winter's morning struggled in through the crisp frosty air--long ere
the first gleam of the coming day dulled the glare of the flaming
gas jets, the streets of the Lancashire capital were all astir with
bustling crowds, and the silence of the night was broken by the
ceaseless footfalls and the voices of hurrying throngs. Through the
long, dim streets, and past the tall rows of silent houses, the full
tide of life eddied and poured in rapid current; stout burghers,
closely muffled and staff in hand; children grown prematurely old,
with the hard marks of vice already branded on their features; young
girls with flaunting ribbons and bold, flushed faces; pale-faced
operatives, and strong men whose brawny limbs told of the Titanic
labours of the foundry; the clerk from his desk; the shopkeeper from
his store; the withered crone, and the careless navvy, swayed and
struggled through the living mass; and with them trooped the legions
of want, and vice, and ignorance, that burrow and fester in the foetid
lanes and purlieus of the large British cities: from the dark alleys
where misery and degradation for ever dwell, and from reeking cellars
and nameless haunts, where the twin demons of alcohol and crime rule
supreme; from the gin-palace, and the beer-shop, and the midnight
haunts of the tramp and the burglar, they came in all their
repulsiveness and debasement, with the rags of wretchedness upon
their backs, and the cries of profanity and obscenity upon their
lips. Forward they rushed in a surging flood through many a street
and byway, until where the narrowing thoroughfares open into the space
surrounding the New Bailey Prison, in that suburb of the great city
known as the Borough of Salford, they found their further progress
arrested. Between them and the massive prison walls rose piles of
heavy barricading, and the intervening space was black with a dense
body of men, all of whom faced the gloomy building beyond, and each of
whom carried a special constable's baton in his hand. The long railway