The Sun.
London, England, 1859-12-14 00:00:00

TEIg sVIV, tiONDONVIVEDIVESDAY EVENING, DECEMBER 14, 181i9.

being audited every week. An order was made by
the committee requiring him (Mr. Maitland) to
balance his accounts once a-week, to pay into
the banker's each day any sum over £lO, which
amount he was to retain for current expenses, and
the working of the society had been reorganised, so
as to reduce• very considerably its expenditura and
increase its usefulness.

Mr. Selfe was happy to 'F_nd the speiety was on a
better foundation. The best thin., to do was to
check the indiscriminate use, of charitable funds, and
prevent the benevolent being imposed. upon. He
did not wish to stop the flow of public bene-
volence, but he was very desirous" that the
funds subscribed by. the charitable should
be properly applied. He should have preferred
to see the second lialance-sheet of, the Royal
Benevolent Society properly, audited, which had
not been done. He would not, however, dispute
its accuracy. The second report showed only a de-
ficiency of £66 by the misconduct and departure of
Captain Sheppard. That did not explain away the
complaint he had originally made, and which he
was informed had found its way into the news-
papers, that £236 6s. 4d. had been disbursed in
loans and gifts, and that the expenses for doing so
were upwards of £l,OOO.
Mr. Maitland said the preliminary expenses of the
society should be borne in mind. Everything was
now conducted with the strictest economy. The
books were open to the subscribers, and any person
could obtain a report who requested one.
After some further conversation, the secretary
thanked the magistrate for his courtesy and atten-
tion, and retired.

thought it was imprudent." "You spoke to him as
he was about to'leaVe ?" " I said, 'My mother is
about to scud you away—she will not hear of mar-
riage." "Then, after all, there was a question of.
marriage between.you I never consented .to
such a sten." " You said to him= My mother
will gat rid: of the child ?"' . " I never said that."
" After the departure of Fetis, what took place ?"
" I entertained doubts that I was really enciente."
"At the end of April your mother had no doubt,
and what project did she form ?" " My Mother felt

certain that, -nothing would come of ra- y situation.
We, however, discussed the question as to the means
of getting fid of the consequence's of my fault. My
mother said that if I had a miscarriage ve might
burn the embryo. ' But if in place of an embryo there
be a child arrived at its full time ?' said I. ' Do not

be disquieted about that,' said mamma, ' there will
al ways be means of causing it to disappear." " That
meant that dead or alive the child was to be burned?"

" What F understood was that my mother would
send it away." 0 That is what you say now, but
you did not say so in your preliminary examina-
tions." " What I said was misunderstood." " YO.ll
did not ask your mother what she would do if your
child was born alive ?" " I had not the idea of ques-
tioning my mother, becauSe I was peraoaded she
meant to send the child away." " Your mother made
. .
you take violent exercise in order to produce a mis-
carriage ?" ." No, but because she thought that I was
behind my time, and it was of my own accord that
I rolled down the hill, and I did it in joke." " Did
not your mother propose to you to roll down a stair-
case ?" " She said, -laughing, 'lf you had a good
tumble downstairs, perhaps you would be all right.'
But I answered that by such a fall I should per-
haps kill myself, and she said that she was only
jesting." " When your pains came on did not your
mother take you to a dark, isolated chamber ?"
" Yes ; and being persuaded that the child would
be dead, she told me to make no noise. For if the
child were dead, it was useless to let any one know,
and so render herself liable to be suspected of a
crime which she would not have committed."
" Did you remark that the child to whom you gave
birth moved ?" " I thought for a moment that it
moved." " Did not your mother remark that he
was a large child ?" "It was big, certainly, but I
am not sure that it was born alive. It did not
cry." " But if he moved he must have been born
alive, and how did he die?" '" He was still born,
Sir." " Did you not say after your arrest
that yonr mother had put 'her hand in the child's
mouth ?" " What I said was, that if she had killed
the child she could only have done so in that way."
" Did you not say that vou knew your mother meant
to kill the child ?" " To, I knew that she meant
to cause the child to disappear, but that is not the
same thing as killing it." The President then read
extracts from her declarations after being arrested,
for the purpose of showing that they were not in
accord with her present statements, and that, there-
fore, she was not worthy of credit. She afterwards
again energetically denied that she had ever thought
of marrying Fetis, and, in answer to a reference to
something he.had said, she exclaimed with disdain,
" Such a man cannot be believed !"
At this point the interrogatory, during which the
girl had displayed remarkable energy, was sus-
pended ; ultimately she was brought back, and the
President said—" Tell us the manner in which the
child was burnt." " I only know," answered the
prisoner, " what my mother told me, and she told
me very little. Ido not knew if she had prepared
beforehand a fire in the grate, nor how she executed
her project. It was, I believe, in a room by the
side of that in which ,I was confined that the burn-
ing took place. Firewood and faggots are always
kept in a closet in that room." "We have reason
to believe," said the President, "that the prepara-
tions for the burning were made the day before the
confinement ; and if so, there must have been the
premeditated design to burn the child, whether
alive or dead." " 1 can give no explanations on
that point." " You appear to have always enter-
tained a certain, degree ,of fear of your mother.
Why, then, did you not communicate your situation
to your father, who loves you ?" "My mother en-
tertained the certainty that nothing would come of
my situation, and she led me to share her convic-
tion. I consequently had no need to confide in any
one, my interest being to have my fault kept secret."
Madame Lemoine was then interrogated, and
she said :—" I watched over my' daughter as it
was my duty to do. I never observed any famili-
arities between her and the coachman, Fetis ; I
should not havetolerated them. When I heard of the
reports about my daughter, I laid a complaint
against some persons for calumniating her. I never
entered into an understanding with my daughter,
when I learned her situation, to represent that the
coachman had done her violence. If my daughter
on her preliminary examination said the contrary
she is mistaken. I first heard the reports in Novem-
ber, and I questioned my daughter; she denied that
they were true, and as no alteration had taken place
in her health I believed her." " Tell us," said the
President, " what your daughter said to you after
the discharge of Peas." "Allow me, sir, not to re-
peat thosel details ; there are :certain things which
ought not to be required from a mother." " But I
recommend you to say what they were." " It is. very
painful to repeat them; my daughter only said a
few words, but they were terrible." " Tell us what
your daughter said, since what she revealed to you,
if true, was a crime on the part of one of your ser-
vants." " It was to save my daughter's honour that
I said nothing about the matter." The President
again pressed the prisoner to say what the revelation
was, and at last she, in great agitation, declared
that, her daughter had confessed that she had been
subjected to violence by the coachman. She flick,
in answer to further questions, protested that when
she became aware that her daughter was enciente
she mighthavethought of causing the consequemes
to disappear in the event of a miscarriage ; but.
bursting into tears, she exclaimed, I never thought
ofecommitting a crime. She then denied that the
violent exercise which she had caused the girl to
take, had been intended to produce a miscarriage ;
she also denied that she had recommended her to
roll down a staircase, and said that the rolling down
the hill was accidental. She went on to assert that
the confinement of the girl had taken place unex-
peetedly in the middle of. the night, and she said
that fact explained why she had not called in a
doctor. "But, said the President, why not have sent
a servant for 'a doctor ?" " The servants slept in an-
other part of the house, and besides I was anxious
to save the honour of my daughter." " What pre-
parations did you make for her confinement?" " Ex-
cuse me, the details would be painful." "I insist on
your answering." " I did what every mother would
have done, and among other things T put a bed in
the room." "And what happened ?" "A dead child
was boria." " _And what did you do with it when
you had condemned it in advance not to live ?"
1" Oh, Sir ! what you now say deprives 'me of the
courage of stating what passed." " When a woman
has the courage to throw into the fire the child of
I her daughter she ought to have the courage to state
what she did." " I had the courage to do what was
necessary to save the honour of my daughter." Tho
prisoner afterwards, though with great repugnance,
gave details of the birth, and then said she was con-
vinced that the child was dead, inasmuch as it did
not move. " But often newly-born children do not
.hove, though alive," said the President. " Ah, that
is science, and I am not learned. The child had been
lying motionless for some time before I put it into
the fire." "Did you not say to your daughter that
the child was alive, and a very large one ?" " I did
not say that it was alive, though I may have said
it was large." " Your daughter said that the child
moved—that she saw it move." " She could not
have seen that, for lam sure it did not." " Why
did you cast it into the fire ?" " When I was certain
that it was dead I had the honour of my daughter
to protect, and I did not hesitate." " How did you
light the fire ?" " There was already wood in the
grate." " Give us details of the burning." "I did
so in my preliminary examination, and it is cruel to
ask me to repeat them." "Did the operation last
long P" " I cannot tell." " Afterwards you had
the courage to cast away the ashes of the burnt
child of your daughter ?" " Yes, I had the courage
to do that. Why should I not have had the courage
to carry to the end what I had commenced ?" " And
the day after you compelled your daughter to take
a walk in the town ?" " When a mother desires to
save the honour of her daughter, she does every-
thing except crime."
Witnesses were then called. The first was Fetis,
the coachman, and he created great curiosity. "It
was in 1856 that I entered the service of Madame
Lemoine. Shortly after Mademoiselle Angelina
began romping with me whenever she found me in
the rooms. I did not then think it possible to marry
her. In 1858, when she was 15, she remarked that
she was old enough to marry, and I said ' Mademoi-
selle, I can recommend to you a good husband.'
' Whom,' asked she. ' Myself,' I answered ; and sh
observed, 'We shall see.' The man then went on
to describe the liberties which the girl had taken
with him, and how they had ended. He admitted
that he had calculated that if'she became enciente
he might, notwithstanding the difference in,their
positions, marry her. It was in January last she
made known to him that she was enciente, and in
that month unfavourable reports began to be propa-
gated about her. She heard of those reports, and
said she was pleased with them rather than other-
wise, as they would facilitate; a marriage. "At
first," continued the man, " it was agreed that she
should ask her mother to allow her to marry me,
but she was afraid; so I undertook to do it. One
day I drove madame to her house at Givray, and
there, after carrying some wine into the cellar, I
said, ' Madame, I have something to say to you.'
' You, Jean ?' said she, looking surprised. ' Yes.'
' Well, speak ; what have you got to say
' Madame; it is right to tell you that Mademoiselle

Angelina, your daughter, is enciente by me, and
that she wishes to marry me.' ' What you ask,
Jean,' said Madame, 'is not possible. Harness the
horses instantly, and let us return to Chinon.' On
our return I told Mademoiselle Angelina that her
mother would not hear of our marriage, and said,
' Now I haye done my part—do what you like.'
"What afterwards paSsed between you and Madame
Lemoine 9" asked the President. " Madame paid
me 100 f., the amount due for wages, and said, ' Go
to your room—pack up your things and be off!' I
answered, ' Madame, I promised your daughter to
marry her, and I will never fail in my word!'"
The man said this with such pomposity that loud
laughter arose throughout the court, but it was
checked by the President. " Before leaving the
house did you not speak to Angelina 9" " Yes, to
bid her farewell, and she said to me, ' Poor Jean !

CRIES

VENT.

(From the Downshire Protestant.)
We copy from our contemporary, the Irish Times, the
following letter :

"TO TILE EDITOR, OP THE IRISH TIMES.
" November 2, 1859.
" Sir,—l think it right to draw your attention, as a
public journalist, to an occurrence of a most mysterious
kind which took place a day or two ago. On the evening
of Sunday last, at about seven o'clock, as I was passing
the corner of the Baggot-street Convent, which looks hato
Herbert-street, dreadful screams were heard coming from
an open window of the nunnery. The screams proceeded
from a female, who was crying, ' Oh ! mercy, mercy ! they
are murdering me.' Her figure appeared for a moment at
the window, which was then closed by some one from
behind ; and the remainder of this extraordinary and dread-

ful scene was hidden from view.
"A lady and gentleman, accompanied by a little child,
were passing at the time, and the child, turning to the gen-
tleman, said, Oh, papa, they are murdering the poor
woman.' 116 gentleman replied, It is very dreadful,' or
words to that effect. .

" I have heard, on good authority, that numerous dark I
cells have been made under this Baggot-street Convent (for
what purpose I know not), and as the scene which I have
described was, to say the very least of it, a most extraor-
dinary one, I trust to your calling the immediate attention
of the authorities to the subject, as it is a case, at all events,
demanding an immediate investigation.
" I remain, Slr, your obedient servant,
" I enclose my card." "A PASSER-BT."
Here, through this open window, the reader gets a
hasty glimpse of the horrors to which these poor incar-
cerated women aro subjected; in this individual shriek, in
this piteous cry for mercy, he obtains a hint of the fear-
ful history of many a helpless victim. " Oh, mercy,
mercy," shrieks the poor creature in her agony ; the tones
of her voice are borne to the passer-by for a moment, tIM
convent window is closed, and there remains for the poor
sufferer such mercy as that which extorted that fearful cry

from her lips.
And the passer-by, hearing those excruciating screams
looks up and shudders—that is all, The father says to his
child, whose heart is wrung at the sound of mortal agony
coining through that open convent window--" It is very
dreadful," and he passes on. What more can he do ?
Those walls are sacred. No polluting foot must pass the
convent doors. And, although the heart of manhood may
swell to bursting at the sound of woman's woe, the agony
must be endure ; the woman must suffer ; and no help,
no word of solace or sympathy must reach her ears, for
the house wherein she is tormented, wounded, violated,
murdered, is a " holy" house a sacred retreat, a haven
from the storms of the world I
The convent is situated in one of the most respectable
quarters of Dublin, and holds within its walls a large num-
ber of those beguiled and entrapped unfortunates who are
known as nuns. We state on good authority that it is
nothing unusual to hear the most appalling and heartrend-
ing cries passing out of the open casements of this hell upon
earth. Many persons have heard them again and again,
women and men—the former with creeping flesh, the latter
with horror, disgust, indignation, and despair.
For a convent is the only place on earth where a woman
may be wronged with impunity, where her delicate frame
may be tortured without question, where her moral nature
may be violated, her womanly instincts trampled upon, her
very life sacrificed without the protection of any law, where
she is exposed to every infamy that the licence of lust may
suggest, and unbounded and irresponsible power may carry
into execution, no matter how or by what means.
Surely this is a terrible state of affairs. Surely it is high
time that some remedy were applied—high time that the
Legislature saw to it, that a slavery worse than any that
ever fettered the limbs and tortured the body of the negro
was abolished;. time that British subjects, fer no crime
whatever, should be released from a bondage more hateful
than any upon earth, and time that it bo ascertained whether
there are not many hundreds and thousands of unwilling
prisoners within convent walls and convent dungeons, cut
off from the sweet air of heaven, and condemned against
their will to life-long tortures and indignities.
The poor women who enter these abodes of woe are
either religious fanatics, to whom the odours of sanctity
are more precious than life and liberty, or else they are
women with blighted affections who, having proved the
falsity of earthly love seek for comfort in what they
believe to be a heavenly. The former hope to elevate them -
selves above the condition of our fallen humanity ; li'ope by
the practice of rigorous mortifications of the flesh, to reach
saintly spiritual titudes, and believe that by trampling on
the nature which God has given them, witti all its appe-
tencies, aptitudes, and correlative' functions they shall be
,able to reach a higher life, Of course they are puffed up
with ideas of self-righteousness : be!„ their folly should not
bring with it such terrible retribution. as that which is in-
flicte by merciless and brutal priests. And the second class
of victims, who have fallen into the fatal error of mistaking
disappointment for religion, wounded vanity for saintly apti-
tudes, and petulance with the world for heavenly yearnings,
and so have scornfully cast aside the duties which naturally
devolve on women, and endeavour to take upon them the yoke
of " saints"—even these, fatal as is their mistake, should not
be abandoned by the world, and left to the tender mercies
of their tormentors.
Sad and revolting scenes, dreadful cruelties, terrible tra-
gedies aro enacted within the sealed walls of these wonvents,
which would startle the public were their dungeons flung
open to the light of day, and their doings expe,sed to public
scrutiny.
Occasional shrieks break on the enter air as indica-
tions of the life that is led by those; who dwell within ;
but those who hear them can rer,der no assistance, nor
even offer the poor solace of a kindly word. The busy,
cheerful, bustling, gossiping, world outside has nothing
whatever to do with the P.!Jominations, the secret woe, the
shrinking pollution un{kr the name of sanctity, the dark-
ness, the silence,
and- the death of the world within those
convent walls.
There is noe law for the poor persecuted victims who
have once er,cered there. They cannot appeal to the sym-
pathies of -Britons, and say, with the slave, that on touch-
ing P,ritish soil they are free, for they are bound body and
soul in the most hateful and servile of al serfdoms, and fur
them there is no deliverance.
Is this to be for ever ? Are the cries of their great
agony to go up to God day after day, and month after
month, unregarded by men, while " liberal' statesmen en-
large on the " illiberality" of those who would inquire
into tho condition of thooo whito slaves, and liberate those
who are pining for the free air, and for that constitutional
protection to which all civilised beings are entitled ?