eliza—then they told me that they would not let Miss Humbert have her—Major Clibbon, I think it was, of the Salvation "Army," told me so—I had made preparation at Hope Cottage to receive the child—my girls had got the breakfast ready for her, and about this

time it was that I received the letter from Eliza from Paris—I believe it was before I went to the station. (Letter read as before.) after that I wrote this letter to Mrs. Booth, and, I believe, received a reply to it—I believe it was about that time I sent the two post-cards of 11th July from Winchester—I left Winchester somewhere in July; I left the same Saturday night as I wrote the post-cards in the morning, and went to Jersey, because Sullivan, who I had been living with, had found me out, and had annoyed me by insulting me once or twice by trying to get me away—he came to Winchester, and on Tuesday he told me that if I did not go back he would not let me alone in peace—I saw Mrs. Butler about this time during the week—I went to the police about the presence of Sullivan, I believe—I left on 5th July in consequence of Sullivan's visit; it had no reference to Eliza Armstrong—I stayed till about 19th July in Jersey, I believe, when I gave evidence before the Mansion House Commission, and after consultation with Mrs. Butler I went to Colchester, and stopped there until they brought me up about the warrants—they told me a warrant was out, and I came up—after these proceedings had been taken I paid another visit to Paris, accompanied by Professor Stuart, the Member for Hackney—he went with me to the post-office—before I got there I gave him a description of the clerk from whom I obtained the order—I afterwards saw that clerk and identified him.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I do not know whether that clerk is here—I have never been married—my first acquaintance with Mrs. Broughton was at Claridge's Hotel, in the beginning of 1883—I went to Claridge's, I believe, in May; previous to going there I kept a gay house in High Street, Marylebone; I shall not say what number—I have told you that I have led a bad life, and I beg of you that my past life should not come up here—it was 23, High Street, Marylebone—I did not rent it; Sullivan, the man that I lived with, did; the same Sullivan—that was, I believe, about the end of 1882 or the beginning of 1893—I also kept a gay house at Bristol; on the Cliffs, No. 6—I rented that—I cannot recollect how long ago it was, it was before I was at Marylebone; years before—it might have been two or three years before, but not ten years, or seven; I do not know as to five—the landlady's name was Mrs. White—I rented that myself, and passed by the name of Hayenes—I also kept a gay house at 3, Ward's Buildings, Manchester—that was before I went to Bristol—I did not rent that myself; the man I lived with did, Hayenes—Sullivan had been a commercial traveller—I do not know where he is now; I last saw him in Winchester—I first knew him, I believe, between two and three years ago, when I went to live with him first—I knew him before that—he had been a commercial traveller, but not after I knew him—I did not know Mr. Broughton before I knew Mrs. Broughton at Claridge's, and as far as I knew he was quite respectable; there had never been any impropriety between us; I am quite sure of that; never at any time; not in act—when I was trying to get into the hospital, that is the time I left Claridge's, he had been very kind to me—I did not know that his nick-name was "Bash" till I was told—I heard from Mrs. Broughton that it was "Bash"—I do not suggest that there was anything improper in the name "Bash"—I was in the hospitals and convalescent homes from about August until the following April—after

Claridge's I was at St. Bartholomew's, Petersfield, Margate, and Notting Hill iufirmaries; not at Holloway—Notting Hill Infirmary is called Marylebone Infirmary—during all that time I had been endeavouring to lead a good life, from the beginning of 1883 till I left the Home in September, 1884—I had been behaving properly, and trying to be good; I could not help myself—this letter is my writing—Mr. Broughton used to get up the first thing in the morning and go to his work, I believe—I never got my breakfast from him, but from Mrs. Broughton—my letter says: "Street Cottage Home, Petersfield, September, 1883.—Dear Nancy, I got down all right. I am very happy and comfortable, for I am in a cottage, there is only four of us here, we have the best of living, you would like to be here, I am sure, we have the cottage all to ourself. it is furnished very nise, and all the food comes from the large house. the lady come every day to talk with ous. Miss Morley sent me here for three weeks, but the lady have given me the other, so I am going to stop four weeks give my love to Bash, and tell him I do not get any toast now"—I meant by that the same meaning as she had—I won't swear that that letter was not written before the letter which has been already put in; it might have been—by "I do not get any toast," I mean the same meaning as she has; it is a slang word that we had between us—I meant toasted cheese; when a person is going with a man it is getting warm, and when we used to be romping in the laundry, or anything like that, we said "Ain't you as warm as toast;" that is the full meaning for the word "toast"—I was not writing to the man at all; I was writing to Mrs. Broughton; that is a message that I sent to Bash—I do not know that I have seen or heard of anything done disreputable by Mrs. Broughton—I know of that; I dare say she could do it—I have never seen Mrs. Broughton committing any immorality, but I have seen a man in the room and he said he would like to go with me, in her presence—I have never known her from her own confession, or from what I have seen, guilty of any immorality—the same letter says, "Nancy, ask Sarah for some money, for I want some collars so bad; get me a dozen of paper ones, &c.; give my kind love to Sarah"—that was Sarah Jones—I don't know whether she was respectable; I don't know anything about her; I know nothing by her own confession or what I have seen disreputable of Sarah, only she kept herself for two or three months without any income; so what was she doing without any money—I believe she was an immoral person—I could not say that this letter is in Sarah's writing, for I do not believe that she wrote it—if Sarah did not, the only suggestion that I can make is, a person who lived opposite in the front parlour; I do not know her name, but she was rather stout—I have seen her writing—I have had two or three letters, but I am sorry to say I tore them up—I do not believe that Sarah did write this letter—after I left Chiswick I got a situation from the Charity Organisation Society, and went to it; it was at Chiswick—I cannot recollect how long I stayed; it was in Chiswick Lane; I do not know the number—the name of my mistress was Pettit, I think—I went as a matron at the laundry—I believe it was Mrs. Hammond's character—I wrote this letter, "I know you are looking for a few lines, but I have been in hot water this last fortnight, for one of the matrons told me I was fetch out of the workhouse by the lady, and so I gave her

notice, and thank God I have got another situation, the same work to go to when I leave here, 20l. a year, they have given me a good character from here, only I should not be comfortable to stop for all the girls to know where I was"—those were the girls in Mrs. Hammond's school—"I have written to my lady, she is very pleased I have got another place"—I think that was Miss Morley. "I will come round as soon as I can, my love to all, Miss R. Jarrett, Chiswick Lane, Turnham Green." That was Mrs. Hammond's home—I didn't go to any place at 20l. a year, for I could not go; my hip was bad some time after, but I got into the George Hotel, at Northampton, but I didn't go straight there—I said that I went to service at a house in Chiswick Lane, as laundry matron; that was Mrs. Pettitt's, Mrs. Hammond is the lady superintendent of the society—Mrs. Pettitt is the matron—I didn't give Mrs. Hammond notice, they gave me notice—I wrote: "So I gave her notice, and thank God I have got another situation;" that was untrue—my object in telling Mrs. Broughton, from the Home, that I had got a situation at 20l. a year was this, I did not like her to know that they had taken all that trouble to get me into that place, and directly I got there I was discharged—I do not know that I was there for four or five months—I cannot recollect whether I was at the Home for four or five months in 1884, from April to September, 1844, I won't swear at all to the time—I do not know if all the other letters I wrote to Mrs. Broughton between the middle of 1883 and 1884 were true—I do not know what they were about—I will not swear that I had no situation to go to from Mrs. Hammond's; I had, but I could not go to it—it was at Northampton, as a laundress, at 20l. a year—I did not go there as laundrymaid there and then—I went there about the latter end of November, at 20l. a year—I did not go at once, because my leg was bad—after I left the Home I was living at Mrs. Sawyer's, No. 8, Turnham Green—I believe she is a laundress—I was not working there—I was there till I went to Northampton in November, about two months—I think I went there about the middle of December—I took the rooms in Albany Street on Saturday night, 30th of May—I do not know the name of the woman—that is the person (Miss Morris)—I did not know what the house was when I entered it—I know now it is a respectable house—I did not tell Miss Morris I had a cottage at Wimbledon, or a house; I never mentioned Wimbledon—I do not know that I spoke to her when I went to take those rooms; I think the other person might have spoken; a friend of Mr.Stead, Miss Peck we used to call her; I believe she is in the Salvation "Army"—she is the young lady I referred to yesterday—I do not know whether she is here—I swear that Wimbledon was not mentioned to Miss Morris at any time—the name given was Mrs. Sullivan—Miss Morris may have asked me my name, and I may have said Mrs. Sullivan—I believe the lodgings were paid for in advance by Miss Peck—I bought the clothes which I call "gay" clothes on the Tuesday morning, not the same day that I went to Mrs. Broughton, nor the same week, it was the week before when I commenced the work—I had 10l. given me by Mr. Stead—not for the clothes, it was to get the child—to cover everything—I never had more than 10l.—I believe it was 2l. my clothes cost—I have not worn them at all during this trial—the bonnet I appeared in on one of the days in Court was not the bonnet; I had a hat on—I bought my jacket I think

in Little Church Street—I think Miss Peck gave me my dress—my hat I went and bought in Whitechapel Road, and my earrings in Whitechapel, and a brooch; and I bought a pair of straw-coloured gloves in Whitechapel, Road—the dress was a very light brown stuff dress—I did not pay for it—it was supplied by Miss Peck in addition to the 10l. I got from Mr. Stead—I have not got my hat; I have the dress, it is at home, where I am lodging—it was not a neat stuff dress, it was a gay dress, brown, and trimmed with Scotch plaid—it was made as a stylish costume—I went on the Saturday to Lady Lake Grove—I do not know the name or number or the name of the person, but I think it is 23—I believe I laid one shilling down for drink there—I did not succeed in getting any girl on the Saturday—I think I went there three times—the last day was the day before I went to Mrs. Broughton—they brought me a girl, but I did not succeed in getting her—on the Tuesday when I came away from Mrs. Broughton I had not succeeded in getting a girl—in fact I asked Mrs. Broughton to try and get me one—up to Tuesday night I had failed in my efforts to get a girl—I had seen Mr. Stead on Tuesday night and told him I did not succeed in getting a girl—I feel sure about that—on Tuesday I saw Mrs. Armstrong—she distinctly refused to let her child go with me—until I said to Mrs. Armstrong on the Wednesday "Here is a shilling for you" no amount of money was mentioned between us, but money had been mentioned—I gave her a shilling some time after she had consented to her child going—I had got clothes by that time—I represent to the Jury that Mrs. Armstrong consented to her child going to be used by a man, without any idea of what she was to receive; but she knew she was going to receive money for it—I swear that Mrs. Broughton knew the Sullivan, the commercial traveller, or the man who had been a commercial traveller, by seeing him backwards and forwards about Edgware Road and Bell Street—she had seen him two or three times—I cannot really say when—I do not know whether she has spoken to him, but she has seen him.

By the COURT. I suggest that Mrs. Armstrong trusted to me to give her what I thought fit, for her child going for a man—I was a complete stranger to her, but I believe she had seen me before on my crutches—she did not know my antecedents, and yet she trusted entirely to me to give what I thought fit for her daughter.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. My letters right up to September, 1884, to Mrs. Broughton, are signed "Rebecca Jarrett"—I never passed by the name of Sullivan, as between myself and Mrs. Bronghton, till I went to see her on that 2nd of June—up to that time she had known me as Jarrett, and I had never been called, or called myself, Sullivan to her—I assumed the name of Sullivan because when I entered into her house I told her I had been with Sullivan again, and, by living with him, had taken upon myself his name—I had lived with him before—I passed by the name of Jarrett before, but when I was in the hotel then I gave up that name because I did not want to be recognised—I said yesterday that when Mrs. Armstrong came in on Wednesday she said to me, in the presence of her child, that after I left, Eliza had done nothing but worry her about letting her go—I understood that to mean service, as far as I knew, but not a word was mentioned of service by me to either Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Broughton, nor the child, on the Tuesday—the child did not know she was going to be a prostitute, because before she left

home I told her to be a good girl, and what I should want her to do—when the mother told me on the Wednesday morning, in the presence of the child, that since I had left yesterday, Tuesday, Eliza had done nothing but worry her about letting her go with me, I don't know what she had the idea of, I did not know what it meant—I mean to represent that when Eliza Armstrong came in herself on the Tuesday, when she had heard from a little girl in the street that I wanted a girl, Eliza Armstrong thought she was to go to me as a servant, and I left it to the mother and Mrs. Broughton—Mrs. Broughton was to have 4l., because she procured the child for me from Mrs. Armstrong—I bought the child of the mother, but gave the money to Mrs. Broughton—I considered I was buying the child of Mrs. Broughton, because she procured it for me—I knew that Mrs. Broughton could have no right of any kind to dispose of the child unless the mother gave her full consent for it to go with me, and I should not have took it away if the mother had not consented to allow her to five it to me—Mrs. Broughton was to have 4l., and the mother only 1l., because Mrs. Broughton was supposed to get the child for me—she was to take 4l. and the mother only 1l.—up to my handing the two sovereigns to Mrs. Broughton on Wednesday, no amount had been mentioned between me and Mrs. Broughton, but money had been mentioned, and I gave her 2l. without having mentioned any amount to her—that 2l. was given after the mother had consented to let the child go—I never mentioned in words any amount to Mrs. Broughton at any time—the 2l. was given to Mrs. Broughton for her kindness in getting the child for me after the mother had consented to let her go, and Mrs. Broughton was to have another 2l. if she turned out to be a virgin—I can explain that; I told Mrs. Broughton that I wanted a pure girl, and that I would pay her half when I found I had Eliza Armstrong, and after I found she was pure, the other half was to be given to her—that 2l. was not to be sent direct to the mother, because I had promised it to Mrs. Broughton herself—I believe I told Mr. Stead all that passed as truthfully as I could—I read the story of what I had done, I think, about a month after it came out, about the beginning of August, I believe—I heard it read at the police-court, and in Court here—I think Mr. Stead made some slight mistakes in what I told him; one is that the child was bought from a woman who was a brothel-keeper—Stead did not write down what I told him—another mistake is, "One of the women who lodged in the house had a sister untouched"—I do not believe she lodged in the house—the girl that I told him of did not live in the house—I did not tell Mr. Stead that I had bought a girl on Tuesday for 5l.; I told him that I had not been able to get a girl up to Tuesday night—I do not know who "Lily" is; I have heard that "Lily" is Eliza Armstrong—I have read this article: "Lily" was a little cockney child, one of those by the thousand annually developing into servants of the poorer middle class. She had been at school, could read and write, and although her spelling was extraordinary, she was able to express herself with much force and decision. Her experience of the world was limited to the London quarter in which she had been born. With the exception of two school trips to Richmond and one to Epping Forest she had never been in the country in her life, nor had she ever even seen the Thames, except at Richmond. She was an industrious, warm-hearted little thing, a hardy English child, slightly coarse in texture, with dark black eyes, and short

sturdy figure. Her education was slight. She spelled write 'right' for instance, and her grammar was very shaky. But she was a loving, affectionate child, whose kindly feeling for the drunken mother who sold her into nameless infamy was very touching to behold. In a little letter of hers, which I once saw, plentifully garlanded with kisses, there was the following ill-spelled childish verse, 'As I was lying in my bed, &c.'"—I do not think "Lily" was Eliza Armstrong—I don't now think it is Eliza; I have a doubt—I believe it was—we have another child, and we have her history—I believe it was another child—I recollect receiving a letter from Eliza—I recollect the verses that are in it; they are quite the same that appeared in that article—I am quite willing to say, but I really do not think it is the same child now. Q. In both the passages the child is said to have been taken to a street that corresponds with Albany Street, "examined by a midwife who charged 30s. for the chloroform, then taken to a brothel in 'P—'Street, put to bed under influence of chloroform, and then called out 'There's a man in the room!'" And the Derby Day too. Now I put it all to you, do you now represent that you do not think it is Eliza Armstrong? A. I want to speak truthfully, and if you will allow me to say a few words—I do not know how to answer, whether "Yes" or "No"—I did not think then that the article when it called the girl "Lily," really referred to Eliza, but I might think it now; I do think it now—but there is a little girl, and I have always been allowed to think that little girl has gone through all this—that will show you that I really did not think it—I want to speak truthfully, but I have always been led to suppose that this other little girl is the real one, because I have seen the little girl; I have had it from the child's own lips—I cannot tell any one who has told me that another little girl, and not Eliza Armstrong, is the original of "Lily"—I have never mentioued it to any one—I have not heard it mentioned—I believe the little girl referred to will be brought before you—I know her first name is Grace, but her other name I do not know—I do not know where she is—I saw her with Mrs. Bramwell Booth; the last time was about a fortnight or three weeks ago—this (produced) is the letter I received—I never received the one of 9th July—the only letter, I can assure you, was the one with "the little thoughts I had" in it, the one of 10th June—I did not give that letter up to Mr. Stead—I believe that Mrs. Butler read the letter—I did not tell Mr. Stead that "Lily's" mother or Eliza's mother had asked me on Tuesday to take her daughter—I did not tell him I had agreed with a procuress, but I told him that I had the promise of a girl—no money was mentioned, not the sum of money—I believe Mr. Stead had got other women doing this sort of work besides me—I do not know their name—he did not tell me so; I do not think he did, but I have seen others that have been trying to do this work—I did not tell Mr. Stead that on Wednesday the father was told that his daughter was going to a situation—what I told Mr. Stead was that I sent the child in to the father and mother to bid them goodbye, and the child came out and told me that the father was lying on the bed—I did not tell Mr. Stead that the father was a drunken man; I did not know what he was—I told Mr. Stead that I should agree to give 5l. for a girl, 3l. down and 2l. when her virginity was certified—I might have told him that I had agreed to give the procuress, Mrs. Broughton, 5l., 3l. paid down and the remaining 2l. after her virginity had been professionally

certified—I meant to give 3l. first and 2l. after the child was certified—by the brothel-keeper and the procuress I meant the same person, Mrs. Broughton; allow me to tell you Mrs. Broughton was supposed to be the brothel-keeper, but she was the procuress—I do not think I told Mr. Stead that the brothel-keeper, Mrs. Broughton, had sent for Mrs. Armstrong and offered her 1l. for her daughter—I cannot suggest any person who can have told Mr. Stead that story; I only said to Mrs. Broughton that I had a house in the country—I had not mentioned any place at all—I believe I had made an arrangement with her as to how the other money was to be sent—I told her that after I proved the child to be pure, as I wanted her to be, I should forward her the rest of the money—she did not ask my address—this envelope, 10th July, has on it, "Mrs. Sullivan, Wimbledon, near Hampton Court, otherwise Rebecca"—I cannot suggest anybody by whom that address could be given—when I took the child away I did not know she was to be sent to France—Miss Peck was on the Tuesday and Wednesday in Albany Street—I did not on that Wednesday afternoon change hats with her; we never changed on Wednesday afternoon—on Thursday morning before I went to Paris I did, because her hat was a bigger hat than mine and more comfortable—Miss Peck put on the "gay" hat—she did not go anywhere on Wednesday afternoon, to my knowledge—I heard Dr. Heywood Smith say that on Wednesday night Mr. Booth came to him and said that in a short time Mr. Stead would bring him a girl—I do not know how Mr. Booth had heard of my getting the girl—before I left Paris I had no idea that Eliza Armstrong was to go out and sell the War Cry—the War Cry is the Salvation "Army" newspaper; I believe it is sold about the streets—I went to another brothel in Marylebone on De✗by-day, or the day before, besides Mrs. Broughton's house—I think it was in Spencer Street; No. 16, I think it was—I went there on the Tuesday—I went to Lady Lake Grove on the Saturday, and I went there on the Monday I think; I will not swear it, but I really think it was on the Monday I went to No. 16, Spencer Street—I do not know the name of the woman, but I will tell you how I was recommended—she was not a friend of mine—I met with a person that I did know; she had been, but she had given it up—I did not go to any other brothel kept by an old acquaintance, but I was sent by one. Q. I will just read these lines to you, "At the beginning of this Derby week a woman, an old hand in the work of procuration, entered a brothel in—Street, M—" (that is Marylebone), "kept by an old acquaintance, and opened negotiations for the purchase of a maid," was not that Mrs. Broughton's? A. No, I do not think it was; it was a place in Spencer Street—the "old acquaintance" was a person who I have been out with—she did not keep it, but she sent me to it—I opened negotiations there for a child—I did not agree there to buy a child for 5l.—I asked them to get me one—Baines was the name of the old acquaintance—she lived at 16, Spencer Street—she lodged in this brothel; she had given up the house, but she was lodging there—I don't think Mr. Stead knew of the letter I wrote to Mrs. Broughton on the 10th June—that is it (produced)—I do not believe Mrs. Butler knew of it; neither of them knew of it—when I wrote that letter I meant to write it not as a gay woman, but I meant to write it as at "Hope Cottage," High Cliff—I meant to let them see what I was doing—I meant to tell them that I was really doing better—I do not

know how I was known at "Hope Cottage," Mrs. Butler called me Rebecca Jarrett—there were girls in the house whom I looked after—they called me Miss Jarrett—Mrs. Butler knew that I was not married—I was in Mrs. Butler's employ; not paid by her—I had board and lodging there—that was the only home I had—I put "Rebecca, Mrs. Sullivan," at the end of the letter because that was the name I had gone to Mrs. Broughton by, when I went to engage the child—Mrs. Broughton knew me very well, and knew my name was Jarrett, and she knew my name was Sullivan—she called me "Becky"—if I had signed the letter "Rebecca" or "Becky," or "Rebecca Jarrett," she would have known who I was—honestly before God I did not think the letter was going to be shown to Mrs. Armstrong, I never thought nothing about it—I knew Mrs. Broughton could not read or write—I put "Mrs. Sullivan" because that was the name that I assumed when I had gone to her to buy the child—she supposed I was living with a man named Sullivan—I was not Mrs. Sullivan, but I took Sullivan's name, not at Winchester, but to her—I did not think that any one who read that letter, or Mrs. Armstrong who read it, would identify me as Mrs. Sullivan—on my oath I had no such thoughts about it—I told Mrs. Broughton I was not married—she thought when I was living with a man I took his name—she knew my real name was Jarrett—I do not believe I said one word to Mrs. Broughton about writing—I said to Mrs. Armstrong that she should hear now and then from Eliza—I might have forgotten that yesterday; yes, I think I had—I said it to her because I meant her to—nothing had been said to me before I said that—Mrs. Armstrong did not express a a wish to hear from Eliza—I volunteered that—I did not mean to write "Hope Cottage, High Cliff, Winchester," as the address where I was—I meant to write nothing of the kind; I promised to forward the rest of the money to her, and I had done so from Paris, and after I had done so I wrote this letter then, because I thought what I had done was all over, and I meant to do well after—I meant to let her see after that I was doing well—I meant to represent Hope Cottage was the place where I was, and as my home—Eliza was all right when I left Paris—at the time that that letter came I expected her back with me, and when I wrote that letter I did not want to lead those who had read it to think I was not going to have the child back—she had not been seduced—I meant that she was pure; she was what I wanted her to be—she was pure when I had her—I had sent the 2l. already—that was my agreement, that I should send her more money—I meant after this to go to Mrs. Broughton, and let her see that I had altered my life, and I should have taken little Eliza with me to her mother, and I should have said "You gave me your daughter for an immoral purpose, but I have not used her, but so far from that, I am training her and I am trying to make a good Christian girl of her"—I meant Mrs. Broughton to understand that the child, who was then with me, sent her love to her father and mother and me as well; I meant her to believe that she was with me as I expected her to be with me—I said I was on a visit, because I did not want them to know where I was living then—I put "Hope Cottage" on the letter, but I did not want to lead them to think I was really staying there, I was not going to let them know that that was my real address—I had two reasons for that—I meant to lead them to think we were stopping there for a week, but we were not going to stop there afterwards; that is what

I meant—that was my home, but I did not want to lead them to think I was down there—I meant this, that I did not want them to think I was not there—I had to leave Winchester because my old friends came down, and if they had found out that I lived there, they might have come and annoyed me again—the man I was living with, for one—Mrs. Broughton might have spoken to some one out of doors, and they might have traced out where I lived—that was my real motive for putting those words into the letter, and no other motive whatever—Jack is her husband, the same as "Bash," "and her mother" is Eliza Armstrong's mother—on my oath, I did not think nothing about whether Mrs. Broughton would show that letter to Mrs. Armstrong—I did not know who would read it for her—I knew some stranger would read it, perhaps—I meant to send my love to Mrs. Armstrong, the woman who had sold her child, and I meant to go and see her, too, afterwards—I did mean to go and see Mrs. Armstrong and Mrs. Broughton—I had no time appointed—I remained in Winchester all June—I went to Portsmouth—my object in writing that letter was, that I wanted to go home after, to let them see I had altered my life; and I meant to take little Eliza with me to her mother, and say "You gave me your daughter for an immoral purpose, and I have not used her, but have been trying to make a Christian girl of her"—according to me, the girl had been sold to me for an immoral purpose; therefore I thought neither her mother nor Mrs. Broughton cared a bit about her—they had given her to me body and soul—I wrote this letter because I thought if I took the child home, and it was seen I had not used her for an immoral purpose, it would have roused them up and made an impression upon them to see the wrong that they had done—I thought it would bring them to a sense of the iniquity they had perpetrated—I did not care whether Mrs. Armstrong saw that letter or not—she had handed her child over to me for that purpose, and I had not used it—I did not write after the 9th—I dare say that was before I went to Portsmouth in July—I went to Portsmouth before the home was shut up for a week I think it was—I cannot fix the date, but I believe it was somewhere about the end of July I went down—I was at home at Hope Cottage, High Cliff, Winchester, when I received that letter Z—I have not got the envelope—the day I wrote those two post-cards I received the letter—I do not think this is the letter I received—I received only one from Mrs. Broughton—it was the morning that these letters came after to the cottage—I don't know where the letter is that I received—I have not got it—I think it has been produced—I never received the telegram and I never received that letter—there was a letter written the same day as those post-cards—I don't know who received that letter—I have never seen it—I left Winchester on 10th of July, the day I wrote those post-cards—on the Saturday—the post-card of July 11th stated, "Your daughter is all right and doing well. But I have been so poorly, I have not been to my own home yet; but as you are anxious to see her, she shall come next week to you. Yours truly, Mrs. Sullivan"—Mrs. Butler did not know of my sending these post-cards—I had been poorly—my saying, "I have not been to my own home yet" was done to evade them, not Mrs. Broughton—it was to the mother, not to Mrs. Broughton—I signed that post-card to Mrs. Amstrong "Mrs. Sullivan" because I was under the assumed name of Mrs. Sullivan to them—I said, "My own home" to

evade the people, to know where I lived; not Mrs. Armstrong or Mrs. Broughton, but my old people—I do not suggest that Mrs. Armstrong had ever been in communication with Mr. Sullivan—I was seeking to evade Sullivan—"Jarrett" is a very uncommon name; you do not often hear it; and "Sullivan" you do often hear of; and if I had taken the name of "Jarrett" they would have found directly that was the name I was going in Winchester by—Mrs. Broughton knew me as Sullivan; I told her I was living with a man named Sullivan. (The following post-card was then read:—"Dear Nancy, I have been poorly, but Eliza is all right and doing well; but if her mother wishes to see her I will send her up to London next week with a friend of mine. Yours truly, Mrs. Sullivan)"—I had made an arrangement to send her up the next week—I had done all I possibly could do to get her back—I had been to Miss Humbert to ask Miss Humbert to write to Mrs. Bramwell and to tell Mrs. Bramwell I had bad a letter from Mrs. Broughton, and ask her to let me have the child—I do not know where that letter is; I can honestly say I don't know; the one I have just read is not the letter—I spoke to Miss Humber, and gave the letter to her, and I believe the letter was sent to Mr. Bramwell or Mrs. Bramwell, with a letter asking them to send the child back to me—I gave it to Miss Humbert to send either to Mr. Bramwell or to Mrs. Bramwell—of the 10l., 2l. I spent for my own clothes, 2l. I gave to the Lady Lake Grove people for that girl, the girl in Lady Lake Grove; I paid the money and did not get that girl; 5l. I gave for Eliza Armstrong, and 1l. for my expenses; driving in a cab, if you recollect, 1l. was changed in the ham and beef shop; 1l. went in the expenses, not that night, but in one way or another—I had some drink at Mrs. Broughton's; I had some drink at Lady Lake Grove, then I paid the 'bus from Mrs. Broughton's out of it—I left Winchester on the Saturday night—I went to Southsea—I had been to Portsmouth before, between Derby-day and that, I believe—I had been to Portsmouth between my coming back from Paris and that Saturday, the 11th of July; I believe it was about the end of June—of the girls that were with me at the home three have gone to service—when I left there were girls there; one went to service on the Monday, one went to service, I think, on the day I left, and another went to service a week afterwards—when I went on the 11th of July to Southsea I remained there from the Saturday night till the Tuesday night, and then I was taken over to Jersey by Captain Jones and Captain Archer, who were sent down to me by Mr. Bramwell Booth—I went to Jersey because my own friends had been in Winchester and been annoying me—I had never been to Paris before the 5th of July; I was there on the morning of the 5th, and left in the afternoon.

(MR. HENRY MATTHEWS, Q. C., and MR. WADDY, Q. C., here proposed to cross-examine the witness on behalf of the defendants Jacques and Booth. THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL argued that they were not entitled to do so after he had cross-examined. MR. JUSTICE LOPES ruled that the most convenient practice should be, when two prisoners were charged, that the prisoner called as a witness should be examined-in-chief by his own Counsel first, then examined-in-chief by the Counsel for the other prisoner, then cross-examined by the proseccution, and then re-examined by his oun Counsel, and then by the Counsel for the other prisoner.

Cross-examined by MR. HENRY MATTHEWS. The first time I saw Mr. Jacques was as I got out of the cab at the door of the house in Milton Street—I had not met him or spoken to him at any of the interviews when I went to Mr. Stead before—so far as I know I was quite unknown to him—as I left the cab he came up to me and said, "Are you Mrs. Sullivan?"—I was with Eliza—he then took me and Eliza into the house and introduced me to Madame Mourey—I saw Mr. Jacques and Mr. Stead in the house in Poland Street when the woman brought up the drink—I did not see him leave that house; I believe they both came down after we left—we drove off to Harley Street, or elsewhere, afterwards, but I never saw Mr. Jacques again—I did not see him at Nottingham Place, or when I went to the railway station in the morning; he had nothing whatever to do with all that.

Cross-examined by MR. WADDY. I do not think Mr. Bramwell Booth, before this question about Eliza Armstrong arose, instructed me to help Mr. Stead in his inquiry—Mrs. Butler introduced me, so far as I know, to Mr. Stead—after I first went after Eliza Armstrong, or heard of her, I never got any instructions from Mr. Booth himself until after she had been through that brothel.

Cross-examined by MR. HORNE PAYNE. I never saw Mrs. Combe before the morning of the 4th June.

Cross-examined by Stead. I first saw you on Whit Monday, at your house in Northumberland Street—I think it was the house No. 6, Northumberland Street—you asked me a good number of questions—I brought a letter to you from Mrs. Butler; and Mrs. Butler had told me to answer all the questions you put to me, and to make a clean breast of it; to tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth—I was unwilling to answer the questions you put to me, and I was very pained by the questions you put to me; and after you went away I complained to Mrs. Butler of the questions you had asked me, and said how much you had hurt me, and that I never would have come to see you if I had known what you were going to ask—I told you that I had kept a brothel in Manchester, and that I had been in prison in Manchester; that I had kept a brothel on the cliffs at Bristol, and at Marylebone, and that at all these brothels I had kept girls, and had been a prostitute myself, and also that for my customers I had been in the habit of procuring young girls; and that that was the practice in most of the brothels I knew—that these girls were usually about 13 or 14, and that they were brought into brothels by some procuress or the brothel-keeper herself—the substance of what I told you was that these girls are brought into these houses, not knowing what they were, and there often drugged, and handed over to be outraged—you spoke sharply to me, and I was very much affected—you said it was too bad to be believed, or something like that, and you would only believe it if I would do it again—I objected—you said you would not believe I was a changed woman if I refused to make such reparation as I could for my past crimes—even after that I was reluctant to do it—when I left No. 6, Northumberland Street, I went to Mr. Bramwell Booth with a letter I had from Mrs. Butler to take to him the same night that I came up from Winchester—the first time I came up from Winchester was on Whit Monday, to see Mr. Stead—I delivered that letter from Mrs. Butler to one of the people belonging to the "Army,"

to present it to Mr. Bramwell Booth at the Great Western Hall—I saw Mr. Bramwell Booth that night, and told him what you bad said to me—I do not think I asked him any question—I remember I said something about I did not think Mrs. Butler would approve of it—he said whatever Mr. Stead wanted me to do, I was to go and do it—I told him what Mr. Stead wanted me to do—this was on the Whit Monday—I did not see the letter that I took to Mr. Bramwell Booth opened. (MR. HORNE PAYNE here read the letter from Mrs. Butler to Mr. Booth.) Before I heard from Mrs. Butler I made inquiries at Lady Lake Grove, and I was going to have two little girls delivered to me the next Saturday, if the negotiations came out right—I think it was 5l. I was to pay for them—I think the sum was to be fixed when she gave me the girls up—I was to see what sort of girls they were, and then the money which she wanted for them was to be fixed—she was to bring two to Waterloo Station—I was going to take both to Winchester—Mrs. Butler had promised to take care of them—after having made that inquiry I went down to Winchester and told Mrs. Butler what I had done—I came up on the Saturday, and met you at Waterloo Station; the girls were not there—there had been some small mistake—I went down there again, and was cheated that time—the girl was brought in and ran away after I had paid 2l. for her—it was a gay house I went to at Lady Lake Grove—when I went down there I asked for one—I had not been there before—I told you that I was much disappointed about that failure, and I said I would have to go amongst my old friends—I was very reluctant to do so, and I told you that I would only go amongst my old friends on condition that you would not prosecute them—I did not want my old friends exposed in any way whatever—you said to me that I had not to go and send any one out to seek fresh girls, but only to get girls that were in stock—I think I saw you somewhere on the Tuesday, but I forget where it was—it was in the night-time, I believe, after I had been to Charles Street—I told you then that I had been to a bad woman who lived in a bad house—I meant the other person; you were mistaken in believing; that I meant Mrs. Broughton—I think it was in Spencer Street I saw the little sister of the woman who had been on the streets—I did not know her name—I saw a little girl at Mrs. Broughton's, but I saw another little girl in Spencer Street—that was not the same girl "who in all probability would be seduced and follow the profession of her married sister"—I told you that I had not told Margaret Fann what I wanted her for; you have mixed it up as it is written here—I did not tell you I told Margaret Fann what I wanted her sister for, but at the other house where I had gone to in Spencer Street there was a little girl brought to me there—"When this woman entered a brothel in—Street, M—," that I took to mean Spencer Street—I believe I told you Spencer Street; I feel sure I did—I told you on the Tuesday that I had seen a little girl that night, but her mother had refused to let her come with me—I think I told you on the Tuesday night about Mrs. Armstrong refusing to let her little girl go with me—if I did mention it I only mentioned it as one of my many failures—I did not see you again until the Wednesday night at Albany Street—then I told you about Mrs. Armstrong, that Mrs. Armstrong had had a sovereign, and that the other money was going to Mrs. Broughton—I always worked on my own account in my past dealings—it is usual to pay the procuress, and then sometimes she and

the person from whom she procures share—you asked me on the Wednesday night whether Eliza Armstrong's parents were quite willing that she should go with me—I told you they were; you pressed me on that point particularly—you asked me whether the parents knew the purpose for which the girl was wanted; I told you that they did—I told you I had dressed the girl and sent her back to bid her parents farewell, so as to give her time to relent, and if she refused to let me have the child, I would have taken the sovereign and she should have had the child back again; that was my reason—I meant that I in fact repented of the work that you had thrust me into, and wanted to give the mother a last chance—that was really why I sent the child back; so that if the mother saw the child dressed up and looking smart her mother's heart might relent, and she might say that she should not let her go—I knew no harm was going to be done to the little child, but the mother did not know that—I knew that after I took the child away the mother would remember that she had let her child go to be ruined; I wanted to spare the mother that feeling, if possible—I said once that she should write now and then to her mother—I did not tell you that—I believe I said to you "What are you going to do with her?"—you answered that you were going to send her away for a little while, and then I should have her—I wanted her very much, and I always wanted the child sent to me at Winchester, whatever child I bought, and you promised that I should have that child sent to me at Winchester, in order that I might bring it up—I told Mrs. Butler that one chief reason why I wanted the child at Winchester was that I might be able to take it back safe and sound to its mother, in order to show the mother that I had done it no harm—I believe I heard you say that "Lily" was not Eliza Armstrong—I believe I heard you say that "Lily" was made up of two girls, one Eliza Armstrong, and the other the girl Beesy of whom you spoke, who was actually outraged in that brothel—that is what I meant when I hesitated about replying as to whether "Lily" was Eliza Armstrong—I have had a good deal of experience among parents who are very indifferent to their children—I have known cases of mothers consenting to the children being seduced—I do not know that those mothers were always unkind mothers; I know they have been drunken sometimes—they must have been unkind mothers to let their children go for such a purpose—of my own knowledge, when they knew their child was going away they have bid it a last good-bye—it is possible for a mother to be drunken and careless about her child, but still desire to bid it good-bye—it was strange that Mrs. Armstrong did not bid her child good-bye—I sent postal-orders from Paris to Mrs. Broughton instead of waiting until I came back, because I had a letter from Mr. Booth in Paris to tell me to forward the rest of the money—I had a letter from Mr. Bramwell Booth on the Friday morning—I sent the postal-orders because I received that letter—I addressed the letter right—I saw you at Albany Street on Wednesday night—I had been buying clothes for Eliza, and spending money—the first money I got w as sent down to Winchester—I believe on Wednesday night I had some more money given me; it was 3l., I think, at Albany Street—that was for expenses and other things in getting this girl—I do not think you ever heard from me again about this girl, not after we left for Paris—you saw me off at Charing Cross Railway Station—I saw you at the Mansion House Committee—I

told the Mansion House Committee what I have told you here—after I left the Mansion House I never saw you—I went to the Mansion House after I came from Jersey—to the best of my belief you knew nothing at all about Eliza Armstrong except what I told you—I told you I had paid the mother one sovereign, and that Mrs. Broughton was to have 4l., 2l. down and 2l. after she was proved to be a pure girl—I never said anything to suggest in any way whatever that Mrs. Armstrong would expect her child back again, or that anything about service had ever been said; I am quite sure about that—when you saw her off to Paris I saw you bid her good-bye—to the best of my belief from what I had told you, you believed the girl belonged to you—I was very uneasy about her stopping in Paris so long—I thought I was rather badly treated by you—I thought you ought to let me have the child back, because you promised me.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I did not see Mrs. Armstrong at the Mansion House—I knew she was coming—I do not know who made the arrangement with the Poland Street brothel; the only thing I knew about it was that I was told to go there—I do not know who made the arrangement for Eliza Armstrong to be taken to the Poland Street brothel.

Re-examined by MR. CHARLES MATHEWS. There had been no impropriety in acts as between me and Mr. Broughton—we had talked together in slang words—there may have been some impropriety in conversation, but not in acts—by slang I mean rather loose conversation—Miss Pettit was at the head of the place at Chiswick—she was a kind of matron—Miss Hammond was the lady superintendent, who did not live in the house—at Northampton I expected some other occupation after I left Chiswick—I remained in Chiswick for some time, and then came to London, and from there to Northampton—the situation which was spoken of was a situation which I intended to take at Northampton—I did not give notice; they gave me notice—I could not stand; my hip began to be bad again, and they gave me notice to leave—that was what I referred to in the letter of 1st September as being untrue—with that exception the letter is a true letter—I should not have taken the child away unless the mother had consented to its going—after I returned to Winchester I endeavoured to get the child back—I am quite sure I left Winchester for good on the day I wrote those postcards in the morning—I am quite positive that I never received either a letter or telegram on the 13th July—I can produce some of the clothes I purchased for 2l.—I can show the places where I got all my things.

By the COURT. I said that I wrote this letter, because I thought it would bring them to a sense of the iniquity which they had perpetrated; because if I had used the child for a bad purpose I should have said in my letter she suited my purpose, and I used her for it, but in this letter I have not done so—I should not have put it in exactly like that, because I knew a third person would read it, therefore I should have had to wrap it up a good bit for my own sake—I should think all the letter would bring her to a sense of their iniquity—it would not have pointed out the horrible act they committed, but it would have condemned them because they had done it—if I had really used the child for a bad purpose I should have wrote another letter, and I should have wrapped it up in a different way to this—there is nothing particular in that letter which would bring conviction to their minds of the bad act they had perpetrated, so as to make them repent and relent—this is what I meant: I meant to write

this letter, and then the child should come with me, and I would have taken her and seen her mother, and done well by her—when I say the girl is all right, that means that she was pure, and that she had suited the purpose I wanted her for—it would not have conyeyed much comfort—the letter itself would not have done—but it was what I was going to do afterwards.

By the JURY. I told Mr. Stead, on the 2nd of June, that I had not got a girl, and then I did not see Mr. Stead until the evening of 3rd June, in Albany Street—this is the reason why Mr. Stead knew I had got a girl—Mrs. Broughton promised me to get a girl for me—I had not got one—then I said if I did get one would he come round to Albany Street, and then he should see whether I had got one, and he came down to know if I really had one—he was to meet me there on the chance, because he was not sure whether I would get one or not—I had arranged to meet him there on the chance of getting one—I dare say the sister of the girl who refused to allow the girl to come would attend as a witness—I don't know where Mrs. Broughton put the money when I gave it to her—I cannot say if she looked at it—I gave Mrs. Broughton the 1l.—I did not say to her "Here is 2l. for you"—I said "Here, Mrs. Broughton, take this for the trouble you had in getting the girl for me"—I did not say what it was—I don't know it' she looked at it—when I gave Mrs. Armstrong the 1l. I said "This is according to the agreement I made with you, that I would give you some money"—I did not tell her what it was, because Mrs. Broughton was in the room at the same time, and I did not want Mrs. Broughton to know what I gave Mrs. Armstrong—I did not want Mrs. Armstrong to know what I gave Mrs. Broughton—that is why I gave it like that—but when she came in for the shilling, or came in for the sixpence, I thought that was a hint to remind me of the money I had promised her—I promised to send the rest when I found the child had proved what I wanted her to be; but I did not state how much I should send her—I did not get the address of the post-office in Paris from the Salvation Army, because when I went in, the captain there had been out all the morning, and then I did not know that I should go until after I had my breakfast, and after breakfast I went in and they gave me a letter from Mr. Bramwell Booth, and on the letter it told me to forward the rest of the money at once—I went in to Madame Combe and said "I am going down to send this money away"—I went downstairs—I thought I should be able to find the place—I met Miss Greene, who is one of the Army people there, and I told her I was going for a walk—I went down the road, and I thought I would be able to find this post-office out, and I got hold of a policeman—I didn't know what he said exactly—he could not understand English at all, but he directed me across to this hairdresser's where there was an English gentleman being shaved—I believe Madame Combe knew I was going for a postal order—I do not think Miss Greene knew it—I dare say Miss Young might—I was a perfect stranger in Paris, and could not speak a word of French, and they knew that—they let me go out by myself to find a post-office without sending any one with me, for they had only just come in—Miss Young had been out since 6 o'clock in the morning and she was having her breakfast then—they had other people, but they were all out, I believe, doing different appointments—I did not ask Miss Young or the others the way to the

post-office—I went out saying I was going for a walk—then I got to the post-office in the way I have described; but I believe I mentioned to Madame Combe "I will go and send the money right away"—the money to get the post-office order I had out of the 10l.—I gave 3l. down and 2l. had left.

Monday, November 2nd.

REBECCA JARRETT (Re-examined by MR. RUSSELL ). I am not going to tell you where I did live, I am willing to go through any punishment; anything concerning the case I am willing to answer truthfully and honestly, but as to my past life I am not going to do it—as to the case of abduction I am willing to answer truthfully—you forced the lie out of me that in the year 1882 or 1883 I kept a gay house at 23, High Street, Marylebone, in the name of Sullivan—I am not going to answer whether I have ever lived or stayed at 23, High Street, Marylebone, during the last ten years—all they have to do is, if they have not found it out, to find it out—this is the frock and hat I purchased (produced), and this is the hat, but there were red feathers in it—they were taken out the morning she went to Paris, and black velvet was put in—I cannot say who took them out—I did not take them out; but I know they were taken out—I bought the red feathers at the same shop that I bought the hat—there were some bows taken off to match this here dress.

JOSEPHINE BUTLER (Examined by MR. RUSSELL ). I am the wife of Canon Butler, of Winchester—I have a hospital there for the assistance of poor women who have been in trouble—it is called a "The house of rest"—I made the acquaintance of Rebecca Jarrett in January last—Mrs. Bramwell Booth introduced her to me—I had heard of her coming under her influence, or of the Salvation "Army" people at Northampton, some little time before—she was a patient m my hospital for some weeks; then I introduced her to mission work in our own town, and in Portsmouth, to carry out the mission work—she continued under my superintendence to work in that way until May, when she came to London, and after that she resumed; but up to May she worked continuously at mission work, and gave entire satisfaction to me, and conducted herself apparently well and zealously—during the last week in May I had a communication from Mr. Stead, in consequence of which I spoke to Rebecca Jarrett to see whether she would go up to London, and told her what she had to do—she was unwilling to come, on account of her own feelings—she had lived on intimate terms with me as a friend and fellow-worker, and I communicated to her my intense desire to reform this system; and then I urged upon her that to make reparation for her past life she should do what was required of he, and she partook of my feelings in the matter—I know that she came to London, and that she returned to Winchester once before Eliza Armstrong was sent to Paris, and finally she returned to Winchester from Paris, and told me that the child had been left in Paris—I myself made preparations with Rebecca for the return of the child to Winchester to be with Rebecca—Mdlle. Amelie Humbert was to bring her by Southampton to Winchester—she is my private secretary—it was a very great disappointment to me as well as to Rebecca Jarrett that the child did not come—I know the letter of 10th June which has been put in from Rebecca to Mrs. Broughton—I was aware of it a few days afterwards—Rebecca by my directions left Hope Cottage on 11th July—she

remained somewhere about a month after she wrote that letter—some time after it was written some strange men came to Winchester and broke the windows of the House of Rest—we had to apply for police protection—she volunteered to give me the names of these men, and she mentioned the name of Sullivan, and it was after I had applied for police protection that I thought it prudent to remove her away from the place—I never heard the suggestion until this moment that Rebecca was moved away for the purpose of her address being concealed from the police, and so evading any charge against her.

Cross-examined by Mr. Stead. I introduced Jarrett to you, and gave you to understand that you could regard her as a trustworthy person—I believed you might trust her fully, and that she was an entirely changed woman; and I told you that one great dread of hers was to go back amongst her old friends, and gave you two reasons for that; first, because she did not wish to bring them into trouble; and secondly, because they might go down and do violence to her if she betrayed any of their secrets; those were the two reasons which I believe were in her mind; and believing that you wished to employ Rebecca in your way, I met you to discuss the matter at the headquarters of the Salvation "Army" what Mrs. Jarrett was do—Mr. Bramwell Booth was present; I do not recollect any one else—I remember the question of expense; it was a joint-purse arrangement between Bramwell Booth, Stead, and myself, and I think Mr. Benjamin Scott, the Chamberlain of the City of London; we were to be joint guarantors; and I fully understood that you were going to employ Jarrett upon some such mission as you did employ her—when this discussion took place the whole subject of the traffic in young girls was spoken of, and the matter then before us was not any particular case, because the inquiry had not begun; but I believe that it was understood amongst us, and it was my special wish that an attempt should be made to find young, pure girls, in order to prove that that is done for an immoral purpose—it was expressly understood among us three that pure young girls were to be bought to prove that this was done for an immoral purpose—another portion of the conversation turned very anxiously upon the subject of how we were entirely to save and rescue any such children which came into our hands—at that interview of the three it was said that we had only to buy girls that were in the market, and that would otherwise in all probability be ruined—I entirely understood that, and I brought forward an analogy from the abolitionists in America appearing in the slave market and buying young girls who would otherwise have been sold into slavery, in order to set them free—it was on that understanding that I consented to Jarrett being employed by you; and I undertook to provide a home for any number of young girls she might purchase; and I would have taken Eliza Armstrong most gladly if she had been sent to me—I told you that Jarrett was quite trustworthy about money; she had proved herself to me honest to the last farthing—I told you once when three girls were expected for delivery, and you were only expected to buy two, that I should like to buy the third, to save her from the devil's haunts—I have always considered that I was quite as much a party to this transaction as Mr. Bramwell Booth—I do not belong to the Salvation "Army," I am the wife of a Canon; but I have a deep sympathy with their work, and consider it of great national importance—in the arrangement with

Jarrett you had nothing to gain—she was to be supplied with money for necessary expenses, but nothing beyond—when Jarrett came down to Winchester, after her return from Paris, and told me what she had done, I would have certainly received Eliza Armstrong after her story.

Cross-examined by MR. HORNE PAYNE. I received a letter from Bramwell Booth May 25—I do not know where it is—I am in the habit of burning my letters directly they are answered.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I have means of fixing the date of 11th July, on which Jarrett left Winchester—I saw her leave my house on 11th July—I was in London on that day—I do not remember a telegram addressed Mrs. Sullivan, Hope Cottage, High Cliff, Winchester, my secretary received it—I did not receive this letter of 13th July—till this letter and telegram were read I had never seen them—I was aware of such a letter and telegram—I first heard of them from my private secretary shortly before I went to the Continent on 16th July—I never saw them—I had frequently seen Mr. Bramwell Booth and Mr. Stead with reference to Rebecca Jarrett before she had come to London—I am sorry that I cannot fix the date when the interview took place at which it was arranged that Rebecca Jarrett should be employed, it must have been before Whit-Monday—I had, I think, one discussion with Mr. Booth with reference to the employment of Jarrett, but several with Mr. Stead—that was at the headquarters of the Salvation "Army," 101, Queen Victoria Street—Mr. Scott was present also at that interview—if I remember rightly, in the first instance Jarrett was to detail truthfully her experience in her own path of life in the matter of selling pure children for profligate men, and I was to persuade her to do that—no mention was made of any particular case, because we had none before us—she was to give her experience, and, if possible, she was to help in certain transactions of a detective nature, in order to bring to light the existence of these crimes—she was not to go to children other than those that were in the market—those instructions were given her first by Stead in my presence—they were not full instructions, they were forced by me on Jarrett—Mr. Booth was a party to this arrangement as well as Mr. Stead, and acquiesced in the arrangement—it was to be a joint-purse arrangement between Mr. Stead, Mr. Bramwell Booth, myself, and Mr. Benjamin Scott, the Chamberlain of the City of London—I took no part in the actual transaction as to Eliza Armstrong—from the time that Jarrett left Winchester, at the beginning of June, until the return from Paris, I had nothing to do with the case at all further than the correspondence with Jarrett—I have no letter from her between those two dates—I did not receive any, but I wrote her many—everything in reference to the actual details of the case was communicated to me by Mr. Stead previous to Jarrett's return—I had no communication from her regarding the details of the Eliza Armstrong case, excepting verbally from her on her return—she did not tell me that the child had been sent to a situation—I remember Inspector Borner coming down to see me on 15th July—he asked me for the address of the person with whom the child was living—I declined to give it—I said that I was connected with the Secret Commission of the Pall Mall Gazette, and had given my word that the child's address should not be given to any one—I knew the child was in Paris on 15th July—I was not sure about her address there—I first knew that she

had been to L'Oriol at the end of August—I was at Chamounix—I am not certain; it might have been September—I beg your pardon, my impression is that Inspector Borner said "Where is Rebecca Jarrett," but his questions were all about the child—he never mentioned Hope Cottage, I am quite sure of that, and it was not shut up—I was in Court when he was examined—I declined to give him any information, excepting that I belonged to the Secret Commission, I was proud to tell him that—I knew Borner perfectly; I knew his face very well, but I always refuse information to the police—he came with Sergeant Fulcher of the Winchester police, or Sergeant Hollow—I have known him for the last three months—I do not always refuse information to the law; that is a very different thing—Inspector Borner told me that the mother had applied to a Magistrate for her child—that was the first time I had heard of that—I never saw an enclosure or a slip of newspaper in the letter of the 13th.

Re-examined by MR. RUSSELL. I never saw this letter till the other day; it is addressed to Mademoiselle Amelie Humbert—I think she in London to-day; she is not here yet.

PROFESSOR JAMES STUART , M. P. I am one of the members for the borough of Hackney—I never heard of this case of Eliza Armstrong till in the House of Commons some time early in August—I have taken an interest for fifteen years in what I conceived to be the proper strengthening of the law for the protection of girls—when this case was before the police-court at Bow Street I undertook a journey to Paris with Rebecca Jarrett, to endeavour to trace out the place where she alleged she had bought the orders—we set out from the quarters of the Salvation "Army," where she said she had gone from for the purpose of getting the orders, but previous to that I got a description from her, and then I traced out the young man in the post-office employ—her description called up in my mind a fair idea of whom I was to see—I obtained access to his bedroom, where he was asleep—I left Rebecca outside—I knocked at the door; he was late getting up—he corresponded with the description she had given me—after some conversation between me and him she went in, and made some exclamation, and identified him—he said that he had not given her any money orders; he did not recognise her; he said that he had not given her any money orders; he is not here.

Cross-examined by Stead. I am not prepared to say whether I was at the offices of the Salvation "Army" before Whit Sunday with Mrs. Butler—I called there once with Mrs. Butler, but I cannot say the date—I do not think I was present with you at the Salvation "Army;" I should like to think that over—I don't think there was anything said about Jarrett then—the question we discussed when I was there was the general question of exposing the traffic and reforming the law—nothing was said about methods to the best of my remembrance.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I am not prepared to say whether anything was said about methods, for I do not remember the conversation; but I am quite clear that it was a discussion about exposing the traffic and reforming the law—I do not remember being at the interview at Whitsuntide, at which Mrs. Butler, Mr. Bramwell Booth, and Mr. Stead were present, when Jarrett's employment was discussed—I have no knowledge whether this young man I had an interview with in Paris was here; it is impossible for me to answer—he said

he had no recollection of the trausaction—I went to Paris in the interval when the trial was suspended for two days, and I was two nights away—I came back on the morning of the police-court resuming.

BLANCHE YOUNG . I am an officer in the Salvation "Army," and live at the headquarters in Paris, in the Avenue Laumiere—I recollect Rebecca Jarrett arriving in company with Mrs. Combe and the child in Paris, on, I think, the 14th of June—I was not told how the child was brought to Paris, or how she had got possession of her—I was simply told briefly that she had been rescued, and that I was to look after the child kindly, and I did so—the child seemed very much attached to Rebecca—I recollect the Friday evening, 5th of June, when Rebecca left, the day after she arrived—I recollect her speaking to the child and giving her kindly advice as she was leaving, and on parting with her she kissed the child and told her to be good—she said, "Your mother did not give you to me for service, but for something worse."

Cross-examined. I was not there the whole time the child was—I left for the South of France on the 18th of June—I was there from the 4th of June till the 18th—I did not return before the child had left—I was in charge of her at the time of her arrival, but not from the 4th until the 18th—the week after, my comrade came back, Miss Patrick—Miss Booth is the marshal over all—I think that the child had written two letters in Paris—I recollect distinctly one, but not two—I remember her writing to her mother—I do not remember how many days after Eliza got to Paris she wrote it—I read the letter—I remember one clause in it was, "I very happy"—there were some verses at the end of it—the child gave it me after it had been written—I simply read it and put it in an envelope and I think I addressed it to Mr. Bramwell Booth, in London, and it was posted—I do not remember whether there was any address on the paper written by Eliza—there was a heading, the Paris address of the Salvation "Army," not written by the child, but by Miss Patrick—Miss Patrick intended to use it for some other purpose, and the child had got it—after I had sent that letter to Mr. Boeth I never saw it again—girls of the Salvation "Army" went out into the streets of Paris to sell the War Cry—she went out more for the walk than anything else—she did go out to sell the War Cry.

Cross-examined by MR. HORNE PAYNE. She only went out occasionally in company with girls for a walk, selling the War Cry—she had no license to sell the War Cry—some of the other girls had licenses, and she went with them.

WILLIAM THOMAS STEAD (the Prisoner). (Examined by MR. H. MATTHEWS from a statement handed in by Stead). I have been editor of the PALL MALL GAZETTE since the midsummer of 1883—I had since 1871 been connected with the press—since my connection with the press I have constantly written in favour of the alteration of the law for the protection of women, and I was cognisant of the labours of the Committee of the House of Lords on this subject, on the amendment of the Criminal Law, in 1883 and in 1884; I was aware of the various Bills for the protection of women that passed the House of Lords, and were in some way defeated in the House of Commons; and I, as a public writer, discussed those measures as they appeared from time to time, and constantly pressed for their amendment in the sense of further protection being

given to women and girls—Mr. Benjamin Scott was also very much interested in this question; I may say his letter upon the subject of the foreign traffic in English girls was one of the determining causes which made me come to London from Darlington in 1881, where I edited the Northern Echo for nine years—one of the determining causes for my joining the London press was in order that I might the more efficiently advocate this cause—Mr. Benjamin Scott had a committee of his own, meeting on the subject in order to promote the improvement of the law; and he communicated with me on the subject on the 23rd of May of this year, the day after the Criminal Law Amendment Bill was talked out in the Commons—I called on him on the subject of the failure of the Bill, the absolute sacrifice of it as I was told—Mr. Scott and I went together, and saw Mr. Bramwell Booth on that subject that afternoon—the subject of our conversation was the further protection for women and girls—I had previously received communications from Booth on the subject—and he, as well as Mr. Scott and myself, was interested in this subject—we discussed what best might be done in order to promote the cause I had at heart, with the view of getting facts—we did not know what could be done then, but what I did say was that before anything was done we ought to get to know the facts—Mr. Scott did not assist me in getting acquainted with Rebecca Jarrett—he took me across to the Guildhall to give me some information—he had nothing whatever to do with Rebecca Jarrett—from Mr. Booth I learnt that there was such a person as Rebecca Jarrett—he wrote to Mrs. Butler at my request, and sent up Jarrett on Whit Monday—I went to Bee Mr. John Morley, my predecessor on the Pall Mall Gazette, shortly after I left town, and I communicated with Lord Dalhousie, who was the Chairman of the Committee of the House of Lords—he had introduced the Criminal Law Amendment Bill into the House of Lords—I first saw Jarrett on Whit Monday afternoon, the 25th May; she brought with her a letter of introduction from Mrs. Butler; I have it somewhere; I do not think it is here; there were several things of a private nature in it—I have no objection to putting it in if necessary; it was merely an introduction—I had a long conversation with Jarrett; about two hours I think—I questioned her very closely as to her past experience in the business of procuring girls—she gave me a considerable number of details of a very ghastly character—I told her that if all was true that she told me, she must prove it; it was too horrible to be believed merely upon the word of a person like her—she objected, and I insisted—I told her that if she was truly repentant she ought not to object to help us in this matter, or to help me, I do not know which, but you will see that it is immaterial from my point of view; that she deserved, if what she said was true, to be hanged in this world and damned in the next, and the least she could do was to make what reparation she could for the crimes which she had confessed—I think that argument had weight with her—I said that if she had procured girls for dissolute men she must procure some girls for me, as if I were a dissolute man—I said, "If what you say is true, there are girls who are in the market who are sold to brothel-keepers; if that is so, the best way to prove it is to go and buy in the market; will you go and buy for me one, two, or more girls who are in stock, and who would probably be sold"—I may have said, "who would be sold to some one else if you do not buy them"—she hesitated, and said she must ask Mrs. Butler—I had a long

conversation, and I explained to her that, having bought the girls, instead of ruining them as they would be ruined in the ordinary course of business, we intended to rescue the girls, and then be able to use the facts of such purchase in such a way as to render all such purchases in future impossible or dangerous—I pressed upon her the consideration that if she would do this thing she would be the means of saying far more girls than all those whom she admitted she had helped to ruin in the past—she was much perplexed, and left me to go to Mr. Bramwell Booth, to whom she had a note from Mrs. Butler—that was the end of that interview—I did not see her again until the Saturday following, the 30th of May—in the interval I saw Mr. Booth—it was in the interval between these two days when I saw Jarrett on the Monday, and when I saw her again on the Saturday, that I met Mrs. Butler and Mr. Bramwell Booth—Mrs. Butler confused that with the prior interview—the interview between us three was in the interval between the Monday and Saturday—Mrs. Butler's narrative is substantially correct, with this difference, that Mrs. Butler and Mr. Booth, and subsequently Mr. Benjamin Scott, came a few days later I think—I had said that I was to employ Rebecca—I was instructing Jarrett, and I regarded myself as having the sole responsibility for what she did—I told them that—it was quite distinctly understood—I said so to both Mr. Booth and Mrs. Butler—I did not ask them, and would not ask them, to share any responsibility for the purchase; what they had to do was to help to take care of the girls after I bought them—that is what I said to Mr. Booth particularly—the "examination" was not mentioned as I remember—I said I was to purchase the children who were in stock, and who would be ruined it I did not buy them—at this interview I had not discovered Madame Mourez—Mrs. Butler and Mr. Scott had agreed to contribute to the expense of this inquiry, but as they never did contribute, perhaps I may explain how they did not—it was a guarantee fund in case the inquiry resulted in nothing, whereas I said if the inquiry results in facts which are publishable, of course the Pall Mall Gazette will pay the expense; I could ask the proprietors to pay the expense of the inquiry—I have no pecuniary interest in the Pall Mall Gazette, absolutely none; I get my salary—the guarantee fund was to be 200l., I personally, out of my private means, undertaking to meet 100l., one-half of that; the other half was to be made up by the other guarantors, by Mr. Booth and Mrs. Butler, and subsequently Mr. Scott came in—I do not know whether Mr. Scott's was his personally or on behalf of the committee; but as the inquiry resulted in matter which we did publish in the Pall Mall Gazette, the expense of the inquiry was borne by the proprietors—the inquiry cost about 400l. altogether—Mr. Booth advanced altogether about 40l.; he advanced it at various times; the first 10l. was on the Friday, the 29th of May; that which was sent down to Mrs. Jarrett at Winchester at my request—that was advanced for me—he knew what it was for; it was for the purchase of two girls, who were to be delivered at Waterloo Station next day, but they were not; and at various times he paid the expense of Eliza Armstrong going over to Paris, but I considered myself bound to recoup him for his expenses in this inquiry—the reason I didn't advance the money out of my own pocket was that the person that went to Winchester was a member of the Salvation "Army," a young lady called Miss Peck, and she left from headquarters and went down;

she called at the office—I would have advanced it, but Bramwell Booth had the money in his pocket at the time, and he handed Jarrett the money at my request—Jarrett left on the Tuesday and came back on the Wednesday—Miss Peck went down on the Friday with the money—I think I did not see Miss Peck, to have any communication—I got a message from Jarrett through Miss Peck, and in consequence of that message I expected to receive two girls at the Waterloo Station on that Saturday—I went to Waterloo Station to receive two girls—I didn't find them—on Thursday, the 28th of May, I received a letter from Mrs. Butler—I have it, but not here—Rebecca told me the same story that I had previously heard from Miss Peck to the effect that she had arranged for the delivery of two girls at Waterloo station that day—three were to be brought, out of which I was to select two—Mrs. Butler had previously told me that she would like to buy the third one, in order to save her from what appeared to be her inevitable fate—Jarrett said they were to be brought by a brothel-keeper down Whitechapel way, and when they did not come she explained it on the ground that possibly a letter had miscarried, that she was not sure about the address, and there might have been some mistake—I do not know whether I saw Jarrett again until the eve of the Derby Day, that is the Tuesday, the 2nd of June—I saw her at the house of a friend—I will give the name of the friend, in Oxford Street—Jarrett then told me of her failure to secure the girls down Whitechapel way, she had been to see the brothel-keeper, and asked how it was she had not delivered the children according to contract—she said that she had expected a letter from her confirming the bargain—Rebecca said she had written but the number was wrong; she discovered that the number, was wrong—that was on the Saturday—the brothel-keeper promised on the following Monday to get her a little girl—on Monday she had gone to get the girl, and paid 2l. down for a girl as half the purchase-money, and the girl, hearing that Jarrett was going to take her into the country, bolted, and got out of a cab where Jarrett was—Jarrett also told me that she had found it more difficult than she expected owing to her having been out of the business, and that it was necessary for her to go and take lodgings in some notorious street; that she had taken them in Albany Street, in what she believed at the time she took the lodgings to be a gay house, in the hope that the landlady might put her in the way of buying the girls in connection with the house, and ripening for seduction, as you may say; finding them first, and then buying them; that she had found out that the house was not a gay house, at least they denied that it was, but she then had suspicions—at Albany Street she said she had to go back to her old friends, which she was very reluctant to do, and although she had gone so far, she would not carry the negotiations further unless I would promise most solemnly not to expose any of her old friends or acquaintances—I promised—I did not wish, I told her, to expose individuals, I had no wish to incriminate any person who helped her in bringing to light the facts, that if her friends helped her to buy a girl in stock, I would take care not to bring their names out—she said she had been among her friends, and had been to a woman whom she had described as a bad woman living in a bad house, she had linked this woman to help her and a little girl was offered her—something was said about a little girl, but I do not remember the exact words—this

little girl had a sister who was on the streets getting her living, and who was in the house of this bad woman when Jarrett visited it—she had hopes that she would get this child the next day—she told me that the sister, who was on the streets, understood exactly what the girl was wanted for—its father was dead, its mother was far away, and this elder sister was, she did not use the word "guardian," but had charge of the child—that was in substance of what Jarrett told me on the 2nd June—she told me that she had to go back again next day if I was willing to give 5l. for the child on condition she was pure—I said of course I would buy the child if the child was for sale; and she had my authority to go next day and buy the child, and I said I would go to Albany Street to tea and see the child—I went next day to Albany Street in consequence of that arrangement, about 5 o'clock I think—I found Eliza Armstrong, Jarrett, and Miss Peck there—I first had some conversation with Rebecca about the girl—Eliza Armstrong and Miss Peck went into the other room—I had two conversations with Rebecca when Eliza Armstrong was not present—one was when I first went into the house, and the other after tea; but I cannot exactly remember when—there is one thing I am quite sure was before tea, Robecca said "This is not the little girl that I expected to get, that little girl that I told you about last night has another sister who is in service, and this sister hearing of the intended destination intervened"—that was the substance—"this is another little girl whose mother has got to know of the bargain and suggested to the woman who was procuring her that her Eliza would do"—she was a drunken woman, she told me; and then she said to Mrs. Broughton "Won't our Eliza do?" and Mrs. Broughton said "No; she is going to have another little girl," or "to get a little girl"—I have got awfully mixed about the little girls, and more so since I came into Court—she might have said the other little girl—Jarrett said, when she went back, Mrs. Armstrong renewed her proposal and offered Eliza to Mrs. Broughton—I said to Jarrett, "Are you sure the mother knew what her child was wanted for?"—Jarrett said, "Quite sure; I told her that she was wanted for a man, that she must be a pure girl"—she told me she had asked Mrs. Broughton also whether Eliza was a pure girl, and Mrs. Broughton said something about Eliza messing about with boys in the street; romping about, I suppose, she meant—she had told Mrs. Broughton that if Eliza was in the habit of romping about with boys in the streets she might not be pure, and if she was not pure she would not serve her purpose, so she was particular in asking Mrs. Armstrong about her daughter being a pure girl—she mentioned Mrs. Armstrong's name, I presume; I do not remember particularly, but I think she did—I think she called her "the mother" mostly—that the mother said she was pure; and, on that understanding, Rebecca agreed to take her—she said she got new clothes for the child, and dressed her up in them—before that, before she went to bid the mother good-bye, she said that she had given Mrs. Armstrong a sovereign for her Eliza—I think Rebecca used the phrase, "a golden sovereign;" put it into her hand for her Eliza, and that she had given Mrs. Broughton 2l., and the rest had to be sent to her, "if the girl was proved to be pure"—Rebecca added that it was a proof of the confidence which Mrs. Broughton had in her that she was willing to take the verdict of Rebecca's doctor, instead of having her examined by her own, as was the case when strangers were dealing—she described

Mrs. Broughton as a bad woman, who lived in a bad house; I understood that she was a brothel-keeper, but I could not say that she used the phrase brothel-keeper—in point of fact, having a doctor doing her business, but not constantly in employment—Rebecca also said that she had dressed the child and sent her to bid her parents good-bye—she told me her mother had gone out drinking, and that the father, who was lying down, did not care enough about his daughter to ask where she was going—I do not remember whether she said drunk or not—I think Jarrett told me that the father was told the girl was going to a situation, but I do not think that it was just at that time—I think that it was at Albany Street—I do not remember Jarrett using the words that the father thought his child was going to service, but Jarrett said that she had asked the mother twice or thrice over if she was quite willing for the child to go; that the mother said, "Yes;" and, to give her a last chance, I think that was the phrase, of relenting, she had sent the child back, dressed in its new clothes, so that the mother might relent, and not let her daughter go; the father being indifferent about his daughter, indifferent in not caring sufficient about her to ask where she was going to—Jarrett did not go to Mrs. Armstrong to ask her for the child—that Mrs. Armstrong came twice over, hearing a child was wanted for prostitution, and thrust the child upon Mrs. Broughton—these conversations between I and Jarrett lasted, I think, the first one about three minutes; and the second, when we were at tea, twenty to twenty-five minutes—I was most urgent with her—it was not merely a narrative, but questions put by me with a view of eliciting facts, because I felt bothered about it—I questioned her as to the mother's willingness to let the child go; as to the mother's knowledge of the destination; and as to the perfect indifference of the father to the fate of the child—I inquired what sort of a child it was.

MISS BLANCHE YOUNG (Re-examined by the COURT ). When Jarrett was going away and leaving Eliza behind, she said to her, "Your mother did not give you to me for a servant, but for something else"—I am sure that the words were not, that "Stead," or "Mrs. Broughton did not give you to me"—I did not hear Mrs. Broughton mentioned—I did hear "mother"—that I am quite certain about.

MR. STEAD'S Examination by MR. H. MATTHEWS—(continued). Before leaving Albany Street I gave Jarrett instructions to bring the child to Milton Street—I said to Jarrett, "Bring the child in a cab to the corner of Milton Street," No. 2, I think, but I will not be sure about the number, "and there Mr. Jacques will meet you"—I am not sure I said Jacques, but "a gentleman"—I think I said, "An elderly gentleman will meet you, and take you to the house of a French midwife, who will examine the child"—that is in substance what I said to her—I think I met Jacques first about 27th May—Mr. Benjamin Scott introduced him to me—I received from Mr. Scott information about him and his past career; and that he had been a war correspondent; I also referred to some other gentlemen about him, newspaper editors in London who had employed him—Mr. Passmore Edwards, of the Echo, was one; and Captain Hamber, editor of the Morning Advertiser, was another; they assured me that he was a trustworthy person, and he assisted me in the inquiries I was making about the traffic in girls in London—I had learned from him about Madame Mourey and her house—he told me she was an old abortionist

who had connection with houses of ill fame; he had called upon her to ask either where he could get young girls, or whether she could get them for him, I do not know exactly which; she said that she did not supply them, and it would be rather difficult to procure them, owing to the scare caused by the Jeffries prosecution; before that we should have had no difficulty in procuring young girls at several houses of ill fame, which she named to him, and he repeated to me; but that still there were one or two houses at St. John's Wood where young children might be procured; her part in the business was not procuring, but she would certify the virginity of girls, that she had been in the habit of certifying the virginity of girls before they were seduced, and she boasted of her skill in discerning the physical evidences of maidenhood, she said the was an unerring judge, and after the children were violated or seduced, I forget the phrase, she would patch them up so dexterously that it would be almost impossible to discern the outrage which they had suffered—that was between the 27th and 30th May—on 3rd June I told Jacques that if this woman really did ply this horriole trade we must prove it, and that if we bought a girl we would send her to be certified there—that was before I knew what girl was going to be bought—after hearing from Jarrett the next day that she would probably get a girl, I may have told him to prepare Madame Mourey to receive a girl on the following night, I am not quite sure—I told him to represent himself as the courier of a rich American, I being the rich American, who had a taste for little girls, who expected to procure one or to have one procured for him, and who wished to be quite sure that he had procured a genuine article before he violated her—Mr. Jacques told me that he had heard from Madame Mourey that there would be no difficulty about certifying the child, but as she was in the habit of certifying them for one gentleman whom she particularly named, a one-armed man, for whom she had certified many, who she had subsequently patched up, she advised Jacques to do as this one-armed customer did, and go down to the East End of London when girls were leaving their employment, either at the dinner hour or at night, and pick up young girls for himself, it was the cheapest and the easiest—Jacques said that Madame Mourey said that she had supplied drugs, in order to lessen the resistance of the child when she was struggling—having heard all that I told Jacques to prepare Madame Mourey to receive a girl next day to certify—that was at six o'clock—I think I gave him the directions to meet them at Madame Mourey's door, immediately after leaving Albany Street, on the Wednesday, the Derby day—I may have told him before, but I do not remember—after I had had tea I think I came down to the office and told Jacques that that appointment was fixed, and he had to meet Jarrett and the girl at six o'clock—I do not say that I used those words to him as to meeting Jarrett—I told him I had bought a girl, and that the woman I had employed, I did not mention Jarrett, would bring the child to the corner of Milton Street at 8 o'clock that night—I think that is exactly what I told him, and that he had to introduce the woman and the child to Madame Mourey—I think I said she would be a tall woman, walking with a stick, but I am not sure about that; but the cab was to drive up to the corner, and he was to be there waiting—I know he did not know the right name, because he thought for some time that Jarrett and Sullivan were two different women—I told him to say to her,

"Are you Mrs. Sullivan?" and if it was Mrs. Sullivan, he was to take her into Madame Mourey—I gave him those directious, after leaving Albany Street, at my own office that evening—I kept him in the dark just then about the girl having been procured, because I did not know very much about him then—I went to Milton Street—I got there about 8 o'clock I think; it may have been about 9 o'clock—I do not think I went with Jacques—I went to Mr. Jacques there alter he had been there—the child was there in the house when I arrived, and I waited outside till they came out—when they came out Jacques and I followed to Poland Street—Jarrett, Eliza Armstrong, Jacques, and myself were there, nobody else—they were driven to Poland Street by Jacques's direction—Jacques had told me he had asked Madame Mourey to have the outrage consummated in her own establishment, as he said she allowed her house to be used for that purpose, but she declined—we knew the house in Poland Street was a brothel—I did not want to go there myself—I should have preferred to go to a swell house at the West End, but Jacques suggested that Poland Street was the safest—he told me that you could procure girls there, which I subsequently verified by having one brought by the brothel-keeper for me—having arrived at Poland Street, Jarrett and the child went into the house, accompanied by Jacques and myself—I hired two rooms, and ordered liquor to be brought by the woman of the house, so as to bring her into the room where the child was—the liquor was supplied in that room—Jacques and I went into one room, leaving Jarrett and the child in the other—I should have mentioned that on leaving Madame Mourey's, Mr. Jacques produced to me the phial of chloroform, for which, he said, he had paid the midwife 30s., she remarking that Eliza was very little, and that it would hurt her very much when she was outraged; and he said, "Had not you better give me something to alleviate the pain?" and she sold him the chloroform for 30s., and I paid 1l. for the certificate of her virginity—Jacques told me the examination which had taken place was almost momentary, and there had been no objection made—the child was restless, and I suggested to Jarrett that she had better see if she could doze her over by putting some chloroform on a handkerchief—the child has told you what happened; she did not like the smell, and pushed it away—I went into the room, and she cried out, "There's a man in the room, take me home;" and I went out very rapidly, and did not return; I had had enough after the child cried out—I soon afterwards left the house, and one reason why I left was, the brothel-keeper came and knocked at the door, and said that the time was up, showing that she knew the reason the room was taken—we were there a little longer than an hour—on leaving the house I told Jacques that we had proved very well that women received children for that purpose—I then dismissed Jacques, and Jarrett and the child and I went to Dr. Heywood Smith, and then to Nottingham Place, where the child was examined at my desire, with the object to clear myself; and also to enable me to say to Mr. Bramwell Booth, when I asked him to take care of the child, that I had not sent a girl to him that would prove in the family-way—there was a general understanding that Mr. Bramwell Booth would take charge of any child from the Saturday—I think I told him on the Tuesday that I expected to get a child, and asked him to arrange to have a good trustworthy woman to take the child I expected to get the next night across to France—I spoke to him that night and told him I had a child and wanted her taken

charge of—before I had taken the child to Nottingham Place I saw him briefly, just to say I had a girl, and then I saw him afterwards when I explained all the circumstances—I arranged with Mr. Bramwell Booth that he had to supply me with a trustworthy woman to take the child to France—on the Tuesday I asked him, so far as I remember, I may be wrong, to have some one to take the child to France—I know it was before Wednesday, because he brought the woman on Wednesday—on the Wednesday I told him by telegram or otherwise to come and bring the trustworthy person to meet me at the only place where I knew I was going to that night, Dr. Heywood Smith's—my impression is that I talked generally to him on the Tuesday because nothing was specifically settled—I did not know the child was coming—I could not make a definite arrangement—I could only ask him some time before I got there, to meet me with this trustworthy person at Dr. Heywood Smith's, and I believe I saw him with Madame Combe—after going to Nottingham Place I saw him again at a friend's in Oxford Street—I told him the story that the child was sold by her mother and Mrs. Broughton—I told him fully all that I had learnt from Mrs. Jarrett in the course of that afternoon, and we agreed there and then that having | bought the child, which Mrs. Armstrong had twice over offered to sell to prostitution, we would not let that child go back to that mother unless we were driven to it—I said she had twice over asked if Eliza Armstrong would suit when Rebecca Jarrett was asking for a girl for a man—next morning I met the child and Rebecca Jarrett and Madame Combe at the railway station and saw them off—I did not speak to any of them, I think—I did not know myself the detailed address to which the child was going in Paris, only that she was going to the Salvation Army Place—I, shortly after her departure, desired Mr. Bramwell Booth to communicate to Paris for me—it was in conversation—I met him at the railway station when the child went off—this "something" was said after the child had gone to Paris—I had made no arrangement about Rebecca before she left—I did not intend Rebecca to go to Paris, but the child would not part from Rebecca—she would not go without her, so I had to send Rebecca, and that entailed the inconvenience of Rebecca not being able to pay the money over to Mrs. Broughton the next day, and so I told Mr. Booth—I do not think Mr. Jacques knew where the child had gone or what I did with her until long after—he only did what I employed him to do—I considered that I had handed over the child to the Salvation "Army," and that all I had to look after was the payment of the money to Mrs. Broughton—on the afternoon, I think, of the next day I received from Mr. Bramwell Booth a sealed letter from Dr. Heywood Smith, containing the certificate—this was dated June 4th, 1885, addressed, "18, Harley Street, Cavendish Square: I hereby certify that I have this day examined Eliza Armstrong, ✗etat thirteen, and find her virgo intacta, and I am convinced that no one has ever attempted criminal intercourse with her. Heywood Smith, M. D., Physician to Hospital for Women, and for the British Lying-in Hospital, &c."—after this a Ministerial crisis occurred and that gave me a great deal of work as Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, and in addition to that I continued my inquiries into this question of the traffic in girls in London, both personally and through different agents—I was constantly busy all my spare time—about the middle of June I was

shown the letter Eliza had written by Mr. Bramwell Booth—I have the letter here, and I will produce it—it has not been put in yet—this is what is called the "suppressed letter"—the date on the letter is the 8th of June—I saw it after the 9th of June when was the division which changed the Government—Mr. Booth said "What are we to do with this letter?"—I read it through, and I had considerable doubt what to do about the matter—from one point of view it would have been very good to have sent it to the mother, but from what seemed to me the chief point of view, that the mother should not get the child again to sell her to vice, I thought it was better to suppress the letter, and I suppressed the letter accordingly, and it is here—the letter was as follows: "My dear Mother,—I right these few lines to you hopping you are quite well. I am very happy. I have got a good home. I got good cloveing. I am in France. I goes in the park every night give my love to my brothers and sisters don't fret about I as plenty to eat. They are very kind to I like the place very much. I am going to another place soon. I will come and see you soon as I can. How is little Charley giting on. I hope you are gitting on. I am a good girl, they likes me very much. How is Miss Woodworth gitting on. That all I got to say at preasant. 'As I was in bed," &c.—it was dated "8-6-85"—the address upon it was illegible—I did not alter that address—I do not know who did—it has been altered in order to make it illegible, I should think for the same reason as that for which I suppressed the letter, in case the letter was sent to the mother so that the mother should not know the child's address if the letter had been sent on to her—it was altered in that way when it came to me—I think I kept the letter until I handed it over—I had a conversation with Mr. Booth about it at the time I received it—I made the remark to Mr. Booth "Why this address looks as if it was altered"—I think he said, so far as I remember, "Yes, it is some of our stupid people in Paris have been doing that"—I could not charge my memory with it exactly, but I do not think there is any question about it, although I could not say he told me; my impression was that the address was a right address at first, and was subsequently altered in order to avoid giving the the mother a clue to where her child was, so that she might regain the child, that she only wanted to get in order to sell to vice again—that was my idea—I acted upon that information all through, the statement made to me—my first article in the Pall Mall Gazette on this subject was published on the 6th of July, except I may have occasionally, and probably did, inquire how she was getting on; I think that is all, and I heard she was getting on very well—I thought Rebecca Jarrett had come back from Paris—that article of 6th July, contains the story of Lily, says that I was prepared to lay before the Archbishop of Canterbury and other people, the evidence that I had received, on condition that nobody was prosecuted; that there was no exposure of individuals—it was not in the story of Lily that that was stated, but it was in the same number of the paper that contained the story—it was all one article—it was an article that extended over four pages, I think; and on the second page there was a statement that I was willing to place full particulars, names, dates, and places, for every

statement made in the article, before either the Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal Manning, the Earl of Shaftesbury, and other people—in pursuance of that offer in my article in the Pall Mall Gazette, what is called the Mansion House Committee was called together at my solicitation, consisting of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal Manning, Mr. Samuel Morley, the Bishop of London, and Mr. R. T. Reid, the Queen's Counsel—before that Committee sat Mrs. Butler told me that the man Sullivan had been to Winchester—upon learning that I gave instructions as to where Rebecca should go—I do not know that I issued an order, but I talked to Mr. Bramwell Booth and we agreed that she had better be sent out of the country, because I said Sullivan would break her head—that was the only reason I had whatever for asking her to go to Jersey—I never saw Sullivan—I was never at Winchester—Mrs. Butler reported to me—all I knew about the matter was from Mrs. Butler—Jarrett never wrote to me—the Mansion House Committee sat in the course of that month of July four times—I produced before that Committee Rebecca Jarrett on the last two occasions—Eliza Armstrong was not produced, she was in France at that time—Mr. Thomas appeared before that Committee on the last sitting, on the 29th, as the representative of Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Broughton, and company—Mr. Thomas produced Mrs. Armstrong and Mrs. Broughton before the Mansion House Committee—there was a number of little girls there—I think Jane Farrer was produced—they were examined by Mr. Reid—I should fancy I first knew, not that the police were inquiring, but that the mother went to the police-court, and that would be the day after she did go to the police-court—Saturday, the 11th July, would be the first time I should hear about it I think, but the police had made no inquiries at that time—it was simply reading a report in the papers, and I saw that Mrs. Armstrong had appeared before Mr. Cooke, and that he had scolded her and had said she was a very negligent woman, and so on—I do not know whether I took any part in the changes of residence of the child or not—I may have been consulted—I took no leading part in the charge—that was done by people belonging to the Salvation "Army"—I do not exactly know when she came from L'Oriol to Paris—I had told Mr. Bramwell Booth that considering the row that had been kicked up about the child he had better have the child ready for delivering to the mother whenever she wanted it—I knew of her coming back, and assented to it—I knew from Mr. Booth of his interviews with Inspector Borner; he told me at the time—I saw the letter that he wrote to Inspector Borner, in which he expresses the expectation of hearing from the police if Mrs. Armstrong wanted her child back—I asked him from time to time—I inquired whether the police had made any communication, or whether the mother had made any communication, or whether any one had asked him for the child—I learnt not—I was told that the mother asked for the child on the 1st July interview, and he talked to the mother and she was mollified, and she went away to consult her husband as to what she wanted—I understood she was to let him know, either personally or through the police, and I asked him from time to time, if she had ever told him, either personally or through the police, and he said "Never," and the last communication I had from him was the letter, stating that the police had asked him to

leave the matter over until the 24th—I wrote on the 22nd August to the mother, because on the previous night I had taken, publicly, the sole responsibility for Eliza Armstrong—it was the first time I had ever done so—that was at the meeting at St. James's Hall—on the 22nd I wrote to the mother, after I had seen Mr. Catlin, of Lloyd's Newspaper, who told me I might take it from him that the mother wanted her child, but the mother would not come and tell Mr. Bramwell Booth she did—Mr. Catlin was the first person who delivered to me any desire of the mother to have the child back—I saw him immediately before the Hyde Park Demonstration, on that Saturday, and I wrote that letter immediately after the Hyde Park Demonstration—Mr. Thicknesse and Mr. Jacques brought me a verbal answer to that letter—Mr. Jacques accompanied Mr. Thicknesse as my messenger with the letter—on the 23rd August they saw the mother—they could not see her on the Saturday night—they saw her with regard to the journey down to Wimbledon on the Monday—Eliza arrived on Sunday, 23rd—I asked Mr. Bramwell Booth to send her over to me that I might have her at my house, so that if the mother did want her she should not be eight or twelve hours off—the interview was on Monday—I told Mr. Thicknesse he had to get the receipt for the child signed—it may have been my handwriting—I do not know whether it was my handwriting, or whether Mr. Thicknesse wrote it, but the nature of it I indicated beforehand—Mr. Thicknesse will be called—I knew the contents of it, if I did not write it—I think this is Mr. Thicknesse's own handwriting, it is not my handwriting—it corresponds with the signature at the foot—that was handed to me on his return by Mr. Thicknesse, or by Mr. Jacques, I will not be sure which—I was busy getting the paper out, so that I could not go down; and I therefore asked Mr. Jacques to go down, as I might have asked any one else—Jacques is not employed in my office; I only employed him in these investigations—I asked him to go with Mr. Thicknesse on the Saturday night to see Mrs. Armstrong—he went on the Saturday; and then I think on the Sunday night I asked him to go to Wimbledon on my behalf with Mr. Thicknesse—I told Mr. Thicknesse my wishes—my instructions to Jacques were, to endeavour to save Eliza Armstrong from the pollution of going back to Charles Street, and hearing the whole question discussed about the Lily story, and that the best thing would be to offer heranot her situation where her mother could see her and see that all was right; but if, after those considerations being presented to the mother's mind, the mother still wished for the child, the mother was to have her—the child went away with her mother.

By MR. HORNE PAYNE I certainly did not go to a certain meeting at headquarters on the evening of 3rd June about eight o'clock—I may have telegraphed or sent; I cannot remember—I communicated in some way with Mr. Bramwell Booth, and I think he was at the meeting, but I will not be certain about that—he may have come out to my messenger from the meeting, but he did not come out to me—I did not have time to go to any meeting that night; I could not possibly have gone to any meeting—I did see him at Dr. Heywood Smith's—I cannot remember when it was I sent a message—I last saw him before the meeting at Smith's; the previous night, I think, at a friend's house in Oxford Street, so far

as I can remember—I will not be certain, because I saw him at various times in the day time, and I do not remember distinctly going to any meeting—whenever I saw him I had told him no particulars about the child—I had no need, because I was the responsible person—he only took care of the child after I got it—then I next met him at Dr. Heywood Smith's, by appointment, I have a general impression it was the Tuesday night, about the trustworthy person I asked for; it may not have been—I did not fix anything on the Tuesday, because I had nothing fixed—the child being bought was only contingent—I may have asked to arrange for a contingent possibility—I did not know Madame Combe—I did not see her till the following morning—I was told she was a thoroughly trustworthy person, and I liked the look of her, and I thought she was a person I would like to trust the child with—I told Booth at the doctor's nothing that I can remember about Eliza, because I was only there a short time; I asked him to meet me at my friend's—that was on the Wednesday—I met him twice at my friend's, on the Tuesday and the Wednesday, according to my present recollection; but with all the excitement that was going on with political and other matters, I cannot say positively at what time I saw him, because I was seeing him very frequently—if Mr. Booth remembers positively that he did not see me, I should waive my recollection—on the Wednesday night at my friend's, I told him the whole of the thing.

MISS BLANCHE YOUNG (Cross-examined.) This yellow envelope addressed to Lisson Grove is my own handwriting: "Mrs. Armstrong, 32, Charles Street, Lisson Grove, Marylebone, Londres"—I think I got that address from Rebecca Jarrett—I do not recollect if Eliza Armstrong gave me the letter all ready in an envelope, not the same colour as that—I cannot say she did not—the envelope was not stuck down—I read the letter—I put it in an envelope myself—I do not recollect if it was in an envelope when given to me—the address of the Salvation "Army" in Paris is: "3, Avenue Laumiere, Rue d'Allmaigne, Paris"—upon that letter, when it was handed to me by Eliza Armstrong, there was the French address, correctly written by somebody, "3, Avenue Laumiere, Rue d'Allmaigne, Paris," in Miss Pattrick's handwriting—Miss Pattrick effaced it; I watched it done, in the way in which it now appears—a word that has originally been "France," about three lines from the bottom, is altered into "France;" struck out and erased both; I fancy I did it myself—I think I simply put that stroke to the "n"—I wanted to make the word "France" illegible.

Cross-examined by MR. HORNE PAYNE. I received no instructions; it was simply because I thought the affair was to be kept private, and I thought that was the most effectual way of disguising it—the object was to prevent the mother knowing where the child was—they had originally given her the paper with the address on, and then the person in whose handwriting it was took it off.

REBECCA JARRETT (Re-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL ). I remember saying on Friday that I had kept a gay house at Bristol, at No. 6, The Cliff, that I rented the house, and that I passed under the name of Haynes there. Q. What that true? A. I am not going to tell you, that is my business, my past life; I will answer anything concerning the case

not about my past life—I told you the other day you made people tell lies, and I asked your Lordship if my past life could be anything concerning the abduction—he was the one that forced the answer out of me, and he forced the lies out of me—it was a lie; I have given the false address there, and I am not going to give him the right address—I have passed under the name of Haynes—the other place I gave was Manchester, Ward's Buildings. Q. Within what time, how many years, do you swear that you kept a gay house at Ward's Buildings, Manchester? A. It is my business; I am going to keep it. MR. JUSTICE LOPES. You decline to answer? A. I decline to answer it. THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Is it true that you kept a gay house at Ward's Buildings? A. It is true that I kept a gay house; I decline to answer the question—if you ask me anything concerning the case I am going to answer you. Q. I must press you upon this for another reason. Will you swear at any time within the last 10 years you have kept a gay house at Ward's Buildings, Manchester? A. That is my business; I decline to answer.

WILLIAM THOMAS STEAD (Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL ). Except what Rebecca Jarrett told me, I had no authority for the statements made in the article of 6th July—the latter part relating to the midwife in Poland Street does not depend upon Jarrett only, but the first part depends upon Jarrett only—I had Jarrett's word, and Jarrett's word only, for the description of the purchase of the child—the whole of the article, from the first down to the asterisks just at the bottom, relates to Eliza Armstrong—"I can personally vouch for the absolute accuracy of every fact in the narrative;" that was the statement made by myself—there are three sections in that article—the first section, relating to the purchase, depends upon the statement of Rebecca Jarrett, whom I employed, and who informed me what she was going to do before she did it, and who informed me what she did afterwards—the second section depends upon Mr. Jacques, who I employed, and the third on my own personal knowledge—when I said "I can personally vouch for the absolute accuracy of every fact in the narrative" I meant that I had actually, by my agents, done every step in that narrative—that was my idea—I, by myself or my agents, had been all through it personally—if the interpretation is that I can personally vouch for what occurred with regard to the purchase I am wrong—I mean there to say that I personally believed it, and did it through my own agents—I regarded this as very important—it was the only thing that I had done myself right round, and therefore I could speak to it—the others were given to me by other parties—I took the greatest care to be accurate in what I put down—so far as the communication from Jarrett was concerned I did my utmost to put down exactly what she told me, but I did not put it down at the time—to the best of my memory what is in the paper corresponds exactly with what Jarrett told me on the 2nd and 3rd June—I had no statement from Rebecca Jarrett on any day after that prior to the 6th July—I wrote the article myself—the copy is in my own handwriting—I think I wrote it about the 30th June or somewhere about that time—that was nearly four weeks after the conversation—I do not think I made any notes of any of the facts at the time or shortly after—I do not remember having done so—I certainly made no notes at the time she

told me—I do not remember putting any notes down—"Lily was a little cockney child," that referred to Eliza Armstrong, and the whole article referred to Eliza Armstrong—I re-published this article as a twopenny periodical, not after the passing of the Act—the article was published the next week, and the Criminal Law Amendment Bill was not passed until August, as you will very well remember—I went on selling it after the Act had passed—this article when republished, had to be republished in a sixteen page extra as we call them—there were nine columns too much, and my proprietor had great objection to the publication of the articles as they stood, and still more to the republication of them—the consequence was they were not republished by us for some days—a piratic version was brought out, which was selling in the streets—Mr. Thompson then consented to republish them on condition that it was an expurgated edition—it was handed over to my assistant to make it as clean as it could be made, and certain passages were struck out—I mentioned it to the Mansion House Committee that that child had been put under chloroform a second time that night—in the course of these proceedings I had not till Dr. Heywood Smith was examined—so many people got into a row through helping me, I was not going to bring more into it than I could help—I produced the certificate to the Mansion House Committee—I think Mr. Poland demanded the medical certificate from Mr. Waddy at Bow Street—I had got it in my possession at the time—the demand was addressed to the Salvation "Army" Solicitor, not to me—it would have been more candid and straightforward to produce it, but I thought I should get Dr. Smith into trouble if I produced it; that is the sole reason—I did not desire to get Dr. Smith into trouble; that was solely the reason—supposing there had been no question of getting any one into trouble I should have told them at once, although the demand was not addressed to me—I received at Bow Street, on 5th September, a notice in writing, to produce a letter written by Eliza Armstrong in the month of June, 1885, when in Paris, and addressed to her mother, Elizabeth Armstrong, of Charles Street, Lisson Grove, containing the lines quoted in the article in the Pall Mall Gazette of 6th July, 1885, headed, "A child of thirteen bought for5l.," beginning, "As I was in my bed"—that is the letter produced to-day—the question came up for discussion among the Counsel and I was told I had better not produce that letter in the police-court proceedings at that stage of the proceedings—I had no Counsel; but, of course, we are all in company, the defendants—I heard read by Mr. Waddy on Friday a letter of 4th August, written by the mother to Mr. Bramwell Booth—I had previously heard the mother repeat the contents of that letter in the police-court—I have never seen that letter yet—I first heard of its existence in the police-court when the mother recited it—that is when I first heard that she even alleged that she had written one—I never heard of its existence until Mr. Waddy stood up there and mentioned it—I did not believe that the mother had ever sent the letter—that is exactly why I always argued, I did not send for the child at once—I did not believe she had ever written it either then—I heard when Mr. Poland called for the letter and called for the notice to produce, Mr. Waddy say Mr. Poland was going through a farce, he never had received it—I should think, as near as I can remember, I told Mr. Bramwell Booth to send for the child very shortly after the meeting of the Mansion House

Committee, that would be the 29th—he promised to bring the child home some time between the 29th, when I first saw the mother at the Mansion House Committee, and 5th August—Mr. Bramwell Booth showed me a letter on 5th August asking, as I thought it wise, for the child to come back—I do not think from the time I got Eliza Armstrong up until Mr. Thicknesse went on 22nd August, that I ever made any inquiries about either the father or the mother, excepting seeing the mother and hearing her tell her story to the Mansion House Committee—from first to last I never made any inquiries as to the details of the transaction, but I did as to the character of the street and people and among the neighbours, and that kind of thing—I made the inquiries as to the Armstrongs' character from people in Charles Street—I never went to Charles Street; I asked friends to go—I myself made no inquiries either as to the Armstrongs from the 3rd June right down to the 22nd August—my understanding is that the only brothel referred to in this article is Mrs. Broughton's house—I understood a bad house and a bad woman to mean a "brothel," and I wrote a "brothel"—Rebecca Jarrett had told me that Mrs. Broughton's house was a bad house—I will not say she said Mrs. Broughton's house, but the house she went to—I have represented it as Mrs. Broughton's house—I do not know whether she told us at the Mansion House that Mrs. Broughton was a person who had lived in service with her at Claridge's Hotel—before I wrote this article she never told me that she had lived as fellow-servant with Mrs. Broughton, to the best of my remembrance—I understood that Mrs. Broughton kept a brothel; I may have misunderstood her, but that was my understanding—I have tried quite recently to find out this woman who lodged in the house—I believe it was on Friday night I tried to find her—the procuress was Jarrett—the whole of this I wrote from what Jarrett told me, the first part of it, as closely as I could possibly remember—I think Jarrett told me "It was agreed that she should be handed over to the procuress for the sum of 5l.; while the negotiations were going on, a drunken neighbour came into the house, and so little concealment was then used that she speedily became aware of the naure of the transaction. So far from being horrified at the proposed sale of the girl, she whispered eagerly to the seller, 'Don't you think she would take our Lily?"—Jarrett told me that on the Wednesday, not on the Tuesday—I never heard of it on the Tuesday night—I think it is quite possible she may have said "while the negotiations were going on," in relation to the Tuesday night or Wednesday morning—I think the obvious meaning is, that I intended to represent there that on the Tuesday night the mother had offered her child; but I think, at the same time, when you ask me a question like this, whether I was told then or not, I may have been misled—I was endeavouring to write the story down with the greatest possible accuracy; I say that what I do remember was that I heard nothing of this drunken neighbour until the Wednesday; that is the only point I am absolutely clear about—I heard Jarrett cross-examined—she never told me on the Tuesday that Lily's mother ever absolutely refused to let her child go; I never heard anything on Tuesday about Lily's mother—she did not tell me at the conversation of Wednesday, when she gave me the details, speaking of Lily's mother, that Lily's mother on the Tuesday had refused to let her go—I know nothing more about Mrs. Armstrong than what is here—I think I understood that

the thrusting the daughter forward which I have referred to in the witnessbox was one thrusting on the Tuesday and the next thrusting on the Wednesday, but I cannot say that Jarrett really gave me to understand so at the time—I may have misunderstood Jarrett—I have no doubt that Jarrett told me that "she was living respectably in a situation, and, on hearing of the fate reserved for the little one, she lost no time in persuading her dissolute sister to break off the bargain"—I have not found the respectable person who saved her sister from this frightful fate—I have tried to find that respectable person—I made inquiries some time ago, and again on Friday night, which resulted in nothing—I do not remember who made the inquiries some time ago; it was about July 29th, I think, when that question came up—I remember the question being discussed as to who it was—I remember talking to Jarrett on July 29th as to where this person was, but I do not remember very much more what I did afterwards—I do not think a very serious endeavour was made—I think I may have asked some people on our paper to go up there—I think some one inquired—Jarrett told me "the brothel-keeper sent for her"—that is the mother—"and offered her a sovereign for her daughter"—I heard Jarrett swear a great many things which surprised me, because they did not agree with what she had told me, and I thought it possible you had bothered her—until you put to Jarrett the questions you did I implicitly believed in Jarrett—I say I do not believe in her as implicitly as I did—I have not the same confidence in her memory as I had—I think she means to tell the truth—I went on to say "Her memory seems defective; but I have no doubt she intends to tell me the truth"—Jarrett told me this to the best of my memory—so far as I can remember, she told me "the father, who was also a drunken man, was told his daughter was going to a situation"—I have said so frequently—that all this story was written from her statement—I wrote it exactly as she told me, and even if I had not heard her evidence I should not have had the slightest doubt—she also told me, to the best of my belief, that he received the news with indifference, without even inquiring where she was going to—the incidents about Richmond and going to Hampton Court and to school were taken from herself, and the little verse was taken from the letter to the mother—I do not suggest that the father knew that she was bought for immoral purposes, only that he did not care anything about the child.

Tuesday, November 3rd.

WILLIAM THOMAS STEAD (Recalled). (Further cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. ) I objected to criminal proceedings being taken against those who had given me information, first because I had obtained the information under the promise of secrecy, as I stated to Jarrett in that particular case; to have done so would have made me a common informer, who would have wormed himself into the confidence of persons who were criminal, and then appeared in the witness-box to punish them, and I had not been two or three days in the investigation when I found I could not do that—I will tell you exactly how it occurred to my mind: the first or second day that I was in a brothel, drinking champagne with the mistress of that brothel, and telling her lies about what I wanted, as I had to do, otherwise I would have been summarily ejected, I felt, after getting into her confidence in that way, I could not go and expose her personally; there are a dozen or more persons doing the same as this

woman; I cannot find more than this woman (or only two or three more), who has helped me to ascertain what the system is, why should I be the means of punishing the one individual, out of a hundred equally guilty, who have enabled me to expose the system—I have stated that the police were prosecuting me, whilst they were allowing persons whom they could have prosecuted to go unprosecuted, and I think it is true—I have never communicated to the police any information as to any individual; I have said so, and I would not do so—the facts which were communicated to me were communicated under the influence, while I was drinking champagne and giving money pretty freely; that is the only way in which you can obtain any information concerning what goes on, to go to brothels and act as the people there do—I think the information so obtained is perfectly reliable—the police do this kind of thing constantly; as the detective force do assume those disguises, and worm themselves into people's confidence when engaged in dynamite conspiracies and otherwise, I think, in the interest of young girls, and for the exposure of an infernal system like this, they might and ought to worm themselves into the confidence of these people, it is their business.

By the COURT. My object was to get at this horrible state of things cost what it might—if I had communicated to the police I should have had to say that such and such a brothel-keeper is in the habit of procuring young girls—the Attorney-General has asked if I could possibly expect the police to do that kind of thing—can you expect me, after worming myself into the confidence of women, one tithe of the women, to select for punishment the only person who unwillingly helped me, while the other ninety-nine persons were all equally guilty?—I declared to Jarrett over and over again that I would not expose Mrs. Armstrong or Mrs. Broughton—I had never mentioned Mrs. Armstrong or Mrs. Brougbton; not only that, but I have asked Mrs. Butler and Mr. Booth not to say anything to bring Mrs. Armstrong into trouble—I was told by Jarrett that the mother had sold the child—it did not occur to my mind that by pursuing this course I was tempting parents of poor children to commit the most horrible crime conceivable, for this reason, I have stated to the Court repeatedly it was only girls in the market that I wished to buy, and not other girls; for instance, there are many mothers who sell their daughters to be seduced as soon as they come to seducible age—that is my statement, and the statement made to me—I said to Jarrett and to others, "If you know of any such cases from the brothel-keepers, of girls who would be sold if I did not buy, will you buy them and hand them over to me?"—I mean to say that Eliza Armstrong was in the market, that was my impression, so I was told, that she had twice over been offered to Mrs. Broughton—I fully believed that if I had not taken Eliza Armstrong somebody else would have ruined her—that is the essence of my case.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Q. When the little child came to you and told you of her child-life, and that she had been sent to the Sunday-schools, and was regularly attending the Sunday-schools—?—A. She did not say "regularly;" I still thought she was in the market, why should I not? there are plenty of mothers whose children go to Sunday-schools who are perfectly ready to assent to their seduction, just as there are rich mothers who sell them to rich husbands who do not love them a bit; I think it is just as immoral in the one

case as in the other—I say that I always gave the assurance that I would give the child up if the mother wished her back, if her mother really wished her back—I thought she would be used as a catspaw by those who had a spite against the Salvation "Army," and a spite against the Pall Mall Gazette—I knew on the evening of the 13th of July that she had applied to the Marylebone Police-court on the Saturday the 11th—when Mrs. Armstrong was examined at the Mansion House, on the 19th of July, I was in the room—it was not the police-court, but a private inquiry—the woman was very much affected there; she cried, and told her story—I do not remember speaking to her at all—nothing was said in my presence about her not wanting her child back, not that I know of—Jarrett had been previously examined without Mrs. Armstrong being present—Mr. Thomas was there—I do not think any question was put to Jarrett by anybody representing Mrs. Armstrong; but I do not remember exactly—I was not in the room from the time that Mrs. Armstrong came in and went out—I was there at the first part of her statement, but left in the middle of it—during the time I was there a suggestion was made to Mrs. Armstrong that she had sold her child—I think it was by Mr. Reid, to the best of my memory—to the best of my memory I will swear it—I mentioned the 19th just now, it was mistake—it was the 29th; it extended over a fortnight; it began on the 11th and ended on the 29th July; and it was on the 29th that Mrs. Armstrong came down—I do not remember Mr. Thomas asking to be allowed to put some questions to Jarrett—I did not hear Mr. Reid say that it was wholly unnecessary—on the 29th July, truly or falsely, Mrs. Armstrong had come, and with more than tears; but with tears had told the Mansion House Committee she desired to have her child back—I think that was the substance of what she said—"I want my child," and then she burst out crying and said "I want to know who has taken her away," and all that kind of thing—I did not take any steps between 13th July and 22nd August to find out whether that mother wanted to have her child back or not, not in the way of going to Mrs. Armstrong; I went to Mr. Booth, because he was in communication with the police who had the case in hand—in the letter of 22nd August, 1885, I state, "I am informed to-day for the first time that you wish your daughter Eliza restored to you"—Mr. Cattlin had informed me; that was true—I had learned it by the two applications that she had made, one on 13th July and also on the 29th—Mr. Thomas brought Mrs. Armstrong down—she was lying under the shadow of a great charge—it was obviously her interest, I thought, to try to disprove that charge—she goes to the police-court in order to clear her character from that charge—she goes to the Mansion House and there says various things, which to my mind did not leave an impression that she wanted her child back; and I heard it further from Cardinal Manning, who was present—then on 31st July, two days after the Mansion House Committee, Mr. Booth informed me that a detective had come down to say that he thought the mother was satisfied with the assurance that the child was well, and would leave it where it was—I heard on 13th July, or 11th July, and 29th July, that she wanted it in a kind of way; I heard her say that at the Mansion House—you have seen people of this kind crying, and their crying does not prove the sincerity of their feelings; there is a certain kind of drunken crying—she was not drunk, but she had that kind of maudlin way, and my impression was the same as

Cardinal Manning's, and I talked to him about it, and I did not think that at the Mansion House she formulated a demand "I really want my child back"—I thought she was more anxious to know who had taken her child away, and whether her child was quite safe, than anything else; and two days afterwards the police, who were in constant communication with the woman, said that she would be satisfied with an assurance that the child was well, and would let her stop; then I thought it was all nonsense; I thought Mr. Thomas had put her up to it—I thought that was correct, having regard to what had happened previously—I must qualify that to this extent: that if you take the literal meaning of that phrase, the phrase is incorrect in this sense, that I ought to have said "If you really wish your daughter back"—I knew they were making a clamour, but I thought that was to shield her own guilt—it is true that "I am, and always have been, perfectly ready to comply with your request"—I have children—Mrs. Armstrong saw my wife at Wimbledon—I was not there, but I will tell you what my wife told me—I was at the office—I saw the woman once at the Mansion House Committee—it was not arranged either on or before Tuesday, the 2nd June, that any children I could get, Bramwell Booth should take charge of—the arrangement was that either Mrs. Butler or Mr. Booth would take charge of them—I did tell Mr. Bramwell Booth of the supposed transaction of buying the two girls—these people in Whitechapel were not in my confidence; they were bad people—I have endeavoured to trace out that wicked woman—I have succeeded—I do not know her name—she lives in Lady Lake Grove, I think No. 23—I have not been there myself—a detective has whom I employ, Mrs. Fibey—she is not a Salvation "Army" person; I brought her from the north—I did not arrange with Mr. Booth for the girls coming from Whitechapel; I think they were going to Winchester, these two girls—I think I arranged on the Tuesday with Mr. Booth that a trustworthy person should be forthcoming to take a girl home I expected to get, but I cannot charge my memory—I think so; but it was only a contingent possibility—I might have mentioned it, but there was no arrangement—my memory is very hazy about that day; but as far as I remember I mentioned it in the course of conversation with Mr. Booth—I do not remember exactly asking him to provide a woman to take charge of the girl I hoped to get—I have no reason in the world to keep it back; I have only a hazy remembrance—it was not in consequence of that conversation that Mrs. Combe appeared on the Wednesday; that was definitely fixed afterwards, on the Wednesday night—I arranged with Mr. Booth to take charge of the little girl after I left Albany Street with him, after 6 o'clock, between Albany Street and Milton Street—no other woman was to have come in pursuance of the Tuesday's suggestion—I knew nothing of whom it was to be, only a trustworthy woman, that was all—I did not know the name of the woman—I was told on the Wednesday night when I met her for the first time—Mr. Booth introduced her, I think, but even that I cannot absolutely say—between the time when the child left me at Charing Cross, on the morning of Thursday until some time in the end of July, I think we talked about whether she would be brought back or not—I think there was something said about a situation—I was never consulted as to the child being sent off to L'Oriol—I never heard of L'Oriol until some time after—I believed she had gone

from Paris, but where it was to I did not know—she was to go, I believe, where she would be in a good situation.

By the COURT. Q. Did you exercise any control over the child from the time she left Charing Cross until the time she came back to Wimbledon A. Yes; I had a reserved control—Mr. Booth did nothing without telling me, and I agreed; therefore I did not exercise my control, although my reserved right was recognised by my always being consulted as to what was done with the child from time to time—she was brought to Wimbledon under the exercise of my control—I had a reserved control.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I had nothing to do with the telegram, "Conduites ma protegee," on the 11th July—I do not think I had—I did not direct it to be sent—I had a conversation with Mr. Booth about that time, but I have no remembrance of sending a telegram—I gave no instructions that a telegram should be sent that the child should be taken away from Paris—I did not know, at the time, that she was taken three hundred miles at night with one young man only—I left all those details to Mr. Booth—I knew nothing at all about Jarrett's writing about the 10th June the letter, "Dear Nancy," to Mrs. Broughton—I never knew it—I knew nothing of the post-cards of the 11th July—I knew nothing whatever what Jarrett was doing, or writing, or anything—I never knew of these until at the police-court—I first knew Mr. Jacques on the 27th May—he was entirely a stranger to me before—I knew his name was Mussabini—he was introduced to me as Mussabini—Jacques was the name he used in the inquiries—we all had false names—I had a false name, half-a-dozen, I believe—I knew he had given his name to the Treasury as Jacques at the time that he used it in connection with Eliza Armstrong, because he was then acting as a member of the Commission—there was no secret about the name Jacques or Mussabini—nobody made the arrangement as to the going to Poland Street the night of the 3rd, prior to my going there—certainly not by me, and certainly not by Jarrett, and I do not think by Mr. Jacques; at least, he told me not—I went there without any previous arrangement—to the best of my memory that was so—I spoke in the article of Mrs. Broughton's house as a brothel, and I mentioned that Jarrett told me she was a bad woman living in a bad house—I made inquiries to see whether Mrs. Broughton's house was a brothel, on the 28th July, by Mr. Leslie and Mr. Jacques—Jarrett did not tell me who Mrs. Broughton's doctor was—I understood the statement of Jarrett's to be, that being a brothel-keeper she was in communication with some doctor—one of the things he was to do was to examine girls with a view of being seduced—I did not try to find out who the doctor was, because Jarrett had gone; she was the only agent I could employ; and I dared not send her back again.

By the COURT. Jarrett made a statement with regard to Mrs. Broughton's doctor; that was incorrect—all that statement about Mrs. Broughton and the brothel is incorrect—I do not think that I have reason to believe that that about the doctor is necessarily incorrect—I have no doubt now that the statement Jarrett made about the brothel was incorrect—I do not know but that about having a doctor to examine children may be correct.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I made inquiries as to this place being a brothel through my agents, on the 28th July, and I admit now that the statement that Mrs. Broughton's house was a brothel was incorrect—I meant by the words "instead of having her examined by

her own doctor," "examined by some doctor with whom Mrs. Broughton was in connection"—I have always said that—I represent now that the story that Jarrett told me that Mrs. Broughton was "willing to take the verdict of Rebecca's doctor, instead of having her examined by her own," was a true story—I think Mrs. Broughton had a doctor with whom she was in connection—I think Mrs. Broughton was a procuress—I did not hear Jarrett swear in the box that she had never known Mrs. Broughton do anything immoral and improper, and had never known from her own confession that she had done anything—Jarrett described her as an old acquaintance—the statement which I handed to Mr. Matthews yesterday was prepared, I am sorry to say, on Sunday last, since Jarrett was examined, I dictated it to a shorthand writer—I never knew that Mr. Jacques had printed a statement and had offered it to the Advertizer, and it is not true—I did not know that he had prepared a statement with reference to these disclosures and asked the Advertizer to publish them—I know what he did ask the Advertizer—he proposed to the Advertizer to go abroad in order to discover what English girls, if any, and how many were found, in foreign brothels—that was at the beginning of May, and that is how he came into communication with Mr. Benjamin Scott—he did not prepare any story either in the beginning of June or prior to the end of June, with the view of its being published in the Advertizer—I did not arrange with Jacques that he should stand behind the curtains at Milton Street—I did not give him any specific directions, I simply told him to go there and have the thing done—I did not know anything about the curtained door; I only told him to be there—I did not mean to Bee what was to be done, but to see that the child was examined—I did not mean by that to witness the operation, but only to see that it was done properly—I have not tried to find Sullivan, either by myself or any of my agents—I did not want to find him.

By MR. RUSSELL. Altogether between the 24th of May and the 3rd of June I saw Jarrett to have conversation with her about three or four, four or five times it might be—in those conversations several young girls were spoken of, said to be in several distinct places—I don't think I ever committed to writing in any definite form what purported to be Mrs. Jarrett's statement to me—until my article of the 6th of July appeared my view of what Jarrett said to me never appeared in any definite form—the article was written about a week before then, during the time that I was going about, in the way I have described, to these brothels, I was in a state of very great excitement, intense excitement; I was going about to these brothels between the 3rd of June and the 6th of July; I went first to a brothel, I think the first time in my life, on the 26th or 27th May, and I continued going to various places of that kind until about the end of June, and then I wrote the article—Eliza was only one among a whole series of facts, which I thought so immaterial at first that I almost left the story out.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. This copy of the article is my handwriting, and I think it is exactly as it appears—this is the first writing of Jarrett's statement—you will find the name of Eliza throughout.

THE WITNESS (In re-examination by himself). I have just handed in the narrative as I wrote it for the first time, as near as I can remember, on the 28th or 29th of June—that contains the story—the first part of it, relating to the purchase, is, as near as I can remember, what Jarrett told me on the night of the 3rd June—I did not write it down until three

weeks or four weeks after, during which time I had been through a Ministerial crisis, which in itself was rather exciting—I am the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette; the Government changed hands, and Mr. Gladstone went out and Lord Salisbury came in—that naturally increased the strain and tension upon me during the time of the crisis—before and subsequently I was in the habit at nights of going to brothels to meet the brothel-keepers as a customer, and to drink with brothel-keepers—I am a teetotaler—it was difficult for me to drink champagne, and therefore I would like to say that in justice to Jarrett, that drinking and smoking as I was not used to it before I undertook this inquiry, I might have confused some of the details of what Jarrett told me; but, to the best of my belief, when I was writing on the 28th June, the first part of that manuscript was written from what I remembered Jarrett told me, and I had no object or reason to insert a single word beyond what I heard, I have told the story as near as possible as it was told to me as I remembered it—but I took no notes at the time, and three weeks or a month of a Ministerial crisis, to say nothing of what I went through, was enough to confuse one as to details—that story was written, with Eliza instead of Lily, and it was altered in proof for two reasons—first because I did not wish to expose Mrs. Armstrong or Mrs. Broughton, and secondly because the story was told up to the time that the girl cried "Take me home;" and then the asterisks were inserted, and went on to "actually outraged"—I had another girl who had been outraged in that very brothel, whose name was. Elizabeth, and not Eliza; and when I corrected the proof I thought it would be more correct to give a mere fictitious name to a girl, the story of which was compounded out of two girls, and so I called her lily—I would like to ask whether I should be allowed to put the real girl into the witness-box—it has nothing to do with the abduction of Eliza Armstrong. (MR. JUSTICE LOPES thought not) My purpose was not to secure the punishment of criminals, but to lay bare the working of a great organisation of crime, but as a proof of good faith, and in order to substantiate the accuracy of every statement contained herein, I am prepared, after an assurance has been given me that the information so afforded will not be made use of either for purposes of individual exposure or of criminal proceedings, to communicate the names, dates, localities referred to, together with full and detailed explanations of the way in which I secured the information.

By the JURY. I don't think I ever asked the child about her parents—I think I asked her if she had bid her mother good-bye, but I have heard so many statements that I might have mixed them up with what she said then to me—I thought they were drunken parents, and that the mother had sold her into vice, and I did not want to ask her—if I could have seen before as well as I can see behind, it would have been wiser to have asked her if they were kind parents, but it never crossed my mind—I have no doubt now what her answer would have been, yes as to the mother, I do not know anything about the father—I knew well the life that Jarrett had led, and her character, but I also relied upon Mrs. Butler's statement that Jarrett was an entirely reformed woman—it would have been discreet to have asked the child about the parents if I had known what I know now—she appeared to be a cheerful and truthful child—I think I said so in the "Lily" story—I knew nothing about her education until I got that letter which has been put in—the child herself told me about

going to Richmond and Epping Forest—I asked her because I wanted to know how much she had seen of the world—I wished to know whether she had lived in a slum all her life—I cannot recollect whether Mr. Thomas asked to be allowed to question Jarrett at the Mansion House and that the questions were suppressed—I knew that Mr. Thomas had sent a detailed statement to every member of that Committee as to Mrs. Armstrong's and Mrs. Broughton's case, and Mr. Reid, who conducted the examination, had his proof of what was stated—I was not allowed to ask any question—Mr. Reid undertook it entirely himself—the girl was very dirty—I say that, because the question was whether it was well cared for.

WILLIAM SHAEN . I am the senior partner of the firm of Shaen, Roscoe, Massey, and Henderson, solicitors, and have been in practice just under forty years—I have been for about thirty-seven years solicitor to the society for the enforcement of laws for the protection of women—I have always taken a very deep interest in the amendment of these laws, I may say an active interest—in my interview with Mr. Stead it was not a question of motives that we discussed; it was a question of how we could procure evidence that what he was about to do was not a criminal act at all, although it appeared so, I mean the procuration of children—a child may be purchased for a boarding school to save it from a brothel—I merely say that the purchase of a child is not a crime by English law—it is simply a nullity, but suppose you took away a child without the father's consent, that is decidedly a crime—that is the ease we are trying, but Mr. Stead explained to me what he intended to do, and that it might have the appearance of abduction, and I told him if he took care that there was no criminal act or intent on his part, that facts might be proved against him that might have that appearance, but which he might meet with evidence to show that that which he did was not any step towards crime, but something quite different—I merely want to show that I have not been guilty—I saw Mr. Stead first on 30th May, and he made certain communications to me as to what he intended to do for the purpose of rescuing young girls from being ruined by the then present state of law—I gave him certain advice as to the precautions which he should take lest his action should be misconstrued, not the motive but the nature of the action—he told me that he subsequently acted on my advice—I saw him again on the 11th June, and we had another full conference.

HOWARD VINCENT . I have been for several years at the head of the Criminal Investigation Department, Scotland Yard—I gave evidence before the Lords' Committee concerning the Protection of Young Girls, and the alteration of the law—in the last week in May I received an urgent letter from Mr. Stead asking where he could see me—I went down to him, and he asked me certain questions as to procuring girls for houses of ill fame in London, to which I replied that I had nothing particular to add to the evidence I gave in the House of Lords in 1881, a copy of which I have here—we had half-an-hour's conversation, and he was very much excited—he did not ask me to be, and I was not, in any way responsible for what he did subsequently—I warned him of the dangerous consequences of doing what he did do, that he might get a stain on his character that might never be wiped off—I also said that

perhaps on the next occasion I should probably see him in the dock—he said that the Archbishop of Canterbury had given him the same advice, and I said that he had better follow it—he told me that whatever the risk was, he should put this thing through, or words to that effect—he was exceedingly anxious for the passing of the law—I saw him subsequently once—he was much excited, and he said he was anxious that I should go into the whole facts, but I declined—it is not in accordance with police rules to give particulars to newspaper editors—beyond that I had no responsibility in the matter.

BENJAMIN SCOTT . I am Chamberlain of the City of London, and Chairman of the Committeee for the Suppression of Foreign Traffic in English Girls—I have taken a very deep and very anxious interest in the matter; I may say I have devoted a large portion of my spare time and my vacation time to this work for six years past—I signed the memorial to Lord Granville about 1880 which led to the appointment of the Lords' Committee, which I heard was one of the determining causes which led you to come to London—I was in the House on 22nd May, and heard the Criminal Law Amendment Bill talked out, and I called upon you on 23rd May and made a communication to you on the subject—I answered many questions that you put to me, and you appeared very much moved by what I told you, and took immediate action by taking me down to Mr. Booth, and from thence to your own office, and looking at the papers which you submitted to me—subsequently, with the assent of my committee, I submitted a mass of evidence to you—on 17th June I obtained the consent of the committee, and on 18th June I submitted to you a large number of cases which I have referred to—I do not recollect seeing Mrs. Butler on the subject of a guarantee fund; she was at Winchester; I saw you and Mr. Booth, and some conversation arose about finding 100l.; I said I thought there would be no difficulty in obtaining that amount for the purposes of the inquiry; nothing was done, because afterwards I found you bad done what was needful—that is the truth about the guarantee fund so far as I am concerned—I entirely approved of the inquiry; it has lifted from my spirit a weight which has been on it by day as well as night for many years, and I am deeply thankful for what has taken place—the inquiry is called the Commission of the Pall Mall Gazette, and the committee of which I was chairman passed a resolution approving of it—after you had commenced the inquiry I introduced Mr. Jacques to you under the name of Mussabini—I told you I knew nothing about him personally beyond the fact that he made communications to me as chairman of my committee—he came to me in March and made proposals which the committee did not see their way to take up, and I knew nothing further of Mr. Jacques—I simply sent him to you saying that I thought he might be useful in the present inquiry—I knew in March that he had been to several newspaper offices respecting a proposal to at he should visit the Continent, where he said he knew where to place his hands on English girls who were detained against their will.

LORD DALHOUSIE. I represented the Home Office in the House of Lords in the late Administration, and in that capacity I moved for the appointment of the Lord's Committee, and subsequently I conducted the Criminal Law Amendment Bill through the House of Lords—on 22nd May that bill was talked out in the House of Commons—I was down at

Mr. Morley's before I left for the north, and the Bill had been talked out the night before—you attempted to place yourself in communication with me at once, and I had gone north, and you did not see me till a later date—you wrote and asked when you could see me; you came to see me and talked about the Bill, and about that Commission of Inquiry—there was no need, in order to help my Bill through, to abduct a girl under the age of 16; there was no cause that the Bill should be affected by abducting a girl under 16; the law was absolute up to 16.

ELLICE HOPKINS . I am the Miss Hopkins whose name is used in relation to the enactments of the Industrial Schools Act which is called sometimes Miss Hopkins's Act—I have for nine years been deeply interested in raising the age of protection for English girls, and have dedicated myself to the work entirely—I went to Mr. Stead's house in the beginning of this year or earlier than that—in April I wrote to him upon the subject, and asked him to publish an article—I do not think I said that I was almost desperate—I made some communications to him upon the subject of the protection of young girls, with the view to securing the amendment of the law, and he published the article that I sent him—he wrote to me from Wales asking for information.

GEOBGE RUSSELL, ESQ., M.P . I was Under Secretary to the Local Government Board in the late Administration—I do not think Mr. Stead wrote to me or made any communication to me asking for assistance in this inquiry in the sense of statistics—I was not at home, but found that he had called upon me—I wrote to him and asked what I could do in order to help him in the inquiry, and never got an answer—I remember his asking me whether, at the Local Government Board, I could get information as to the age of young mothers in lying-in London work-houses, and I gave him an introduction to Dr. Bridges.

The prisoner Stead proposed to call the Archbishop of Canterbury, Sir William Harcourt, Sir Richard Cross, Mr. Henry Labouchere, Mr. John Motley, Mr. Charles Mitchell, Mr. Charringtont Dr. Barnardo, and others, but MR. JUSTICE LOPES excluded their evidence, as applying to motives only and not to facts.

RALPH THICXNESSE . I am a barrister of 1, Stone Buildings, Lincoln's Inn—I was honorary secretary of the Minors' Protection Society—I saw the case of Eliza Armstrong in the papers, and on 22nd of August, after I returned from the Hyde Park Demonstration, Mr. Stead met me at the National Liberal Club—I remember a statement that evening in the St. James's Gazette, that he refused to give up Eliza Armstrong—I said that to him—he replied that he had never been applied to to give the girl up, and that he had never refused to—he told me that the mother had come to the Mansion House Committee, and after hearing what they said, I understood him to say she had not asked for her child, in the sense of formally demanding her—I won't say that he used those words "demanding the child"—I told him that the mother had been down to the Salvation "Army" for the child—the said, after hearing what Mr. Booth said, that "she must consult her husband, and let him know," and Mr. Stead told me that Mrs. Armstrong had never communicated the decision herself to Mr. Booth, and that he did not know whether the mother really wanted the child back or not, but that he knew he could not keep the child against the mother's will; but if the mother demanded her back the responsibility lay upon her for

anything that happened to the child afterwards—then I said I thought it a great pity that the child should go back to that home, and I suggested that somebody should go and see if he could not show the mother how bad it would be for the child to go back—he had told me he had bought the child, and did not want to restore her to her mother, who would probably sell her again, but that he could not keep her if her mother asked for her back—I felt, I think, more strongly than he did at the moment that everything should be done to keep her from going back, and I said so—I told him that I thought he was too easy about letting her go back to her mother—I thought everything should be done by persuasion to induce the mother to let her stay where she was, or to find some other place for her home, and then it was agreed that I should go to the mother and be the means of communication between him and the mother, the point being that it was morally wrong to send it back, though legally right—I do not remember his telling me that Mr. Booth was very much of my opinion—the net result of the conversation was that Stead recognised his legal responsibility to give up the child when her mother formally demanded it, but that it would be so morally wrong to do it that we ought to postpone to the last moment the fulfilment of our legal responsibility—he asked me to go and persuade the mother to keep her away from home for her own good—Mr. Bunting was present, and he took the same view; in fact, I think he suggested that I should go—I was present when Stead wrote the letter signed "Chief Director"—he then asked Mr. Jacques to accompany me as his representative—he went; and we went in a cab with that letter and another letter from Mrs. Armstrong to Mrs. Booth, beginning "Dear Marechale or Marshal"—Mrs. Armstrong was not in the next morning, we arranged to go about 1, and we went up at 2 o'clock and saw her, and I gave her Mr. Stead's letter, and asked her whether I should read it to her; she said "Yes"—I did not find her on Saturday, but on Sunday about 2 o'clock—the letter was in an envelope not fastened up—I read to her the letter signed "Chief Director," I think, but I am not quite sure whether I read the other letter from Eliza Armstorng to Miss Booth—it was a letter Mr. Stead gave me, but he said he wanted it back—that was not the letter which came from Paris; not the letter to the mother; it was a letter, as I understood, from Eliza Armstrong at L'Oriol to Miss Booth in Paris—it commenced "Dear Marshal," and ended "I hope God will bless you, for my sake"—I do not think Mrs. Armstrong said anything about it—it was arranged that we should go next day to see her child—it was left open to say whether she was to see the child—that was the alternative, and that was what I hoped to effect—even supposing the mother had not sold her, I thought she would get a knowledge of certain subjects that she knew nothing about up to the present by going back to Charles Street—I did not say to Mrs. Armstrong "Don't tell this to the Police," nor did I hear Jacques say it—we were there together all the time; we went out together—I called on Monday morning—I saw Mr. Stead on Sunday night, and told him what Mrs. Armstrong wished, and that Eliza Armstrong was at his house, and that I had been talking to her that afternoon—I told Mr. Stead that Mrs. Armstrong wished to see her daughter, and would come—Mrs. Armstrong said to me when I left that she was going to see her daughter—we left it open whether she should take her away or not; I

proposed that she should spend the afternoon with her, or something of the sort—Mr. Jacques went with me to Charles Street on Monday morning—Inspector Borner was in the room—I did not know who he was, but Mrs. Armstrong said might he go with her; he explained who he was, and I said he had better go, when I knew who he was—we all went to Wimbledon together, and the eldest daughter Elizabeth went too—Mrs. Stead met us and put us in the drawing-room—Mrs. Armstrong was with me, and Mr. Jacques went out with her to fetch Eliza, and then came back, and Eliza walked into the room, Mrs. Armstrong was sitting on the chair, and she said "Why, Eliza, where have you been?" and Eliza came up to her and put her arms around her mother's neck, and Mrs. Stead took the mother and two daughters into the dining-room, as we had previously arranged, and they were left alone, so that they might talk about anything—Inspector Borner said his intructions were to take the mother to Wimbledon, and not to interfere with her discretion; if she wished to take the child away his instructions were to bring her to Scotland Yard; he did not interfere with her in any way—I had not the least idea that there were detectives about the house—after lunch I had a talk with Mrs. Armstrong—myself, Mrs. Jacques, and Mrs. Armstrong were present—Eliza was not present—I understood from Mrs. Stead that nothing would induce themother to leave the girl—I gave that up as hopeless—she seemed firm upon that—she said that Mrs. Armstrong said she would take her child home with her, and I told Mrs. Armstrong that it was a great pity, but we accepted it as decided by that time—I did not hear Mrs. Armstrong say to Eliza "They took you to a bad house, Lizzie"—I asked her if she was. satisfied that her daughter was all right, and had been well looked after, and so on, and whether she had any reason to believe from her conversation with her daughter that she had been subjected to any outrage—I read the paper slowly to her—I asked her generally if she was satisfied that the daughter was all right before reading the paper, and she said she was, and she appeared so—we had some conversation at lunch about it—I made the offer of a medical examination after reading the paper—this is the paper I read (produced)—I read the whole of it as it is there slowly—I am certain I read these words: "I am quite satisfied that she has been subjected to no outrage or bad usage"—I paused for her assent—she nodded her head, or said "Yes"—I offered to have a doctor called that she might be examined if it was wished, and the mother refused—she said she was quite satisfied that there was no need for it from what Eliza had told her—I handed her the paper, and she took it to the desk—I cannot say whether she read it, but she had every opportunity, and she put her signature where it is now at the bottom—it was written at the same time—the ink is a little bit smudged—Mrs. Stead was coming in and out—I read it over to her clause by clause after I had written the whole of it—I am certain that I read that she had been subjected to no outrage or bad usage; I laid special stress upon those words, and after I had read the whole I did not put a pen to paper beyond signing my name as witness—I swear that most solemnly—then I went and told Mr. Stead what had happened—I showed the certificate to Inspector Borner as we walked out of the house towards the station, and handed it to him—I think I offered a medical examination after Mrs. Armstrong signed the paper—I am quite satified that she understood that the medical examination was

offered—I looked in her face at the time, because we considered that the chief point in the paper, and she assented without reluctance—we then came up in the train with the inspector and the children, and went to the Treasury and made a statement—that is all I had to do with the case.

Cross-examined by MR. POLAND. When I saw Mr. Stead on Saturday, 22nd August, he told me that the child was coming to England, I understood, and would arrive on Sunday morning—he did not say she was abroad, but I understood she was in Paris; this was between seven and eight o'clock on Saturday night—I do not think he had made up his mind where she was coming to—he may have mentioned that Miss Green was bringing her, 1 do not know—I dined with Mr. Stead and Jacques on that Saturday at the National Liberal Club, where the interview was, and after the dinner Jacques and I went up to the house to try and see the mother—I had not been there before; that was my first visit—when I say that I thought it a pity the child should go back to that house, it was not entirely in consequence of what I read in the Pall Mall Gazette; it was not on account of the fact that I understood that the mother had sold the daughter, but if she went back to that home a great deal of harm would be done to her which had not been done already—I knew nothing except what I had read in the Pall Mall Gazette, of the character of Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong, and in the St. James's Gazette—I did not see Mrs. Armstrong that night, but at two o'clock on Sunday, the 23rd—when I told her that she should see her daughter the next day, she appeared to be delighted, and finding that was the case, I went back and reported that to Mr. Stead, and that she was delighted to hear that she was to see her—when the child saw her mother she rushed to her—I do not think the—girl sobbed—if I said to Sir Augustus Stephenson that the girl sobbed, I have no doubt that I said it; the matter was much fresher in my memory then—they were both affected—it was not in consequence of the state in which they were that Mrs. Stead said they had better be left for half-an-hour, that was a previous arrangement—Mrs. Stead came out of the garden and said to me as the net result of the interview that nothing would induce the mother to leave the girl—it was after luncheon that I went upstairs and wrote this memorandum for the mother to sign—I had written it all before Mrs. Armstrong came into the room—I did not write the first part of it and read it over to her before the offer was made to have the child medically examined to see if there had been any outrage or bad usage—I did not add the last paragraph afterwards, I am quite sure about that—Mr. Jacques was in the room, and the mother, and no one else—I read the letter to her before she signed it, slowly and distinctly—Mr. Jacques paid the wages, 2l. 10s., before I started with him—on the day I went down I left Mr. Jacques in the street—I heard all that passed between him and the mother.

Re-examined by Stead. When I said I knew nothing about the character of Mrs. Armstrong but what I read in the newspaper, I meant to imply that you told me nothing about the Armstrongs before the Saturday—you, as an individual speaking to me whom I knew personally, said that you believed that the mother had sold her child for prostitution, and I heard that from a preacher at St. James's Hall—you told me you gathered that from the interview at the Mansion House, and your impression was shared by many members of that committee and by Mr. Green, and that although the committee had not given me any

statement as to whether they had found one way or the other, you knew at least two members of the committee who believed that she had sold her child for prostitution, and it was upon that foundation I acted—I do not think you told me that you had sent to inquire the character of the parents—my knowledge of the case was gained first from the Pall Mall Gazette and the other papers, and chiefly from what you told me; and then you told me further as to what had happened at the committee.

JOSEPHINE BUTLER (Re-examined by MR. WADDY ). I was led into a mistake—you did not show me the telegram, and I did not know the date: "I hare met several friends, Mrs. Butler gone Winchester; I have got no news yet; I am believing"—you attributed that telegram to 6th June, that is the day of Jarrett's return from Paris to Winchester, from my mistake—it is very unimportant, but it is right that it should be correct—the telegram belongs to 11th July.

WILLIAM BRAMWELL BOOTH (The prisoner). Our headquarters are 101, Queen Victoria Street—I reside privately at Darenth "Road, Stamford Hill—I have been for the last ten years considerably engaged in the work of rescuing women in connection with work of the Salvation "Army"—before the end of May I had been in communication with Mr. Stead and Mrs. Josephine Butler, and many others—I recollect Friday, the 22nd May, or thereabouts, when the Criminal Law Amendment Bill was talked out—after that I had negotiations with Mr. Stead and Mrs. Butler—I saw them together at headquarters during the to take shares in a guarantee fund—the first occasion on which I heard from week following—there was an interview between us, at which I arranged any one anything in connection with any girl, who subsequently turned out to be Eliza Armstrong, was on the evening of the 3rd June, the Wednesday—I really do not remember whether it was or was not the Derby Day—I was at headquarters, at a small meeting of our staff, some 60 or 70 people—in consequence of a message I came out and saw Mr. Stead—that was the first occasion on which I heard anything, on the Wednesday evening—as near as I can remember it would be about 8 o'clock, probably a little after—he told me that that day Rebecca Jarrett had purchased a young girl from two women, one of them being a former friend of Rebecca's, and the other being the child's mother—that was all that he told me then about the child—he asked me to provide some motherly person who would take charge of the child and go with it if necessary, I am not quite clear whether he said to the Continent or to Paris; but certainly one or the other, the next morning, and he asked me, if possible, to bring that person to meet him at Dr. Heywood Smith's that night about 10—I assented, and he went away—I had heard of Rebecca Jarrett—I had not personally seen her before that I know of—she resided at the Whitechapel Home for fallen women, which is under the care of Mrs. Bramwell Booth, but not at our private house—I arrived at Dr. Heywood Smith's about 10 o'clock—before going there I sent a message to Madame Combe (she is a 8wiss lady of private means, who had arrived from the Continent a few days previously) telling her to come down and see me—I saw her, and took her in a cab to this gentleman's house—as near as I can remember, I described to her, in the Hansom's cab, in general terms, something of the terrible evil we were endeavouring to expose, and I asked her if she would be willing to take charge of a little child who, I had just heard, had been rescued from a

most awful fate—I think those were the words I used—I told her no particulars—I did not tell her where she was going—when we got into the house I think she went into one of the rooms, while I went and talked to Dr. Heywood Smith—I left her alone there—we reached Dr. Smith's about 10 o'clock—we found no one there at that time excepting the doctor—it was probably an hour before any one else arrived—I conversed with the doctor myself during that time—I was alone with him—I did not talk about this case—we were talking generally about the great evil, immorality in London, and so on—after about an hour I saw Mr. Stead, who came first—Mr. Stead just said, "I have come," and I left the room—I did not see the child—shortly after I left the house—I saw Jarrett pass through the hall—I told Stead I was going to the house of a friend to spend the night—then I went away with Madame Combe and left her at the house of a friend—that is all that I recollect that passed that evening—shortly after midnight or early morning Mr. Stead called upon me at this house of the friend where I was stopping, and where I had told him I was going—I am not quite clear about the hour—he gave me an account of what had taken place—he told me that Jarrett, "Rebecca" he called her, had purchased a child as though for an immoral purpose from two women, one of them being an old associate, or an old friend of hers, and the other being the child's mother, that Rebecca had paid one of the women 2l. for procuring the child, and the mother 1l., and that 2l. more would be paid to the procuress when the child's purity or virginity, I do not remember the word exactly, had been certified—he also told me that the child had bean dressed in new clothes, and that she had seen her father, who knew the purpose for which she was going, and that the child had been taken to the house of a French midwife, whose business it was to certify young girls for immoral men; that from there she had been taken to a brothel—he also told me that the Frenchwoman had supplied some chloroform, that she had been to a brothel in some street off Regent Street, and that there chloroform had been administered to her after she had been put into bed, and that then he, Mr. Stead, had gone into the room to the child, and that she was absolutely at his mercy; that from there they had come to Dr. Smith's, and that he had now taken her to some rooms for the night, and that during the night Dr. Smith was going to examine her—there was some conversation on my part, some expressions of horror, and so on, and after that he asked me to go and see Dr. Smith in the morning, just to know from him if the child was all right, and then allow Madame Combe, although he did not mention her name, the person I brought, to accompany her to Paris with Jarrett—I think he also asked me to go to the station and see her off—I am not quite sure about that—I think I told him I would go to the station to see them off, then Mr. Stead went away, and I wont to bed—I should think it was very nearly 2 o'clock—I am not quite clear about the time—I was very much excited that night, and I did not take particular notice—I think it was in the same house that Madame Combe went to bed—she had gone some time before—she heard nothing whatever of this—I breakfasted at the same place next morning, and went round immediately after taking breakfast to Dr. Heywood Smith's alone—Dr. Heywood Smith told me he had made an examination—I learnt as the result of the examination that the child was pure—I went back again and told

Madame Combe that she was to go with Jarrett to Paris in company with the child—I did not tell her to go to Nottingham Place—I think she got that address from Miss Peck—I did not go to Nottingham Place—I saw her off at the station—Mr. Stead was there too—I ought to say I really did not see the child although I knew she was there—I had told Madame Combe nothing further, down to the time she left for Paris—she went to Paris, and resided at the Salvation Training Home there—I said to Madame Combe that I wished to have the child removed from Paris, and asked her if she had any friends in France who could receive the child and train her properly; and Madame Combe said she had a sister, or a brother, or a sister-in-law who would take the child if she requested it, and would teach her and train her, and bring her up in a virtuous and Christian manner—I do not think I asked Madame Combe where these people resided—I had the fullest confidence in Madame Combe, and with her assurance that the people referred to were of that character, I assented to the child being sent there—then I asked her to telegraph to Paris to her own son there, as she told me that the child knew her son, and would probably travel with him without demur, and comfortably and happily—I asked her to send a telegram desiring or instructing her son to take the child to this house, which afterwards turned out to be at L'Oriol—on the 16th July I had a visit from Inspector Borner—he introduced himself, and as near as I can remember he told me he had been instructed by the Magistrate at Marylebone to call upon me with reference to a child which had been inquired for by her mother, and named Eliza Armstrong, and he asked me if I knew where the child was, or anything about it—I said yes, the child was in our care, and she was in good hands and well cared for—I am not sure whether I volunteered the child's address to the inspector or not—my impression is that I volunteered the address—if I did not volunteer it he did not ask for it—we went on to speak of several other matters—he told me that Mr. Munroe, one of the Commissioners, was very much interested in recent revelations—the next interview was on 31st July, and I saw him a third time the 1st August—he at neither of those interviews asked me for Rebecca Jarrett's address—there was certainly nothing said about 100l. on the last interview, the third interview, or the second interview—I was going to say that nothing was said about 100l. at the interview on the 1st August, when the mother was present, and I was about to say that I think the Inspector has confused something that was said on the previous morning when he called upon me—in speaking to him of the child and in reply I said I was so desirous for the child's welfare, or something to that effect, that I would be prepared to make an application to the Court of Chancery to make her a ward of Court, even if it coat 100l.—I think I did use those words upon that occasion—I told him that I was really very much concerned for the child's welfare and that I thought it would be a most terrible calamity for her to go back to her old associates—at that same interview he asked me if I would see the mother and assure her of the child's well-being, and I said "Yes"—then what he has described took place—he said, "When would I see her?" and I said, "The next day, any time between half-past 10 and 4 o'clock"—I think I said that, and he made an appointment for the next morning—then I saw her the next morning, which was the third interview, in the presence of Borner and another inspector, Conquest—

Conquest was present at the 1st August interview—I and the mother on that occasion had rather a lengthy conversation—so far as I can remember in substance she said she wanted to see her child—I told her that her child was well and well cared for and in good hands in a good situation, and being trained up in a virtuous and Christian way in a good home, and I said I thought it would be a pity to bring her from so long a distance merely to see her, would she accept my assurance of her well-being—I reasoned with the mother with the view to persuade her not to disturb the child from its present surroundings—I think then Inspector Borner said, "The mother wants to be assured that no harm had come to the child"—I then said she might take it from me that no harm had come to the child; that she had been examined by a medical man; and, speaking to them collectively, I said, if they wished, they could see the certificate—when I had told the mother this, she expressed herself as very thankful that this was so—she may have said "Thank God," or "I am very thankful," or some expression of that kind—I said to her, "Did you not know something of Rebecca Jarrett?"—I think I said, "I understood from what you said to Lloyd's reporter," or some words to that effect, "that you knew Rebecca Jarrett before this," to which she said, "Yes, I did"—I then said, "Did you know what sort of a woman she was?" and she said "Yes," and I said "What?" and she said a gay woman—I then said, "Was it not a very extraordinary thing that you should let your little child go with such a woman?"—she made no answer—I then asked her if she knew where the child was going, and she said yes, she understood she was going to Croydon—Mrs. Armstrong, Inspector Borner, Inspector Conquest, as I have since learnt, and one of my people named Gysien, were present then—I then asked her whether she understood she was going to Croydon that night, the night she left—she said no, she thought she was going to Jarrett's mother in Albany Street—I then expressed surprise and said did not she know what sort of street Albany Street was—when there was a mention of Albany Street, before she made an answer, the Inspector made an observation which I did not quite catch, but which I understood to mean that he was surprised and dissatisfied that she had not told him about that before—I had asked her whether she did not know what sort of street Albany Street was, and she said "Yes"—Mrs. Armstrong and the Inspectors rose to go—I said we shall be willing, if she would leave the child where she was, to pay her wages to her mother here, and I said what amount would be fair, and the mother did not seem to respond to my suggestion—I turned to one of the Inspectors and said, "What would be a fair wage to pay?" and he said the mother would be the best to decide—after the subject of wages had been mentioned then I came back to the question of the child coming home again to see the mother, and I think it was then I came across the room and gave her the address—I am not quite clear whether it was just before the subject of wages came up or immediately after that I gave her the address and told her to write to her, and I said as to the question of coming back, it would be expensive to bring her all that way, and I hoped she would leave her where she was—I did not say it would cost 100l. to bring her back altogether—I did not mention 100l.—I said two or three more words about the disadvantage of removing the child from her then

surroundings and bringing her back to Charles Street, and the mother said she would go and consult her husband; I said, "Very well, Mrs. Armstrong, go and consult your husband, and let me know your decision through the police"—with that she thanked me and then withdrew—I received no intimation from the police after that, until I saw Inspector Conquest—that, I think, was on the 13th or 14th; I am not quite sure of the date—I wrote that letter, which has been read, of the 7th of August, to Inspector Borner—I may have also written letters to Mr. Stead—I do not remember—I had communicated the facts to Mr. Stead—I got no answer to that letter of the 7th August, which I wrote to Inspector Borner—subsequently I had a further communication from the police, and the child was given up—I do not think I had seen Rebecca Jarrett at all before these inquiries were made—I had seen her on WhitMonday, and that was the only occasion on which I saw her to the best of my recollection.

Examined by Stead. At the last interview at midnight on the Wednesday you told me that Jarrett told you that the child had seen the father, who knew the purpose for which she was going—I think, Mr. Stead, that you did say as well that the father was a drunken sweep who did not care where the child was going to, but I am quite clear in my recollection because I remember it was very vividly impressed on my mind that the child should have been sent home in part of her things, I think it was, to see the father, and that he had known the purpose for which it was going; I am quite positive that you told me Jarrett told you that—you may have said he did not care where the child went, but I have no recollection of your saying he was lying drunk; I have a vivid recollection of your saying that the child had been sent to say good-bye to the father, and he knew where she was going—I do not recollect your telling me that Jarrett had told you that the father had been told that the child was going to service—I do not think you ever told me that the father thought that she was going to a situation; I have no recollection of your doing so, and I think I should recollect it—if you made the remark, and I did not hear it, I cannot help it, but so far as my recollection serves me I never heard from you that the father thought the child was going to service—I read the statement in the Pall Mall Gazette that the father was told she was going to a situation; it has been brought to my mind during these proceedings, I really never noticed it before.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I was present when Mrs. Armstrong gave the account of the conversation with me in the police-court; I was present when Inspector Borner was examined, both in the police-court and here—I did not say that a great deal of money would be required, or that it would cost a great deal to bring her back—I said, so far as I can recollect, that it would be expensive to bring the child so far merely to see her, and could she not accept my assurance that the child was well and well cared for—what I told Mrs. Armstrong was this, that she should communicate with her husband, or advise with her husband, and then that she should let me know through the police what their decision was—the decision was to be made through the police—up to 7th August I had seen the police twice—I saw the police-officers with Mrs. Armstrong on 1st August—between the 1st and 7th August I had never heard from the police at all, I think—on 5th August I wrote an order which was sent to Paris, that the child might be brought at that

time to Paris to wait our orders there, as I quite expected from the conversation I had with the mother that she would communicate with me, either through the police or that the police themselves would communicate with me—upon 5th August I wrote: "We beg of you to send the little Eliza Armstrong by the bearer of this authority, with the view of taking her back to London. Saluting you, and with best thanks for your kindness, WILLIAM BRAMWELL BOOTH "—that is the authority I refer to—I had no communication from any one when I wrote that letter on behalf of Mrs. Armstrong except from Mr. Stead—I did not receive the mother's letter of 4th August, I really do not know who did—I really do not know who opened that letter of 4th August—that French letter of 5th August is in the handwriting of one of the clerks at headquarters—the former part of it is Vint's handwriting; I gave him instructions to write it—between the interview of 1st August and the writing of this letter of the 5th I really cannot remember whether I had any communication from Mr. Stead—I do not think I had any communication in writing; I may have had a communication with Mr. Stead—I did not receive Mrs. Armstrong's own letter—I did have a communication with Mr. Stead between those dates; I cannot possibly fix the date; I will swear it was between those dates—between those dates, to the best of my recollection, I did receive a message from Mr. Stead himself—he said to me he thought it would be better that the child should be brought home, and as I had that interview with the mother I quite expected she would make an application for the child to be ready; I made out that order and sent it, so that the child should be brought to Paris, at any rate—I really do not know who found the mother's letter of 4th August; I do not know when it was found; the first communication I had about it was on the evening of the day before the last day at Bow Street, I think—Mr. Waddy was my Counsel at Bow Street—I knew that Mrs. Armstrong had proved addressing the letter to me on 8th September—I had heard my Counsel say, "You know we never received any such letter"—I read afterwards that my Counsel said that Mr. Poland had gone through the farce of calling for the letter, I did not hear it—I only heard of that letter's existence on the night before the last day of the hearing at Bow Street, and I heard of it from Mr. Waddy, who told me that some one had communicated to him the fact that the letter had been received at my office—I was entirely in the hands of my legal advisers then—I remember being called upon to produce the doctor's certificate; I had not it—it was sent to me in a closed envelope—I knew Mr. Stead had it—I think that was the only reason I had; I could not produce what I had not got—I said to Mrs. Armstrong that the child had been examined, and that they could see the certificate if they wished—I had not it with me on 1st August; Mr. Stead had it; at any rate, I handed it to him as soon as I got it, and I did not have it alter—Madame Combe sent that telegram on 11th July, "Conduit ma protegee chez Theodore, L'Oriol, ce soir," but I wrote it, I believe; I told her to do so—I think it was sent some time in the afternoon—I sent instructions by telegram to take the child away to L'Oriol, because that morning I had seen Mrs. Josephine Butler, who told me that the Sullivans, and so on, were down at Winchester harassing Rebecca—I was under the impression that the Broughtons, whom I knew then or by that time, had learnt, had sold the child, were friends of Rebecca's before, and I thought that if Rebecca

yielded to the temptation to go back to her old life, one of the first things would be that they would try to get this poor child back, consequently I was very anxious to get the child to an address that she did not know, because I knew she knew where she was in Paris—I had not heard that that morning the mother had been to the police-court, nor the previous day—to the best of my recollection and belief at this time I had no intimation of it, and if I had, I do not think it would hare influenced me in sending the child away, because I knew that if the mother made a formal demand upon me for the child I had no claim to it, and it would have been perfectly childish for me to send it away from Paris merely for the sake of hiding it from its mother, because I knew its mother would come to me—but the real reason for sending the child from Paris was that I was afraid that Rebecca would yield to the temptation of her old companions, and that she would let the Broughtons or some one thereabouts know the address of the child, and we should probably have to send it back—I was afraid if she got back with Sullivan and her old friends she would yield to their entreaties and want the child back, she and the Broughtons; for this reason, that if she told them no harm had come to the child she could get it back again, and sell it over again—I remember receiving the letter of 8th June from Paris; Mr. Stead showed it to me; it was enclosed to me under cover—I read the letter at my office; Mr. Stead handed it to me to read after he had opened it at my office—I handed it to him and said "What are we to do with this letter?" and he opened it and read it—I see the word "France," which had been altered so that people could not read it, and the addresses made illegible—that was done when the letter came to me—I gave it to Mr. Stead, and he did not think it was advisable it should be sent on to the mother, and I am bound to say I agreed with him—my feeling was that if the mother was so degraded and abandoned as to part with her child for the purpose for which I believed she had come into Mr. Stead's hands, the best thing of all others was to keep her from all knowledge of the child's whereabouts—I do not know who it was who told the child not to put any address on her letter—I had not given any instructions to Mrs. Combe about that, but I think I gave instructions to one of our people who was over from Paris about that time, to the effect that the child had been purchased, and that its own mother had consented to the sale, and that on account of that fact I did not wish it to communicate with the mother, or at all events I did not wish its mother to know its whereabouts—Mr. Stead had told me that he expected to get a child—he did not on the Tuesday, not specially—he may have repeated his statements of Friday, but it was a general statement to this effect: "I am expecting to purchase one, two, or more children; I have nowhere to put them"—it was a general statement to the effect that he had purchased or was about to purchase—I think it was the Friday morning I saw him at his own office—he said he was expecting to buy one or two or more children, as though for an immoral purpose; that he had nowhere to put them; I remember his saying that he could not take them home to his own home, and that he could not have them at the Pall Mall Gazette office, and would I undertake to take charge of them; and further, if he wished to send one or more of them to the Continent would I have some person who was able to do that, had I any one who was able to do that—I do not think I saw or heard from Mr. Stead at all on the Tuesday, so far as

I can remember—in the event of his purchasing I would take charge of them—I knew that Rebecca Jarrett was going to try and get them—before the Tuesday I knew that Mr. Stead was going to try to get them through Rebecca Jarrett, and that if he succeeded I was to take them, and I was to send some of them abroad, if Mr. Stead wished it, his idea being to show how girls were sent out of the country to the Continental brothels—the Salvation "Army" do not send thorn to Continental brothels—his idea was to send one or more children out of the country in order to show what could be done, and I undertook to find a motherly person was the expression, to take charge of them; I was as anxious as he was to show up the iniquity of the system—I sent a messenger to Madame Combe first—my recollection is hardly clear about this, but I think I spoke to her first on the same Friday that Mr. Stead spoke to me, and I said to her in general terms "Are you willing to go on the Continent if I wish you to do so?" and "Can you travel easily?" and so on—I do not think I saw Mr. Stead on the Tuesday at all—I sent no message to Madame Combe on the Tuesday—about 8 o'clock in the evening of Wednesday, the 3rd, I saw Mr. Stead—it was between the Wednesday night and the Thursday morning, after midnight, that Mr. Stead told me that Jarrett said the father knew what the child was going for—I really do not know if Jarrett had told the father the purpose; the statement made to me by Mr. Stead was merely that the father knew, as also that the mother had participated in the amount of the purchase—I read in this morning's report that Mr. Stead had sworn that he never suggested anything of the kind—I explained just now that, so far as my recollection serves me, I offered Inspector Borner the address of the child, but I am not quite clear about that; any way, I told him it was in our care, and well looked after—I do not think Borner told me on the 31st July that I had not sent the address—I attended at the Mansion House—I did not see Mrs. Armstrong there.

Re-examined by MR. WADDY. This letter I wrote on the 5th recalls a conversation I had with Mr. Stead: "My dear S.," that is Mr. Stead, "I have just sent Gyson to see you. Some of our friends have been in, saying that they think the St. James's is likely to do us a great deal of harm. You might say something to-morrow to the effect that we took charge of the child, E. A.," that is, Elizabeth Armstrong, "having rescued her from what might have been a terrible fate, which is the fact. The woman, of course, did not see General B.," that is my father. "She was to advise with her husband as to whether the child should remain with her present friends, and let me know through the police. It only wants to be known that we, you, have really rescued this girl and are now being blackguarded and forced to give her up to her parents, who formerly allowed her to be, &c., &c., &c., by some unscrupulous people, and the country will know who to believe. The D. T. will copy this from the St. James's. I will, as you think it wise, send for the child." I sent for the child accordingly that day—I mean to say I signed the authority—having Mr. Stead's assurance that he thought the child ought to be brought home, and finding also that a lot of misrepresentations were being made by the newspapers, I yielded very reluctantly I quite admit, and I do not wish to escape any blame that may attach to me for being reluctant, but I was very reluctant indeed to allow the child to come back

again to the surroundings from which I believed she had been taken, and I tried, by all legitimate means which I knew, to avoid that which I thought would be simply a catastrophe for the child—my information with regard to what had taken place with respect to the child was derived mainly, if not entirely, from Mr. Stead, and I entirely believed what I was told by him.

By the COURT. I had got my trumpet at the conversation with Mrs. Armstrong, when I told the mother that the child had been examined—I almost always have it; I may tell you one of the Inspectors mentioned that I left my chair and went across the room so as to sit near to where Mrs. Armstrong was—I asked her "Did you not know something of Rebecca before?"—she said "Yes, I did"—I am sure of that—I said "Do you know what sort of a woman she was?" I think she said "Yes," and then I said "What?"—she said "I knew she was gay," or "I knew she was a gay woman"—I think she said "I knew she was gay"—I was not quite clear when I said "Do you know what sort of a woman Jarrett was?"—I think in the first instance I said to her "Did you know?" but I feel quite certain that Mrs. Armstrong's answer was to the effect that she knew she was a gay woman when she came to her—that was the impression she conveyed to me.

By the JURY. On the 3rd August Mr. Gyson was present—I do not know that he is here—he is one of the secretaries employed at the head-quarters of the Salvation Army—no one else except those persons I mentioned, the two inspectors, Borner and Conquest, and Mrs. Armstrong were present—Borner and Conquest were not present when reference was made to the 100l.; only Borner and.myself were in the room; that is when the reference was made to making the girl a Ward of Court—I wrote to Jarrett in Paris—I instructed her to forward the money to Broughton—I have not got that letter—I did not mention Mrs. Broughton's name, I wish to make that correction, because I did not know it—I wrote to Jarrett the same day they went away—that would be the 4th of June, I think—I read Mrs. Armstrong's evidence at the police-court—I did not hear what she said—I cannot say I heard her there state that I had told her it would cost 100l. to bring the child back, but I am willing to accept it as her statement—I read that Borner, the inspector, said the same thing. (A copy taken from the shorthand note dictated by Mr. Booth, from which the following letter was written, was read.) "My dear Rebecca,—I hope you have arrived all safe. I have seen Mrs. Butler, and have told her how matters stand, and she is very thankful to God that you have been able to help us as you have. Now I think it would be advisable for the girl to remain with Madame Combe for the present as her servant, and I hope you will do all you can to make this arrangement pleasant for the child. It is very natural she should be attached to you, but still we must needs make some arrangement for the future, so that the girl may stay away a little while, and, of course, your work will soon need you back again at Winchester. With regard to money, I think it is very important that the remainder should be paid. I think you should send it by post. You can easily do so. What I fear is that, if it is not paid immediately, the people will begin to make some sort of stir about it, whereas if you merely send two postal orders in the envelope without any address, they will see the Paris postmark, and there will be no further trouble"—that was the letter which I sent I believe—will you

I can remember—in the event of his purchasing I would take charge of them—I knew that Rebecca Jarrett was going to try and get them—before the Tuesday I knew that Mr. Stead was going to try to get them through Rebecca Jarrett, and that if he succeeded I was to take them, and I was to send some of them abroad, if Mr. Stead wished it, his idea being to show how girls were sent out of the country to the Continental brothels—the Salvation "Army" do not send thorn to Continental brothels—his idea was to send one or more children out of the country in order to show what could be done, and I undertook to find a motherly person was the expression, to take charge of them; I was as anxious as he was to show up the iniquity of the system—I sent a messenger to Madame Combe first—my recollection is hardly clear about this, but I think I spoke to her first on the same Friday that Mr. Stead spoke to me, and I said to her in general terms "Are you willing to go on the Continent if I wish you to do so?" and "Can you travel easily?" and so on—I do not think I saw Mr. Stead on the Tuesday at all—I sent no message to Madame Combe on the Tuesday—about 8 o'clock in the evening of Wednesday, the 3rd, I saw Mr. Stead—it was between the Wednesday night and the Thursday morning, after midnight, that Mr. Stead told me that Jarrett said the father knew what the child was going for—I really do not know if Jarrett had told the father the purpose; the statement made to me by Mr. Stead was merely that the father knew, as also that the mother had participated in the amount of the purchase—I read in this morning's report that Mr. Stead had sworn that he never suggested anything of the kind—I explained just now that, so far as my recollection serves me, I offered Inspector Borner the address of the child, but I am not quite clear about that; any way, I told him it was in our care, and well looked after—I do not think Borner told me on the 31st July that I had not sent the address—I attended at the Mansion House—I did not see Mrs. Armstrong there.

Re-examined by MR. WADDY. This letter I wrote on the 5th recalls a conversation I had with Mr. Stead: "My dear S.," that is Mr. Stead, "I have just sent Gyson to see you. Some of our friends have been in, saying that they think the St. James's is likely to do us a great deal of harm. You might say something to-morrow to the effect that we took charge of the child, E. A.," that is, Elizabeth Armstrong, "having rescued her from what might have been a terrible fate, which is the fact. The woman, of course, did not see General B.," that is my father. "She was to advise with her husband as to whether the child should remain with her present friends, and let me know through the police. It only wants to be known that we, you, have really rescued this girl and are now being blackguarded and forced to give her up to her parents, who formerly allowed her to be, &c., &c., &c., by some unscrupulous people, and the country will know who to believe. The D. T. will copy this from the St. James's. I will, as you think it wise, send for the child." I sent for the child accordingly that day—I mean to say I signed the authority—having Mr. Stead's assurance that he thought the child ought to be brought home, and finding also that a lot of misrepresentations were being made by the newspapers, I yielded very reluctantly I quite admit, and I do not wish to escape any blame that may attach to me for being reluctant, but I was very reluctant indeed to allow the child to come back

again to the surroundings from which I believed she had been taken, and I tried, by all legitimate means which I knew, to avoid that which I thought would be simply a catastrophe for the child—my information with regard to what had taken place with respect to the child was derived mainly, if not entirely, from Mr. Stead, and I entirely believed what I was told by him.

By the COURT. I had got my trumpet at the conversation with Mrs. Armstrong, when I told the mother that the child had been examined—I almost always have it; I may tell you one of the Inspectors mentioned that I left my chair and went across the room so as to sit near to where Mrs. Armstrong was—I asked her "Did you not know something of Rebecca before?"—she said "Yes, I did"—I am sure of that—I said "Do you know what sort of a woman she was?" I think she said "Yes," and then I said "What?"—she said "I knew she was gay," or "I knew she was a gay woman"—I think she said "I knew she was gay"—I was not quite dear when I said "Do you know what sort of a woman Jarrett was?"—I think in the first instance I said to her "Did you know?" but I feel quite certain that Mrs. Armstrong's answer was to the effect that she knew she was a gay woman when she came to her—that was the impression she conveyed to me.

By the JURY. On the 3rd August Mr. Gyson was present—I do not know that he is here—he is one of the secretaries employed at the head-quarters of the Salvation Army—no one else except those persons I mentioned, the two inspectors, Borner and Conquest, and Mrs. Armstrong were present—Borner and Conquest were not present when reference was made to the 100l.; only Borner and myself were in the room; that is when the reference was made to making the girl a Ward of Court—I wrote to Jarrett in Paris—I instructed her to forward the money to Broughton—I have not got that letter—I did not mention Mrs. Broughton's name, I wish to make that correction, because I did not know it—I wrote to Jarrett the same day they went away—that would be the 4th of June, I think—I read Mrs. Armstrong's evidence at the police-court—I did not hear what she said—I cannot say I heard her there state that I had told her it would cost 100l. to bring the child back, but I am willing to accept it as her statement—I read that Borner, the inspector, said the same thing. (A copy taken from the shorthand note dictated by Mr. Booth, from which the following letter was written, was read.) "My dear Rebecca,—I hope you have arrived all safe. I have seen Mrs. Butler, and have told her how matters stand, and she is very thankful to God that you have been able to help us as you have. Now I think it would be advisable for the girl to remain with Madame Combe for the present as her servant, and I hope you will do all you can to make this arrangement pleasant for the child. It is very natural she should be attached to you, but still we must needs make some arrangement for the future, so that the girl may stay away a little while, and, of course, your work will soon need you back again at Winchester. With regard to money, I think it is very important that the remainder should be paid. I think you should send it by post. You can easily do so. What I fear is that, if it is not paid immediately, the people will begin to make some sort of stir about it, whereas if you merely send two postal orders in the envelope without any address, they will see the Paris postmark, and there will be no further trouble"—that was the letter which I sent I believe—will you

allow me to explain a matter mentioned yesterday in reference to a question asked by your Lordship some days ago with respect to one matter connected with my conduct?—your Lordship asked, I think it was Inspector Borner, whether I had said to him at either of our interviews, that the child was sold by her parents, and he replied "No"—that is quite correct, I did not say so to him, and what I wish to say now is that I had been specially requested by Mr. Stead, and had given him a promise, that I would not under any circumstances divulge the fact of that sale to any person which would make it at all probable that any trouble would be brought upon the persons who had taken part in this investigation.

ELIZABETH COMBE (Examined by MR. HORNE PAYNE ). I am a widow lady of private fortune, generally having residence and house at No. 11, Rue Livrier, Geneva—I have one surviving son—he is called "Lieutenant" Combe in the Salvation "Army"—I have a brother Theodore Berard, who lives at Loriol, France—he is married, and has two children—he has no connection with the Salvation "Army"—he is rather opposed to them—I first came to England from Switzerland—on the 25th of May, I think, on the Whit Monday, I came to England—I have been in the Salvation "Army" in Switzerland for two and a-half years—I had received the English members of the Salvation "Army" when they came over there and were persecuted—when I arrived in England I went straight to the Clapton Training Home—it is for good girls training for officers—the training home for bad girls is some distance off Clapton—in the course of the next week I received a message from Mr. Booth—on the Wednesday night a messenger came up to Clapton—before the Wednesday night when I went—I saw Mr. Booth once—he asked me at that time whether I was disposed to travel, if I was a good sailor; and I said I thought I was—that was all he said; he might require me later on—it was not more than two or three days before the Wednesday—Mr. Booth said it was the Friday, I thought it was the Monday—I had no knowledge whatever of the investigation by the Committee, or any of the matters I have heard spoken to here—on the Wednesday night a gentleman came up to Clapton on the 3rd of June and fetched me down to London, to headquarters in Queen Victoria Street—I do not know the name of the man—I had been in London two years ago, but I had been only a few days—he fetched me between 8 and 9 o'clock on the 3rd of June—I met Mr. Booth, I believe, at the door of the headquarters, and he took me with him immediately—we stopped a Hansom cab and both got in—my share of the conversation was not very great in the Hansom cab, not with the noise—I did not know where I was going—he took me in the Hansom cab to a house—I did not know who resided in the house at that time, or whether it was a doctor's or any other house—he spoke to me in a general way about the wickedness and bad things going on in London; and I really am not quite sure whether he asked me just at that time to take some little girl over or away with me; that I had to take charge of a young girl—I am not quite clear whether he told me that at that time or later on in the night—he told me that night that a child had been bought, and that they wanted to prove that a child could be bought for bad purposes and taken over to the Continent—I believe he told me about the Continent at that time, but I could not swear it, but I believe he did—he told we no more

before the next morning—I went in this cab to what I now know to be Dr. Heywood Smith's house—I saw several persons that I did not know—I saw them coming in and going out of the room I was in, but I did not know them—I was in the parlour, and then in a small room, study, I think, waiting—I was first put in the parlour, and then in an ante-room, I suppose to make room for people—I did not see Jarrett that night, nor the little girl, or speak to any one else—I may have spoken to Mr. Stead, but I cannot recollect, really—I did shake hands with a gentleman, but as to saying who he was I could not now—I was not introduced—I had no conversation with anyone—I had not known Mr. Stead—I never saw him before in my life—after waiting there some time I was taken away rather late in another carriage, I fancy, and taken to some friend's house at that time—I found the people in bed, and I was sent to bed, and I spent the night there—I do not know whether Miss Peck was with me or not—nothing further occurred until the next morning, then I breakfasted with the family—a young man and two young girls were present, I think—nothing was said on the subject of this matter at that breakfast table—I went with Miss Peck to Nottingham Place—we went on foot—we arrived, and were introduced into a room in which I saw Rebecca and the little girl—that was the first time I saw her or the little girl—that was the morning of the 4th—there was no conversation of much consequence, so far as I remember—the young lady went out of the room with Rebecca for a few minutes, and I was left in the room with the child—I tried to cheer the child—she did not look happy—I asked her if she would go with me; and I told her that I had children of my own, and I said I suppose what I thought would make the child feel happy with me—Miss Peck went to buy a jacket for the child a few minutes before she left the house to go to the station—I and Rebecca and Eliza went to the station in a cab—I do not know what station—I think Mr. Booth told me, after breakfast, that I should have to take the child to Paris—when I got to the station the tickets were already taken—we were rather late, and we had nothing to do but step into the train, and the tickets were handed over to us—up to that time I had not heard a word further than I have told you about the child, how it was got, or whether it had a mother or father, or anything—we arrived in Paris, I think, between 5 and 6 p.m.—then I took the child to 3, Avenue Laumiere, which is Miss Booth's house—it was not the headquarters—it has been made since into a training home for women—at that time there were some four or five respectable young ladies living there, being trained for the "Army"—the following morning, or the next day, I know that Rebecca had a letter, because I remember well her letter came enclosed in one to me—I did not read Rebecca's letter—in the morning I was not ready for breakfast—I saw Rebecca coming from the post-office—I cannot say I saw her go—I do not remember that clearly, but I saw her come back—when she was starting I did not know she was going out alone—I remained there during the week, until I received orders to go back, or a telegram—the child never went out alone—on the 14th I returned to England—I received a letter or two from the child when I wrote to her—afterwards a telegram was sent by my authority to my son—if I wrote it, it was only on a slip of paper—I did not send the wire—I gave it to "Captain" Vint, I believe—I sent it by Mr. Booth's instructions, if you call that instructions, that I was to get somebody from Paris to take the child

down to my brother's—as I knew no one in France except my brother who would take charge of the child I sent a wire—I am not sure that Mr. Booth told me to send the wire really, or whether I took upon myself to send it—then I sent the letter commencing "Dear Theodore," of which I have heard a translation read—the expression in the letter, "passer par ou vous voudrez" means "she will be obedient;" I meant to say, "she will be obedient if you inform her I know of her conduct"—I knew the child loved me, and would care for my approval—in saying in that letter, "Complete, my dear Theodore, the work I have commenced, at my risk and peril," I meant the taking her over and finding a comfortable home for her—I proposed the thing, and if he accepted taking the child, he would complete what I had done—my brother's house is a comfortable home.

Examined by Stead. I was present when Jarrett bade Eliza Armstrong "Good-bye"—I heard Jarrett give Eliza Armstrong advice to be a good girl, and obedient to those with whom she left her; that we should be kind with her, and she ought to be thankful to be where she was, because her mother had not given her for a servant, she said "service," but for something worse—I never heard the name of "Broughton" before I came to the Court—the child heard that "something worse"—she hung down her head, and said nothing—I thought she did not seem to feel it very much; I was surprised—during the time that I have had anything to do with Eliza Armstrong I never received from you directly or indirectly to my knowledge, any words of direction, any information, or anything at all.

E. TYAS COOK (Examined by Stead). I am assistant editor of the Pall Mall Gazette—I assisted you in editing the Pall Mall Gazette in July—I remember having a conversation with Mr. Thompson—I cut down the four articles of the "Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon" for the supplement of the Pall Mall Gazette by the instructions solely of Mr. Thompson, the proprietor—you did not give me any instructions—it was not in consequence of any instructions from you—you were not privy to what I took out or left in—I was absolute—I had no reason for supposing you knew what I cut out or left in.

Three letters were produced by MR. RUSSELL from Jarrett to Mrs. Booth, expressing a wish that Eliza, on returning from France, should come to her at Winchester.


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