The appended letter has been sent to us (says the Nottingham Daily Express) as having been received by Mr. Thomas Porter, of Hucknall Turkard, who immediately handed it over to the county police. Without expressing any opinion as to the authenticity of the document, it is open to conjecture that the writer is a man who was formerly in the employ of Mr. porter, when that gentleman was in business as a saddler at Hucknall, and who went out to Colorado. The letter bore the East Central postmark. We omit several of the least interesting portions of the letter:-

November, London, E.C.
Dear Sir:
I now take the liberty of writing to you, hoping I am not taking a liberty in doing so. I have no doubt you will be surprised to hear it is me and a pal of mine doing this work in Whitechapel; but I feel I cannot continue much longer - shall have to give it up - cannot reign much longer. Have been in America some years and since leaving Colorado have been carrying on a "deadly" (word omitted here) in the east of London. I feel at this moment as if I could burn or blow all these dens down, and all those filthy low women in them. When I go to bed at night I can see all my past life before me, can see everything I have done wrong, and thousands of rats; it is dreadful, and when I lie awake in the morning I fancy I've been dreaming I am not the man. It is too true, I am the right one. Oh I do wish I had gone to Nottingham when I left Colorado, it makes me feel miserable. Most people think there is only one in the affair, but allow me to tell you - I guess there are two, and that is him who learnt me how to do it, a scamp, but I am as bad as him now if not worse, for I never feel frightened in cutting a woman up now, felt at times I never should get caught, am just like a maniac. Oh how I wish I could without any more of this sort of life I have been leading of late - must go on or my pal would do for me - I guess it is a sworn thing between us. When I am talking to a woman I can see the very devil, would give my life any time if I could just speak to some of my old friends. Do feel bad just now, hope the Lord will forgive me all the sins I have committed - always feel better in the afternoon when we go in a public house, and hear some one reading about the Whitechapel affairs, having many a laugh as if I could help it; when it is getting dark I do feel funny - my pal is a wild wretch, he has learned me how to do all this. I am a native of Notts, but I lived in Hucknall some years ago. My pal is a Bavarian, I guess. We met on board a steamship, and I assure you I was mesmerised when I found out his hideous calling which had been concealed from me for some time. I had become so intimate with him, and he cast a sort of spell over me. Myself and my pal are just what they call "Jack the Ripper," we are not the cause of all the nonsense about that letter writing and that writing on the wall, we have never done anything of the sort. You must not allow any hope to exist in your body. I really feel miserable and scarcely know what to do with myself at this moment; expect we shall pop off another or two, when I guess we go back to Colorado never to return.
Yours goodbye
Jack the Ripper's Pal