The passing over all the circumstances connected with the exciting causes to the commission of crime is the result of a motion of very general prevalene.
It is thought that by allowing crimes to be palliated by circumstances we lessen the effects of public examples; but whenever it is proper to publish accounts of persons and events it is always desirable that the truth should be spoken.
And although the task of chronicling the career of such a blot upon the face of society as Laura Stanbridge may be in a measure repulsive, it is nevertheless true to nature.
She had been so early trained in the committal of unlawful acts that she could never go right afterwards.
It is a sad thing to reflect upon that there are in this country thousands of women who are, morally speaking, of much the same type as the woman Stanbridge.
She forms, in point of fact, a companion picture to that of the hero of this work, and it will be our duty, us impartial historians, to shadow forth her life and actions in all their native and hideous depravity.
“Yes, Charlie, I had a narrow escape,” observed the girl, in a tone of exultation; “but it is not the only narrow escape I’ve had—not by a good many; but you know, old fellow, we’ve all our trials and troubles in this world. You’ve had yours.”
Here she winked at her companion in a manner that was not in any way agreeable to him.
“But tell me, old boy, all about my old pals in Sheffield. What has become of them? As the song says, ‘Where are my playmates gone?’”
“Some are dead; some married, and others are serving her Majesty in places where they haven’t much chance of deserting, seeing that they are so well guarded and looked after with such care.”