Again, it must occasionally happen that guiltless persons who have been committed for trial are detained here, and there is something repulsive in the absolutely penal character of the reception they have in each case to give their friends.
The reader will be able to understand from the foregoing description the most noticeable features of the visiting day at Newgate.
Upon the morning to which our history more immediately refers there were two persons among the throng of visitors outside the gate of the city prison—these being Mrs. Peace and Bandy-legged Bill, both of whom had presented themselves at the prison for the purpose of having an interview with the most celebrated burglar of modern times.
Bill had dressed himself in his best attire, and looked quite respectable.
His female companion was tearful, depressed, and appeared to be quite borne down.
When the prison door was thrown open, the motley throng of visitors passed into the entrance.
They were conducted to the place appointed for the visitors, and behind the bars they beheld the man of whom they were in search.
Peace appeared to be perfectly composed. His wife uttered a deep sigh as she reached the barrier which separated her from her husband.
A woman who stood next to her, and who was evidently a native of the “Emerald Isle,” set up a most dismal howl as she caught sight of a shock-headed urchin, who was, it afterwards transpired, her youngest son.
“Och, bad luck to the spalpeen as brought you to this!—bad luck to him the murtherin’ baste,” cried the woman. “It’s sorry that I am to see ye brought to this anyhow, but it aint no fault of yours. Oh, murder, but my heart is a breakin’, it’s all through that dirty blackguard, ‘Cakey.’”