About 420,000 persons in the course of a year pass through the hands of the police in England and Wales. Of these, about 275,000 are convicted, some summarily, others after trial by jury, the former being seventeen times as numerous as the latter.
The great majority of these mean nothing but the slightest punishments, generally fines; but about 70,000 are sentenced to imprisonment. Of these, 6000 in round numbers are children under sixteen years of age, nearly 1000 of whom are committed to reformatories for most of the remainder the cellular prisons probably furnish sufficient correction.
Of the adults rather more than 2000 are sentenced to penal servitude.
Of the 420,000 persons apprehended by the police more than 80,000 are either known or suspected to be criminals by trade, and from 50,000 to 60,000 are known to be living in total idleness and vice.
This is, of course, a terrible state of things, but as yet no remedy has been found to repress crime in the metropolis or elsewhere.
Peace was a criminal of the most irreclaimable, daring, and desperate order, but this was not known to the authorities at—for a certainty—the time of his arrest, but it afterwards became sufficiently manifest.
At length the day arrived on which Peace was to be tried.
He was in close converse with his lawyer on the preceding day, and was informed that Mr. Montague Williams would conduct the defence.
The legal gentleman did not tell his client that the case was in every way a hopeless one, but bade him keep up his spirits and hope for the best.
Before the court was duly opened, barristers and solicitors were to be seen ascending the staircase, ducking mysteriously into ante-rooms, and it was evident enough that there was to be a sort of legal field day.