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 MEMOIRS 
 
 OP 
 
 JANE CAMERON, 
 
 FEMALE CON^^CT. 
 
 BY A PRISON MATEON, 
 
 AUTHOK OF 
 
 "FEMALE LIFE IX PRISON." 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENKY COLRURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1SG4. 
 
 The right of Tramlathn is ret«ne,l.
 
 LI E) R.AFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
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 BY THE 
 
 
 "^ LATE 
 
 RIGHT HON. AND MOST REV. 
 
 
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 EICHAED WHATELY, 
 
 D.D 
 
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 LOED ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN, 
 
 WHOSE KIND WOEDS, 
 
 GENIAL CEITICISM, AND UNLOOKED-FOR PATRONAGE 
 
 WILL BE 
 
 EVER GRATEFULLY REMEMBERED 
 
 BY 
 
 ONE OF THE MANY 
 
 WHO MOURN FOR HIS IRREPARABLE LOSS. 
 
 i
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIEST VOLUME. 
 
 PAET I. 
 "GLASGIE life; 
 
 CHAP. 
 I. INTRODUCTORY 
 
 II. croilet's land 
 
 III. CHILDHOOD . 
 
 IV. A DANCING-SCHOOL 
 V. THE FIRST THEFT . 
 
 VI. LEFT ALONE IN THE WORLD 
 
 VII. MR. LOGGIE's ADVICE 
 
 VIII. BAD LUCK 
 
 IX. BEFORE THE BAILIE 
 
 X. GLASGOW PRISON . 
 
 XI. THE TWENTY DAYS 
 
 XII. MAKING IT UP WITH JOHN EWAN 
 
 XIII. THE SEPARATE SYSTEM 
 
 XIV. JEALOUSY 
 
 XV. HELPING HANDS 
 
 9 
 
 16 
 
 31 
 
 49 
 
 62 
 
 74 
 
 88 
 
 104 
 
 114 
 
 130 
 
 145 
 
 J 57 
 
 168 
 
 183
 
 CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " THE BEGGING LAY "... 
 
 196 
 
 XVII. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER . 
 
 202 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 JANE Cameron's loss 
 
 213 
 
 XIX. 
 
 UNSETTLED 
 
 219 
 
 XX. 
 
 old quarters .... 
 
 229 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A PRISON VISIT .... 
 
 . 238 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE SECOND LETTER 
 
 247 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 MARY LOGGIE's ROMANCE 
 
 253 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Mary's home .... 
 
 264 
 
 . XXV. 
 
 THE END OF THE ROMANCE . 
 
 . 271 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 A thieves' HERO . 
 
 284 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " IN luck's way " . 
 
 292 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 thieves' HOLIDAY . . 
 
 307 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 LONDON TO GLASGOW 
 
 314
 
 PART L 
 
 GLASGIE LIFE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 INTKODUCTORY. 
 
 It has become my task to attempt the history 
 of a female convict^ — of a woman who for many 
 years was well known to prisoners and prison 
 matrons. Such a life as I will attempt to 
 describe, if honestly and simply written, I think 
 may have the power to teach its moral, even with 
 that weak and erring class of which Jane Cameron 
 stands a sad representative. The story — at least 
 a truthful picture of a misspent life — has not 
 been set about hastily, or with the intention of 
 producing a sensation work. It is a story full 
 of shadow, the evil side largely predominant, 
 and yet the elements of good putting forth a 
 feeble shoot or two, even in the dark estate to
 
 4 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 which neglect and ignorance had reduced Jane 
 Cameron. 
 
 For much that will appear in these pages, 
 it is needless to say that I have had but this 
 woman's word; although, from past knowledge 
 of her character, I do not hesitate to assert my 
 own belief in the authenticity of her narrative. 
 Jane Cameron (or rather the woman whom I 
 designate by that name throughout these pages) 
 was at least one whose word could be trusted, 
 and who had no motive to exaggerate her 
 statements. Her story, as related in a frag- 
 mentary fashion, let me hasten to add, has not 
 been followed in its entirety. Here and there 
 details have been slightly modified and abridged ; 
 and for the purpose of disguising the identity 
 of my guilty " heroine," and of certain prison 
 characters connected with her, I have not 
 scrupled to change the scene of action, or alter 
 entirely the nature of those sentences which it 
 was her lot to receive from the laws of her 
 country. This excepted, I claim the story to 
 be considered as a true relation of a criminal 
 career — a story that makes no attempt to render
 
 INTEODUCTORT. 5 
 
 *' things pleasant," but, with a useful purpose 
 ever in view, unsparingly exhibits the truth, and 
 aims to be a faithful chronicle of a woman's fall 
 and rescue. 
 
 I may add that I have sought, in every instance, 
 and wherever practicable, to compare notes with 
 those who were personally acquainted \vith Jane 
 Cameron ; to visit, or in some instances cause to be 
 visited, those places wherein her early days were 
 spent, those haunts of vice still extant, and where 
 lives similar to Cameron's are beginnino- in the 
 same way, to end after the same awful fashion. 
 During the progress of this work I shall allude 
 to many well-known " Gruilt Grardens." There 
 will always be one satisfaction connected with 
 the writing of this book, that I shall have 
 directed attention anew to the one gigantic evil, 
 which it is possible by a united effort of good 
 men to ameliorate — the evil of neglect. 
 
 I have been assisted in my search for truth 
 by the principal public functionaries of Edin- 
 burgh and Glasgow, gentlemen who, ' partly 
 ignorant of the object which took me and a 
 valuable co-operator to Scotland, were yet most
 
 6 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 anxious, by every means in their power^ to show 
 me the interior of their prisons, the working of 
 their criminal law, the darkest secrets of their 
 streets. From all sides and from all parties I 
 have experienced the greatest kindness ; and I am 
 anxious to testify, in this place, to the courtesy 
 and attention which have rendered me ever a 
 debtor to the North. From the members of 
 prison boards, prison governors, chief constables 
 and superintendents, to the active detective 
 officer and his attendant constable, I have been 
 met with that desire to afford me the fullest in- 
 formation, which has enabled me to track, almost 
 step by step, the early progress — that sad progress 
 ever downw^ards — of her whose life I now attempt 
 to write. To the Honorary Secretary of the 
 Prisoner's Aid Society, also to the Secretary of 
 that admirable institution, I desire to tender my 
 hearty thanks ; and I must not forget those good 
 Christians and kind friends who have helped to 
 throw a light upon the after and better life of 
 Cameron. 
 
 The reader will perceive that I have spared 
 no pains to make these memoirs truthful. They
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 7 
 
 are sad memoirs enough, relieved only in tlie 
 latter portion by a gleam or two of brightness. 
 
 I believe I offer for the first time an authen- 
 tic record of a female criminal's career — that 
 tracing it, and even attempting the analysis of 
 it, step by step, I offer to those more learned 
 and more powerful than I, a clue to the mystery 
 of temptation, and demonstrate to those philan- 
 thropists, whose numbers are not few, where the 
 first effort should be made to turn the weak 
 and erring from the danger. Much of goodly 
 effort has been wasted through not beginning at 
 the proper time, or in the proper place. If the 
 story offer a picture of how the poor and ignorant 
 are led to crime, and are in innumerable instances 
 taught to regard it as simply a business, the evil 
 nature of which is, to them, not apparent, the 
 vantage ground on which to work and pray may 
 be rendered more secure. In a great degree 
 it is a Scotch story, but for the difference in the 
 nature of the temptation, or in the causes which 
 lead a human being on the downward road, it 
 might be a story of our own city, and of our 
 helpless castaways. The same reasons which
 
 8 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 brought Jane Cameron to ruin in the streets of 
 Glasgow have brought many hundreds to the 
 same sad end in Whitechapel and Drury Lane. 
 There is not much variation to the rule which 
 governs those shut out from the teaching of 
 God's Word, and keeps the unenlightened soul 
 for ever in the darkness. 
 
 It is the life of one neglected from the cradle- 
 side — a life not devoid of interest, I hope, and 
 the plain recital of which may lead the way, 
 God willing, to an earnest effort, here and there, 
 to counsel, help, and save !
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 ceoiley's land. 
 
 I PRESUME that there are many of my readers 
 acquainted with the city of Grlasgow — the third 
 city in extent and importance in the United 
 Kingdom. 
 
 A great city wherein much money is made, 
 where the evidence of wealth is visible, where 
 trade flourishes and its citizens die millionaires. 
 Like London, or Liverpool, or any city covering 
 its miles of gTOund, a city of extremes — possess- 
 ing, I dare to affirm, after much study of its 
 character, more utter poverty, more abject wretch- 
 edness and ignorance hidden in its wynds and 
 closes, than are to be discovered in a lifelong 
 search throughout the London streets. As I
 
 10 GLASGOW POOR. 
 
 believe that some of the richest men, possibly 
 the richest men in the world, are to be found in 
 Griasgow, so is my conviction that there is no 
 poverty so thoroughly repellent and demonstrative 
 as the poverty that has its dwelling-place in this 
 great Scotch mart of commerce. 
 
 It is a repellent poverty, in many instances, 
 by its love of drink — its " whiskey-greed ; " 
 for although temperance has made some strides 
 in this quarter, yet whiskey-shops are still flour- 
 ishing institutions, and Saturday night in High 
 Street or the Salt-market is like no other Saturday 
 night in any city in the world. It is demon- 
 strative by its numbers, who in the depths of 
 winter emerge bare-footed and half-clad from 
 the narrow turnings in the old portions of the town, 
 and shiver their way along the streets. 
 
 Years ago there stood — as there stands now — 
 at a short distance from the High Street, a nest 
 of tall gaunt houses cramped together, of some 
 three or four stories high, each room of which 
 was occupied by one or more proprietors, and in 
 Scotch parlance called "a house." A densely 
 populated place, bearing the worst name in Glas-
 
 THE NEW YENNEL. 11 
 
 gow, and deserving it, was Croiley's Land in the 
 New Vennel. 
 
 Turning over old papers and documents con- 
 cerning Glasgow, I find therein constant reference 
 to Croiley's Land, otherwise Croyley's, occasionally 
 Croley and Criley's Crescent. To the police, the 
 place is the Crescent or the Vennel. Twenty or 
 thirty years ago, thieves and worse than thieves, 
 were being searched for in this neighbourhood ; at 
 the present hour, in all human probability, they 
 are still being anxiously inquired for there. 
 
 Croiley's Land was a place where honest poverty 
 seldom troubled itself to seek refuge — more espe- 
 cially that poverty which was proud of its good 
 name, and careful who its neighbours were. 
 From Croiley's Land stole forth at night the 
 thieves and 2)rostitutes who made night hideous — 
 into Croiley's Land were decoyed the dupes and 
 dragged the resisting, and dark work was done 
 there after sun-down. All the crimes which 
 shock humanity have had existence there — are still 
 existing. " The worst place in the world," was 
 the designation given to it by an experienced 
 detective, who at the writer's request conducted a
 
 12 SUCCESSFUL CRIME. 
 
 valued friend through all the tortuous windings, 
 from floor to floor, and room to room, of that sin- 
 haunted labyrinth. 
 
 Eobbery with violence still occurs too fre- 
 quently in the New Vennel to call for any especial 
 remark : the most desperate of a desperate class are 
 caught here, or in the adjacent closes ; despairing 
 poverty, or despairing crime — it is difficult at 
 times to make the distinction — has ended its 
 existence by its own hand in these rooms, or on 
 the common stair, dark and filthy, leading up there- 
 to, or hanged itself by the railings which fence in 
 some higher ground at the back. Murder has 
 been committed here under circumstances of an 
 awful character — the window of a top room 
 opened in the night, and a drugged victim hurled 
 into the yard below. The successful crime that 
 has been committed in the Xew Vennel far 
 exceeds in amount that which has been brought 
 to the judgment of human law. Ten or eleven 
 years since, it was estimated that the average 
 number of robberies, in one room alone of this 
 densely populated quarter, was twelve a week 
 — robberies which were known to have occurred.
 
 LODGEES. 13 
 
 but which had not been reported at the police 
 office, the victims having put up quietly with their 
 losses in preference to the publicity of their 
 names. Concerning crimes of this character, I 
 shall have to dwell more fully in future pages of 
 this work. 
 
 The entrance to Croiley's Land is by a narrow 
 turning out of High Street ; the entrance to the 
 Crescent by a doorless stair — common to all low 
 residences in Scotch towns and cities. One must 
 plunge into this place as into a wild beast's den, 
 and grope in the darkness upwards, if he has 
 business here, or be a "middleman" after the 
 w^eek's rent, or a doctor visiting some patient 
 stricken down by typhus. The stairs are damp 
 and clammy to the tread, and the unwholesome air 
 greets a visitor pestilentially on entrance. On 
 each floor are four or five doors opening into as 
 many rooms, eight feet in length by six or seven 
 feet in width ; in each of these rooms men, women, 
 and children, from four or five in number to ten 
 or hvelve, eat, drink, sleep,, and live. Thieves 
 flock together in numbers unpleasantly large, and 
 if a poor but honest creature be driven hither by
 
 14 WELL-PAYING PROPERTY. 
 
 stern necessity, she must take in lodgers to help 
 the rent a " wee bit." The rents of these rooms 
 are about fifteen pence a week — lower or higher 
 according to circumstances — and in every hole 
 and corner of the place foul disease is lurking. 
 
 Houses of this character are neither few nor far 
 between in Grlasgow. The closes are still numerous 
 in the High Street, the Salt-market, and the Bridge- 
 gate, although the Lord Dean of Guild has made 
 short work with many pronounced dangerous and 
 uninhabitable.* Those that are left have become 
 more crowded and require stricter supervision 
 than it is possible to obtain for them — landlords 
 evading repairs and alterations as often as con- 
 venient, occasionally even giving up the property 
 altogether rather than put themselves to the ex- 
 pense of keeping it fairly habitable. The Pro- 
 curator-Fiscal does his work well, but it is a task 
 beyond his power, whilst the landlord lets and 
 sublets to speculative agents or middlemen who 
 care for nothing so that the rent is safe. These 
 
 * In 1849, o\ring to the taking down of houses in the Old 
 Wynd, 1,500 of the lower classes migrated to the New Venuel 
 and Burnside, near the Glasgow University.
 
 SIMILAR HAUNTS. 15 
 
 closes, vennels, wynds, are all well-paying property 
 on the whole, although the rent-collecting is 
 objectionable, and at times a trifle dangerous. 
 
 Eound about the New Vennel are many similar 
 haunts of sin and shame — the Havannah Burn- 
 side, the Old Wynd, the Old Vennel, the Tontine 
 Close, &c. ; but the worst of all is the New Vennel, 
 as it also tuas when Jane Cameron was born 
 therein.
 
 16 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The woman whom I shall call Jane Cameron 
 throughout these pages was born, then, in 
 Croiley's Land, in the Xew Vennel, G-lasgow. In 
 no instance do I mention dates herein. To the best 
 of my ability, and consistent with the truth of my 
 narrative, I have endeavoured to render the 
 subject of my tale somewhat difficult to guess at. 
 I may add that she was born in the winter, when 
 the cold in Glasgow streets was hard to fight 
 against ; born on a litter of shavings, in a corner 
 of a room on the third floor in the famous — or 
 rather infamous — Crescent. 
 
 Her mother was the daughter of a poor 
 Lanarkshire weaver; she was accustomed to
 
 MES. CAMERON. 17 
 
 state as much at times, although no friends 
 from old Lanark ever troubled the Vennel, 
 or letters were received thence. Jane's reputed 
 father was a man whose trade was difficult to 
 guess at, who disappeared for weeks and months 
 together, and turned up again — a brutal, morose, 
 drunken vagabond, whom Mrs. Cameron loved 
 after a fashion, and of whom she was jealous after 
 a wild beast fashion also. 
 
 When Jane Cameron was born, the mother 
 had lost all claim to " good looks." She had had 
 three children, two of whom had died of the 
 fever always lurking in these haunts; she had 
 been ever ill-treated by her " mate " who took 
 her money when she had any, and struck her 
 when she had not ; although a woman lost to all 
 sense of decency, and dead to all religion, she was 
 faithful to him. Jenny Cameron's " Cush " was 
 the elegant sobriquet bestowed upon this ruffian 
 — the cant Scotch name for all men whom these 
 mistaught, misguided creatures of our sex cling 
 to, struggle for, and even love. 
 
 Jane Cameron's mother was not a professional 
 thief; she was a woman well known to the police, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE REIGNING FAULT. 
 
 but a woman against whom the police had not made 
 many charges during her residence in Glasgow — 
 only one for keeping a disorderly house in 
 Factory Land — an infamous haunt, similar to 
 the New Vennel, but now pulled down — and the 
 remainder for being drunk in the streets, and 
 abusive to the general public. Whiskey-drinking 
 was the reigning fault of Mrs. Cameron; every 
 Saturday night she was quarrelsome and abusive 
 to her lodgers — she took in lodgers in that room 
 eight feet by seven — every Saturday night, if she 
 were not particularly watchful, she was borne away 
 to the central police court, and fined on the Mon- 
 day morning by the bailie, supposing her conduct 
 had been flagrant enough to warrant her appear- 
 ance before him. 
 
 How Mrs. Cameron earned sufficient money to 
 keep herself and daughter, pay fifteen pence 
 a-week for rent, indulge herself whenever there 
 was an opportunity with her favourite whiskey- 
 drinking, even defray her fines for being drunk 
 and disorderly, rather than submit herself to the 
 inconvenience of being locked up for ten days in 
 Glasgow Gaol, is one of those apparent mysteries
 
 FIVE YEARS OF AGE. 19 
 
 common to the lives of a hundred Mrs. Camerons 
 living in Grlasgow at the present moment. 
 
 And yet upon studying the question the pro- 
 blem is not difficult of solution. Lodging-houses, 
 however disreputable, pay a fair amount of divi- 
 dend ; men and women, boys and girls, outcasts 
 from society who are under suspicion, pay two- 
 pence and three-pence a-night each, for the privi- 
 lege of lying down on a heap of shavings strewn 
 about the floor — numbers not objected to, so that 
 they remain pretty quiet, and let other people 
 sleep. A good fire is kept up in the winter time. 
 Coals are cheap in Grlasgow, and a fire that bm-ns 
 well and shows a fair light does not cost a great 
 deal : the woman who bears a reputation for not 
 being stingy with her fire, is never short of lodgers. 
 
 In the New Vennel, then, were passed the early 
 days of Jane Cameron. In the midst of penury and 
 vice, without one example to afford her a chance 
 of thinking there was anything better or purer 
 in the world than her mother, her associates, and 
 her lodgers, the first five years of her life were 
 spent. At five years of age she was as precocious 
 as most girls of her class. Her knowledge was 
 c 2
 
 20 A mother's advice. 
 
 self-acquired, but it was an awful knowledge of 
 the world's wickedness, at which there was no- 
 thinof to shudder — it was all in the natural 
 course of things — what happened in the New 
 Vennel every day! Her mother, she has assured me, 
 never exhibited one instance of affection for her 
 in her childhood, treated her as an incumbrance 
 not to be conveniently got rid of; a something 
 to be always hanging about, half-dressed, half- 
 starved, and wholly untaught — a thing to be 
 struck at for being in the way, for not grow- 
 ing up faster, and becoming of use to her 
 mother, for coming home too early from the 
 streets, into which she was driven, and coming 
 home hungry. 
 
 " You should beg of the well-dressed," was the 
 one injunction ever impressed upon Jane Came- 
 rod ; *^ at your age — a great girl sic as ye — ye 
 should be able to keep yersel." 
 
 This injunction at five years of age, and then 
 turned out bare-legged and scantily clad, in all 
 weathers and at all hours of the day and night, 
 to shift for herself. Now and then it happened 
 that she was borrowed for the day by those im-
 
 SELF-SATISFACTION. 21 
 
 posters who haunt every large city, and made to form 
 one of a train, to parade the streets as a member 
 of an honest family turned out of doors to beg 
 for bread ; but more often she begged for herself, 
 and brought her earnings to her mother, who 
 was always suspecting her of keeping back some 
 money — " thieving it away from her ! " 
 
 In one respect at least, Jane Cameron had a 
 moral superiority over many of her contempo- 
 raries — she was not trained up as a professional 
 thief; her mother, in fact, was rather proud of 
 being considered an honest woman, a woman who 
 had never been in prison for a criminal offence. 
 Mrs. Cameron knew every thief in Griasgow ; let 
 lodgings to them, shut her eyes at robberies com- 
 mitted in her room or " house," took a percentage 
 upon the robber's earnings, and helped to screen 
 the robber, or swear falsely for him in the police 
 court, if occasion necessitated it ; but she was an 
 honest creature, who scorned the name of thief, 
 and who at least did not bring up her child as 
 other children were brought up in the Vennel ! 
 
 She wholly and utterly neglected her — that was 
 all. Jane Cameron was the victim of neglect ; no
 
 22 NEGLECT. 
 
 one cared or thought of her in any way save as 
 an incumbrance. The mother neglected her, the 
 world neglected her ! 
 
 And are ignorance and bad society more respon- 
 sible for all the evil in the world than the neglect 
 which is the precursor of all this ? Neglect the 
 poor and ignorant and they will go bad ; neglect, 
 above all, their dwelling-places and let them live, 
 herd together, and die like dogs — as they live and 
 die in every city throughout the kingdom in a 
 more or less degree —and we need not wonder at 
 the increase of crime. Society may have done 
 much, but it has not done half enough yet, or pro- 
 ceeded always the right way to work. 
 
 Ask ninety-nine out of a hundred convicts how 
 they were brought up, and you will find that 
 their early career was in the midst of crowded and 
 unwholesome dens, where common decency was 
 entirely unknown. Whilst they live thus, whilst 
 they evade the law by herding together thus, whilst 
 their homes are of that awful character that a prison 
 cell is better furnished and in most cases larger^ 
 it is but little avail even to track them to their 
 haunts and strive to preach them into goodness.
 
 THE OLD SUGGESTION. 2 3 
 
 Some of them will listen, be even touched by the 
 earnest efforts of persevering men of God, but 
 they are only a few, and the impression cannot 
 last — is almost impossible under the circum- 
 stances to last. The door closes on G-od's min- 
 ister, and temptation enters again ; the whiskey- 
 bottle is nigh : the bad companions are flocking 
 in : there is no help for them, no chance of 
 thinking about a new life, no room to escape to, 
 and all is forgotten or laughed at. There can be 
 but little reformation hoped for in houses of this 
 character. Make homes clean and decent, sweep 
 away such places as the New Vennel and the 
 Havannah in Glasgow, as the courts in Kent 
 Street and Drury Lane, render the law more 
 serviceable to keep houses healthy and free from 
 overcrowding, erect cheap houses that the poor 
 can rent, and then there will be a time and place 
 to listen to the minister, and the good will be 
 increased tenfold in proportion. 
 
 Jane Cameron's mother kept a lodging-house, be 
 it understood then, and Jane Cameron was a child 
 very much in the way. She was hungry at unseason- 
 able times; she had to wear some kind of clothing —
 
 24 AN HONEST PAIR. 
 
 a frock at least — and she took up space at night, 
 unless she was turned out on the common stair 
 to make room for people with money in their 
 pockets. The common stair was to be preferred 
 in the summer time : many wanderers brought 
 their shavings, their rags, their mattresses — the 
 possessors of these last desiderata were the well-to- 
 do folk in the NewVennel — on to the landing-place, 
 to escape the suffocating room, and the insects 
 that encrusted the walls and floors, and were 
 eating away the very place ! 
 
 Being turned out on the common stair in the 
 winter time for late arrivals to tread upon or 
 kick aside with an oath, for the police, always 
 on the alert and in search of some one, to stumble 
 over and remonstrate with, and insist upon the 
 mother taking her indoors again — to be turned 
 out again when the officials' backs were turned — 
 was nearly salvation to Jane Cameron, although 
 the fact never suggested itself to her till long 
 afterwards. 
 
 In the New Vennel there lodged at that period 
 one honest couple — only one honest pair — working 
 hard and struggling for a subsistence in the midst
 
 HARD WORKERS. 25 
 
 of the crime that was seething round them. This 
 couple consisted of a mat-maker and his wife, 
 renting a room on the same floor as the Camerons 
 — a couple who worked late at night and early in 
 the morning at the mats which they hawked all 
 day about the Griasgow streets. 
 
 Had this couple been a religious pair as well 
 as honest and hard-working, Jane Cameron 
 might have been taught better things, received 
 her first lessons in the way to walk uprightly. 
 But they were simply kind-hearted folk, strug- 
 gling hard for a living, people who were laughed at, 
 and became at times the victims of practical jokes 
 from their contemporaries — people who worked at 
 all times and seasons, and gave themselves no 
 rest — not even on Sundays, when there were 
 idleness and feasting in the Vennel. They were 
 always at work ; the man was a water-drinker, a 
 hard-featured Scotchman with strange ideas on 
 religious subjects, and the woman was a pale- 
 faced, anxious-looking creature, whose ideas had 
 been confounded and perverted by her helpmate. 
 
 I have only to say that they were kind to 
 Jenny, and gave her, even at seven years of age,
 
 26 A FRIEND. 
 
 advice by which she might have profited — that is 
 a great deal to say in favour of the inmates of 
 the Vennel. They arrived at the New Vennel 
 when Jenny was about seven years of age ; they 
 had been previously living, or trying to live, in 
 Perth, but had come to Griasgow for a change. 
 
 Macvee and his wife — such are the real names 
 given me by my informant — were the first to 
 notice the girl huddled on the dark staircase, up 
 which the wintry blast was rushing fiercely. The 
 mother's " house " was over-full one particular 
 night, and every inch of flooring was covered by 
 sleepers — there was no room for Jane. 
 
 Macvee had come home late with his mats and 
 fallen over the child sleeping in the fashion to 
 which she had become accustomed. 
 
 " Who are ye ? " he asked roughly. 
 
 " Jennie Cameron." 
 
 " What are ye sleeping on the stair for ? " 
 
 " Na room in mither's hoose to-nicht." 
 
 " Come in by the fire here." 
 
 He was a man of few words, always rough in 
 his manners and abrupt in his speech, but a 
 man who felt for this little outcast. He took her
 
 JANES CHOICE. 27 
 
 into his room, and she sat up that night by the 
 fire, and watched the mat-making. The process 
 was new to her, the quiet steady persistence at the 
 work amused her, till the warmth of the room 
 drew her o ff to sleep. When she woke up at a 
 late hour, man and wife were still hard at work ; 
 when she hazarded a remark, the man, annoyed 
 at being interrupted, growled at her for speak- 
 ing to him. In the early morning they shut 
 her out on the stair again — they were too poor 
 to afford her anything to eat. 
 
 Jane Cameron was accustomed to look in upon 
 the mat-maker every evening after this ; to prefer 
 the mat-maker's home, and the quietness that 
 pervaded it, to the reckless life, the drunken- 
 ness and vice, of her mother's " house-place." Mrs. 
 Cameron made no remark upon her daughter's 
 tastes ; she was perfectly indifferent to her where- 
 abouts ; if Jane had been away for a month 
 together — if she had disappeared for ever — the 
 unnatural mother would not have grieved for 
 her. 
 
 " I think she alwa' hated me, Miss," was Jane 
 Cameron's verdict on her mother. "Hated me
 
 28 A QUARREL. 
 
 for being born. I hate mysel for that sometimes," 
 was once her bitter assertion. 
 
 Macvee and his wife used occasionally to 
 talk of Jane, and Jane's family, and deplore 
 the child's position before her. Macvee would 
 become excited at times, and speak of the shame 
 it was that there was no one to think of the 
 girl, or to keep her from running wild, or take 
 her away from such an awful place as the 
 New Vennel, discoursing volubly, and bran- 
 dishing the knife with which he worked over 
 his head. To Jane herself he seldom addressed 
 a word, but the wife was more conversational, 
 and so naturally more of a favourite. All 
 the winter, the door of Macvee's house was 
 never shut in the child's face ; she became 
 accustomed to knock there every night when 
 turned out of doors, and her mother, a keen 
 woman of business, took to shutting her out 
 with a regularity to which Jane had been never 
 before accustomed. 
 
 Jane remembers a desperate quarrel between 
 Mrs. Macvee and her mother concerning herself 
 — Mrs. Macvee remonstrating with Mrs. Cameron
 
 TROUBLE. 29 
 
 on her want of motherly feeling; and Mrs. Cameron 
 flying at the former, striking her in the face, 
 and tearing her cap from her head. 
 
 " I was afeard that they wudna' hae me any 
 mair," Jane said, when dwelling on this far-off 
 reminiscence of her life : " but when I knocked 
 as usual they let me in, and I took my place agin 
 the fire, without a wry word being flung at me/' 
 
 Mrs. Macvee even ventured on further advice to 
 Jane — sound and profitable advice to keep strong 
 and not be led away by the girls in the closes 
 thereabouts, and to seek the first opportunity to 
 get away from the Vennel, and find a place as 
 servant, anywhere, at any price. 
 
 " Ye '11 be better awa' " she was always remark- 
 ing ; " if ye can ony find a friend. Aiwa' be look- 
 in' oot for a friend, Jennie." 
 
 And Jenny never found a friend — a true friend 
 to teach her right, and keep her strong — in the 
 world which she began early, and in whieh she 
 aged so rapidly. 
 
 Her one resemblance to a friend met with 
 misfortune ; mats fell to a discount, and there 
 were few purchasers in Glasgow. The middle-
 
 30 TUKNED ADKIFT. 
 
 man, the man who rents such places as the 
 Vennel of their proprietors, seized suddenly for 
 three weeks' rent and carried away the mats ; 
 the mat-maker and his wife were turned suddenly 
 into the streets, and disappeared — probably from 
 Grlasgow, for Jane Cameron never saw them 
 again.
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 A DANCINa SCHOOL. 
 
 Little transpired to interest a general reader 
 in Jane Cameron's life between the age of seven 
 and ten years old. At ten she was three years 
 worse as well as three years older — with a know- 
 ledge of life that would have disgraced most 
 women. 
 
 She had been reared in a rough school, and 
 its lesson had made her keen and crafty; she 
 was considered a quick girl, and her ready answers 
 to her mother's lodgers rendered her a favourite 
 with those who patronized Mrs. Cameron's 
 establishment. She had obtained a place in a 
 cotton factory by this time, and earned a shilling 
 or two a week, which were greedily seized on
 
 32 A THOROUGH VILLAIN. 
 
 the Saturday night, and very often expended in 
 whiskey, when a " drop of drink " had rendered the 
 mother careless of money matters. Jane Cameron 
 saw but little of her putative father ; this was 
 a great comfort to her, the man being devoid of 
 all parental feeling, and hating his daughter 
 with an intensity that was remarkable even with 
 such characters as his. He had never been kind 
 to Mrs. Cameron, but to the daughter he was 
 worse than unkind — he was a villain dead to 
 every sense of human feeling. WTien Jenny 
 was ten years of age, he told her with terrible 
 plainness what was the best manner of living, 
 young as she was ; how it was possible to benefit 
 the family by an easier method than working 
 at a factory. This unnatural villain did not 
 tempt the daughter, but mingled his counsel 
 with fierce oaths, and threatened to turn her 
 out of doors if she did not earn more money 
 presently. To give the mother a certain amount 
 of credit, it may be said here that this evil 
 counsel was never proffered by her to her daughter; 
 once she even ventured to remark to the man 
 that there was no good putting such thoughts
 
 "THE STREETS. 33 
 
 in the girl's head, and received a liberal 
 allowance of vituperation for her uncalled-for 
 interference. All this, I am conscious, is very 
 awful to relate. It chills one to write as well as 
 read ; but this is a true story, and, alas ! Jane 
 Cameron's life is not an exceptional one. 
 
 The same career opens in the same way for 
 many an unfortunate, and they who have no 
 fear of God's laws, or care for Grod's mercy, are 
 never slow to attempt the debasement of those 
 by whom they are surrounded. It is an old, 
 old story, varied a little in the nature of its 
 incidents, but it is a story which is being told 
 every day, and it always ends, at an earlier or 
 later period, like a tragedy. 
 
 Jane Cameron found no consolation in her 
 mother's house, met with no affection to render 
 even that place a something which bore a 
 shadowy resemblance to home, and so found 
 her comfort and her companions in the streets. 
 She was at an age when the streets have a 
 powerful attraction for girls who have worked 
 hard all day. In the streets were light and life, 
 companions of her own age and sex, factory 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE SECOND STEP. 
 
 girls, daughters of poor people, honest and dis- 
 honest, who lived in the Havannah, Burnside, 
 and the High Street closes. 
 
 This was the second step downwards — a poor 
 girl with a love for the streets, the companions 
 to be found there, and the amusements w^hich 
 spring thence — with a hatred of home and all 
 belonging to it. I think we have a right to pity 
 her rather than condemn her ; she had never 
 known right ; no good example — unless we call 
 the mat-maker's patient industry an example — 
 had been offered her ; she knew nothing of Grod 
 — she had only heard His name coupled with 
 frightful imprecations upon passing things and 
 friends — no one had attempted to educate her — 
 the world had been harsh and unkind at every 
 step she made, and there was no sense of doing- 
 wrong when the wrong came in due course by 
 the terrible rule governing lives like hers. Think 
 of this, philanthropists, and keep at work in the 
 good cause — remember the poor children of poor 
 mothers, drifting into sin by the same course 
 as Jane Cameron's, and strive ever against the 
 barriers with which the Father of all Evil is 
 hemming them in. -
 
 MAEY LOGGIE. 35 
 
 Jane Cameron made her one friend, and her 
 worst friend, at this juncture. At the cotton-mill 
 she formed the acquaintance of a child some 
 twelvemonths her senior in years, and far older than 
 herself in knowledge of the world ; a girl whose 
 character for boldness and low cunning was already 
 fairly established in Griasgow city — the daughter 
 of disreputable parents living down one of the 
 High Street closes. 
 
 This girl, Mary Loggie, constituted herself 
 Jane Cameron's friend. Together they wandered 
 about High Street and the Salt-market after the 
 work was over for the day at the cotton-mill, 
 making many street acquaintances, boys and girls 
 of their own age and their own character, who 
 had no inducement to remain at home, and were 
 of the usual bold neglected class which haunts all 
 streets at night. 
 
 Their amusements were of no particular de- 
 scription, and arose chiefly from the passing inci- 
 dents of the hour. They collected in groups at 
 street corners, and talked, laughed, romped, and 
 quarrelled noisily, till the policemen dispersed 
 them. They were scarcely children ; there was no 
 D 2 •
 
 36 BAD EXA3IPLE. 
 
 innocence of childhood in their midst ; oaths 
 were as familiar to them as to the people with 
 whom they were living. With them there was 
 that frightful oldness of thought characteristic of 
 neglected children ; they were little men and 
 women, proud of their evil knowledge, and seek- 
 ing every opportunity to display it. 
 
 They were deplorably ignorant ; half of them 
 were already practised thieves ; half of them at 
 least had been in prison for petty thefts, and 
 took no small credit to themselves for the exploits 
 which had conducted them thither. Jane Came- 
 ron had not been tempted to steal her neighbours' 
 goods yet, but the evil nature of the act was not 
 apparent to her. Already she considered it in 
 the light of a profession, to which she might turn 
 when other means more honest failed her ; she 
 had a fear of the prison and the police at that 
 time, and there was a natural objection to being 
 locked up, which kept her for a little while 
 longer an honest girl. 
 
 But the example was too often before her ; her 
 companions were bad and bold ; her bosom-friend, 
 Mary Loggia, even acknowledged to her that she
 
 THE LOGGIES. • 37 
 
 had served her ten days in Griasgow Prison, for 
 stealing from a baker's shop. 
 
 "Prison 's naethin," was Mary Loggie's account ; 
 " they take care of ye, an gie ye eno to eat — 
 more than ye get at hame. There 's naethin to 
 frighten ye a bit I " 
 
 \^^len the nights were wet, Jane Cameron 
 went to her friend's home in the High Street 
 close — a house considerably larger than her 
 mother's — quite a first-class lodging-house, where 
 the beds were let out at as high a rent as sixpence 
 a-night. 
 
 The Loggies, father and mother, rented two 
 rooms on the first floor in the close : the first 
 room, into which the second opened, being of 
 large dimensions, and furnished with bedsteads, 
 and with extempore shelves under the bedsteads 
 for inferior customers, who did not care for 
 too much breathing room over-head. The 
 Loggies were well off in their way ; had a goodly 
 show of crockery on a dresser by the side of the 
 fireplace, and were patronized by every bad cha- 
 racter who had money to spend. 
 
 The Loggies were people to be trusted by the
 
 38 A HIGH STREET CLOSE. 
 
 " profession." Slow-going and quiet-looking, very 
 civil to the police, and apparently very anxious 
 to afford that inquiring body every information ; 
 but people who held fast to their customers, and 
 speculated in stolen property, or took care of it 
 for awhile — who even kept a shebeen * on the 
 sly, and brought out whiskey for sale when there 
 was a choice company assembled, that might be 
 trusted. Loggie's house was well known to the 
 police as a bad house in every sense of the word, 
 although Loggia himself had never got into 
 trouble. 
 
 Such houses are, to a certain extent, I fear, 
 necessary evils; they are common centres, to 
 which are attracted the vile of all classes, where 
 the evil-doers are more easily discovered, and 
 borne away, to be shut from further harm to the 
 society whose laws they have outraged. 
 
 To this house Mary Loggie took our unhappy 
 heroine once or twice a week. There' was plenty 
 of company there till eleven at night. If the rain 
 were falling heavily without, boys and girls, men 
 and women, trooped in, gathered round the fire, 
 
 * Unlicensed drinking-house.
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY. 39 
 
 and smoked, drank whiskey, sang songs, and told 
 tales of a questionable character. Upon a wet 
 night Loggie's house was full of customers, and 
 Jane Cameron used to sit and watch them, think- 
 ing how comfortable they were, and how hard it 
 was that the police were always interfering with 
 them. 
 
 The Loggies were the happiest or the most reck- 
 less of them all ; they were a crew who were at 
 least kind to Jane, and kindness always stood 
 for goodness with this child. They were a large 
 family ; besides. the host and hostess of this select 
 establishment, there were two grown-up daughters, 
 leading a life of profligacy, and encouraged in it 
 by their parents ; and a like number of grown- 
 up sons, who were considered at that time two of 
 the cleverest thieves in Grlasgow, for they were 
 clever enough not to be caught very often. They 
 were all kind to Jane, and anxious to show her 
 life — they were building upon her being one of 
 them, presently ! 
 
 Jane preferred the Loggies to her mother ; 
 she returned at all hours of the night to her own 
 home, and was asked no questions. She was left
 
 40 A DONATION. 
 
 to go her own way without a remonstrance, and 
 from the Loggies' " house " to her mother's was 
 passing but from one den of infamy to another. 
 
 She had already begun to evince a distaste for 
 the long hours and hard work at the cotton-mill. 
 Mary Loggie was far from regular in her attend- 
 ance there, and had more time to spend in the 
 streets with street companions ; and Mrs. Cameron 
 was only strict to her daughter so far as related 
 to her work, which brought in a little more 
 money for the drink, to which she was par- 
 tial. Once when Jane was returning home to 
 dinner, a lady, struck with her destitute appear- 
 ance, gave her a fourpenny piece, which Jane 
 saved for the evening to spend with her friends. 
 That evening she and Mary Loggie went to a 
 " dancing school," in one of the closes — a place 
 they had frequented once or twice before — and 
 danced with the boys till ten at night. 
 
 There was a strong attraction in this cheap 
 dancing room: it was real life — there were 
 music, company, a mad whirl of spirits, and the 
 hours sped by with a rapidity scarcely to be 
 accounted for. What if it were dancing on the
 
 A PENNY SKEEL. 41 
 
 brink of tlie abyss where ruin lay in wait for her 
 — what did she know of moral ruin and disgrace, 
 or care about them ? 
 
 She was happy in this place — it was a relief 
 after factory hours. Half the girls of her age — 
 younger, some of them — rushed with the pennies 
 they could beg, borrow, or steal, to this haunt, 
 and danced the hours away. 
 
 These penny dancing rooms or '" skeels," as 
 the Scotch call them, had, I believe, their origin 
 in Liverpool. Their success amongst the lower 
 orders led to their institution in the Old Town of 
 Edinburgh, thence from Edinburgh to Grlasgow. 
 
 They have been successful to their proprietors ; 
 they have been ^'successful" as nurseries of crime. 
 Half the Scotchwomen whom I have known as 
 female convicts trace their ruin to these "skeels." 
 
 " I was led awa to gae there first, an' then I 
 thouo'ht o' naethin else. There was no tearin' 
 mysel awa' from them, when I was a young 
 lassie ! " 
 
 Jane Cameron and her friend Mary Loggie 
 visited this dancing school very frequently. In 
 the arrangement of these places, in the manner in
 
 42 THE COMPANY. 
 
 which they are conducted, there is nothing parti- 
 cularly objectionable; it is the massing together 
 the weak and ignorant with the criminal and de- 
 signing, the encouragement of children of all ages 
 to assemble in these dens, which work such inevit- 
 able mischief. 
 
 Entrance to these dancing " skeels " is generally 
 by an unlighted close, up a common stair to a 
 large room on the first floor. The door of this 
 room — on which " DANCiNa heee " is legibly in- 
 scribed — is kept by a scowling individual — pro- 
 bably the proprietor of the establishment — who 
 receives the pennies of his young patrons, unlocks 
 the door, admits them, and locks them in. 
 
 In this room, lighted by gas or candles accord- 
 ing to the taste or means of the proprietors, a 
 hundred or a hundred and fifty are speedily assem- 
 bled — ranged around the room on forms placed 
 against the wall. They are of all ages, from the 
 boy and girl of seven or eight years old to the men 
 and women of two or three and twenty, but the 
 majority are girls and boys averaging from twelve 
 to fifteen years. The boys are chiefly apprentices 
 or young thieves ; the girls are of the usual poor
 
 THE PEKFOEMANCE. 43 
 
 class — more than usually poor perhaps — three 
 fourths of them without shoes and stockings, and 
 all of them bonnetless, as is usual amongst the 
 Scotch girls. The boys are several degrees re- 
 moved from clean, but the " lassies," as they are ge- 
 nerally termed, are, without an exception, bright- 
 faced, glossy-haired damsels, who have evidently 
 been at no ordinary pains to render themselves at- 
 tractive and presentable. Here and there is evi- 
 dent a little effort at finery in the shape of a pair of 
 ear-rings, or a necklace of sham coral, and their 
 poor and scanty garments are in many cases desti- 
 tute of any signs of raggedness. 
 
 The master of the ceremonies, carrying a fiddle 
 or kit under his arm — occasionally bag-pipes are 
 substituted for the violin — calls out the dance : in 
 all cases a Scotch dance of the simplest character 
 is chosen ; the dancers are arranged, music is 
 struck up, and the festivity begins with a hideous 
 clatter of thick soles and heels from the masculine 
 portion, and a soft pattering of naked feet from the 
 majority of the feminine. There is much setting 
 to partners, and an infinitude of solo perfor- 
 mances, winding up with the usual twirling and
 
 44 A COMMON FINALE. 
 
 twisting common to Scotch dances in general ; and 
 in the midst of all this heat and dust and bustle, 
 the man sits perched above his scholars, fiddling 
 rapidly, and glaring at them like the evil genius 
 of the place. 
 
 They are all known to him — every face is fami- 
 liar. To the elder girls, who may have encouraged 
 strangers there, he is friendly and fatherly and 
 watchful ; he knows that before the evening is 
 out the strangers will probably be robbed, and 
 there will be an uproar, and it may be necessary 
 for some kind friend to turn the gas out or knock 
 the candles over, and leave the entire company to 
 grope their way down the common stair into the 
 close — or the man at the door, who is a prize-fighter 
 by profession, will be called in to keep order, 
 silence the remonstrants or turn them out of the 
 room. As a rule, the proprietor objects to robbery 
 in the " skeel " itself, and has a room on the other 
 side of the landing where such things may be 
 conducted with greater ease and save the " skeel " 
 from falling into disrepute. Night after night, 
 in these Scotch cities, still goes on this hideous 
 revelry ; still are attracted girls and boys from
 
 EVIL EESULTS. 45 
 
 their homes, still are engulphed the heedless youth 
 of both sexes. Many innocent children of poor, 
 even respectable parents are lured hither to im- 
 bibe a love for dancing and bad company. The 
 apprentice robs to get here, the girl begs in the 
 street, or thieves her way to admittance; step by 
 step to ruin surely and swiftly proceed these un- 
 taught, uncared-for children, and they are past 
 hope, and have left all childhood behind them, at 
 an age that is horrible to dwell upon.- 
 
 Let us urge here the great importance of sweep- 
 ing away these nurseries of crime at once. They are 
 on the increase, and are working greater mischief 
 daily. Surely there must be a law to expunge 
 them from our cities ; they must be evading the 
 law by their very presence in our midst. There 
 is no difficulty in finding them ; they are well 
 known to every police officer : the evil that they 
 do is incalculable. 
 
 In Glasgow at the present moment, within a 
 stone's throw of each other, are two of these vile 
 places of amusement— -there are more of them, I 
 have reason to believe — which cannot be too sud- 
 denly and wholly rooted out. They are called
 
 46 THE FIRST SWEETHEART. 
 
 the " Nurseries " by the police — fitting nurseries 
 of all that is vicious and depraved, where modesty 
 exists not, and vice is triumphant. Looking in 
 upon them, there is no more occasion to wonder 
 why the efforts of good men are nugatory, 
 crime still increases and prisons are always full, 
 when this sad beginning of many hundred 
 lives is existent and is tolerated. Vice begins 
 before the preacher or the reformer, and it has 
 obtained a terrible distance ahead before God's 
 words fall upon the hardened conscience. Xo 
 one speaks of Grod, or bids the weak be strong to 
 resist temptation in the dancing skeels in Bucha- 
 nan Court and the Lay Kirk Close. 
 
 Jane Cameron was not twelve years of age when 
 she had her first sweetheart, a boy of fourteen 
 whom she had met at the " skeel ; " a boy who 
 had run away from his apprenticeship, was 
 connected with a gang of thieves, and, naturally, 
 a thief himself. Jane was not afraid of thieves ; 
 she had met them too often at the "skeel," 
 she had been too often in their society at her 
 mother's house and Loggie's ; they were good- 
 tempered, most of them, free with their money,
 
 EWAN. 47 
 
 and very often with plenty of money to spend. 
 The lad whom I will call Ewan '' took a fancy," 
 as Jane always termed it, to this child — constituted 
 her his girl sweetheart, and turned Jane's head 
 on the instant. Mary Loggie, wholly bad, and 
 anxious to see Jane as bad as herself, encouraged 
 the connection ; Jane cared no more for work at 
 the factory, but became, in a wild passionate way, 
 strange enough for her years, it may seem to 
 the general reader, attached to this youth, who 
 had already been three times in Grlasgow Gaol and 
 once in Edinburgh. 
 
 Jane Cameron, assorting with this lad, and 
 evincing in somewhat of a demonstrative manner 
 her affection for him, became an object of sus- 
 picion herself. The police were distrustful of 
 her : they were men of the world who understood 
 human nature, and could guess easily enough 
 how the story would end. One kind-hearted 
 detective, accustomed to look in at these dancing- 
 schools, took the trouble to warn Jane of the way 
 she was drifting. 
 
 " You'll ne'er do any gude in this place, or wi' 
 that lad, Jennie Cameron — take care of yoursel."
 
 48 "A WOMAN." 
 
 Jane took no heed of the warning — she was 
 past warning then. She had not committed a 
 theft, but the opportunity had not fallen in 
 her way. The temptation had not come yet : 
 there would be no moral restraint to keep her 
 hands from other men's goods, when the 
 hour was before her in which to choose for 
 good or for evil. She was not twelve years of 
 age when she thought herself a woman, old 
 enough to consider this lad her lover, one for 
 whom she would go through fire or water, were 
 the occasion necessary — to stand by in the face of 
 all opposition from the mother in the New Vennel. 
 
 So far the innocent life of Jane Cameron — if it 
 can be called innocence to live after her fashion, 
 and form companions like hers. Let us turn 
 to darker shadings, and standing on the upper 
 ground which by Grod's goodness is ours, watch, 
 not unpitifully, the first plunge of this benighted 
 soul to ruin.
 
 49 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 THE FIEST THEFT. 
 
 It was a custom of Mrs. Cameron's — persisted 
 in up to the period of which we treat — to search 
 her daughter's pockets every morning before 
 sending her off to the cotton-mill. Mrs. Ca- 
 meron was always suspicious of her daughter 
 possessing money; it might have been given 
 her by charitable people in the streets, or Jane 
 might have become possessed of it from the 
 lodgers, or from herself, if too many " wee draps " 
 had been indulged in over night ; and, at all events, 
 it was as well to make sure before the day's duties 
 were commenced. As Jane grew older, this 
 process began to cause her no small vexation and 
 disquietude — more especially as Ewan gave her 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 HARD TIMES. 
 
 money at times, sometimes as much as sixpence 
 or a shilling, when he liad been "in luck's way" — 
 and it became imperative to spend that sum 
 immediately upon its receipt, or hide it in some 
 hole or corner of the close where the possibility 
 existed of its escaping her mother's vigilance. 
 
 Jane Cameron, as a rule, left home penniless, 
 and it was Mary Loggie's money that generally 
 took them both to the dancing-room. Mary 
 became unlucky also about this time; in fact, 
 business was bad amongst the Grlasgow thieves, and 
 there were general complaints. Shopkeepers had 
 become extra vigilant, '* the profession " was not 
 doing well, the Loggies were grieving at the 
 slackness of trade, and there was no one of whom 
 to borrow money. John Ewan was a careful, 
 even a crafty lad in his way ; his whereabouts was 
 not accurately known to Jane Cameron ; he 
 had a habit of flitting from place to place and 
 changing his lodgings as often as convenient. He 
 was mostly to be met with at the " skeel," how- 
 ever ; he was a good Scotch dancer for a boy, and 
 extremely vain of his saltatory accomplishments. 
 That was John Ewan's reigning weakness — vanity.
 
 JEALOUSY. 51 
 
 He considered himself one of the cleverest boy 
 thieves in Grlasgow, and those who flattered 
 him and speculated in him encouraged this de- 
 lusion, and called him " Cannie Jock," a name 
 which clung to Ewan all his life. 
 
 Jane was about twelve years of age when this 
 general slackness of trade reduced "Cannie Jock" 
 to extremities. Luck had been against him for 
 some time ; he had long since abjured work, and 
 would have possibly found it difficult to obtain 
 it, had he been so inclined ; he was in debt to 
 his landlady, and there was no money in his 
 pockets. The winter nights, for which he was 
 praying, were coming on fast ; it was close on 
 November, and there would be better chances 
 soon, but whilst he waited and prowled about the 
 streets, he was verging on starvation. Still, 
 starving and ragged as this boy was, he found 
 his way twice and thrice a week to the dancing 
 "skeels," where Jenny followed him, when the 
 chance presented itself. 
 
 Jealousy in this girl — so young to be jealous! — 
 was the cause of the first evil step. Mary Loggie 
 and she were both penniless one Saturday evening 
 
 E 2
 
 52 
 
 in the end' of October — were both wandering 
 listlessly up and down the Salt-market — when 
 they were met by one of their usual com- 
 panions. 
 
 " Are ye ganging to the skeel to-nicht, Jennie ? " 
 was the inquiry. 
 
 " Na money," was the sententious response. 
 
 " Jock Ewan's plenty o' money to-nicht ; he 
 hae gane in wi' the Frazer lassies. He's tired o' 
 ye, Jennie — ye're too young for him." Cameron 
 remembers firing up at this — feeling beside her- 
 self with jealousy and indignation. The Frazer 
 girls were of the old bad class, rife in the vennels, 
 closes, and wynds — juvenile in appearance, but old 
 in thought — thieves, and worse. " Cannie Jock's" 
 attentions to Jane Cameron — a tall girl for her age, 
 and a handsome girl too, at that time — had long- 
 been an object of envy to Jane's contemporaries, 
 Jock being a character in G-lasgow whose attention 
 was worth courting, and a lad free with his 
 money when he had it to spend. Cameron was a 
 passionate girl, and easily disturbed in temper — 
 consequently a fitting object for practical joking 
 when the occasion presented itself.
 
 NO TRUST. 53 
 
 Still they did not intend joking that particular 
 evening. Master Ewan had really treated the 
 Frazer girls to the " skeel " that night, and neg- 
 lected Jennie Cameron for the new faces, as it 
 appeared. 
 
 Jane and her friend went at once to the 
 " skeel " and pressed urgently for admittance, pro- 
 mising faithfully to pay at some future oppor- 
 tunity. But the proprietor held the door fast, 
 and was inflexible as Cerberus. Times had been 
 hard with him too ; he had trusted several of 
 his regular customers, and they had never shown 
 their faces to him since — he would have his penny, 
 or they might " gang awa' " downstairs again. 
 
 Jane was desperate that night, and went into 
 High Street again like a young lioness, followed 
 by the breathless Mary Loggie, from whom she 
 had run away. 
 
 " I must get into the skeel to-nicht," said Jane. 
 " I must see him, and tell him what I think o' 
 him. Why didn't he tell me at ance that he had 
 grown tired o' me, and wanted to be on wi' 
 those Frazers ? " 
 
 " Ah ! it's like him, Jane," was the answer. " I
 
 54 SPECULATIONS. 
 
 alwa' told ye to hae nothing to do wi' him — 
 that he war a false loon." 
 
 " I must get to the skeel," Jane reiterated ; " I 
 dinna care how now." 
 
 Jane bade Mary wait for her at the corner of 
 the Vennel, and went home to beg a penny from 
 her mother, but the mother was absent, and upon 
 further search was not to be found in any of the 
 whiskey-shops or " shebeens " in High Street. 
 The two girls went along High Street and the Salt- 
 market, pondering as to the best means of raising 
 twopence, Jane wondering if begging in Argyle 
 Street or Greorge Square of the well-dressed would 
 be of any use, and her friend considering it t<30 
 late, and but a poor chance. " If we cud ony 
 find anything handy at a shop door ! " suggested 
 Mary ; and Jane thought it would be a stroke of 
 luck just then. The suggestion did not shock 
 her ; she did not even know that thieving was 
 wrong, only that it was punishable if found out. 
 She had a healthy horror of a prison just at that 
 period, and feared being locked up and tried the 
 next morning by the bailie — locked away for ten 
 days from " Cannie Jock." But, if it were pos-
 
 TEMPTATION. 55 
 
 sible to secure something without being perceived, 
 it would be a piece of good fortune on which to 
 congratulate herself. Those little shopkeepers 
 with their plenitude of goods were people of 
 wealth and position to her — they could afford to 
 lose a few things from their store — they would 
 in all probability never miss them. 
 
 The girls wandered up and down, looking into 
 all the shop windows, more especially the cheap 
 haberdashers' shops, where customers were likely 
 to be. One small shop at the corner of the street 
 possessed two customers at this juncture ; the man 
 behind the counter was busy, his attention was 
 utterly absorbed, but there was nothing at the door* 
 
 '' Gang in and ask for somethin', Jane," was the 
 second suggestion of her infamous companion 
 — "somethin' they hae not got. Luke at the 
 heaps o' things on the counter ! If ye can brush 
 some 'em aff wi' your elbow, I'll slide in and pick 
 'em up." 
 
 " Ye gang in," was the not unnatural suggestion 
 of Jane. 
 
 " Oh ! but they ken me ; they'll be suspicious 
 o' me there."
 
 56 FEAR. 
 
 Jane, full of the perfidy of her juvenile lover, 
 and buoyed up with the hope of confronting him 
 at the " skeel," went suddenly into the shop, and 
 took her place by the side of the two women 
 deep in the purchase of a few trifling articles. 
 The shopkeeper glanced at Jane, and then re- 
 sumed his attentions to the earlier arrivals. The 
 cheap goods that had been examined were within 
 handy reach of Cameron : " if he would only turn 
 his back for a moment and forget them ! " thought 
 the child, with a heart which throbbed fearfully 
 with the excitement of the first experiment. 
 
 "I thought my heart would burst," was her 
 comment upon this incident, " I was sae afeard 
 o' bein' foond oot — naethin' else. I didna think 
 o' anythin' but my Johnnie dancing with the 
 Frazers, and if I could ony get at the ribbons or 
 the gloves and mak' awa' wi' them ! " 
 
 She forgot Mary Loggie's injunction to sweep 
 something off the counter with her elbow ; she 
 was anxious to secure a roll of ribbon. " It was 
 narrow blue ribbon with a silver edging — I can 
 see it now," was her remark. It was very handy
 
 THE FIEST CRIME. 57 
 
 to her grasp, if the shopkeeper's vigilance would 
 only relax for an instant. 
 
 And it did relax — the man turned aside, and 
 Jane slid the ribbon off the counter, and stood 
 holding it in her hand whilst trembling at the 
 boldness of the crime which she had committed. 
 
 "When I had gat it, I did not ken what to 
 do wi' it," she related. " I stood all stupid like, 
 holding it in my hand behind me. If he had only 
 looked at me, he would have guessed at ance that 
 I had stolen somethin'." 
 
 But the man suspected nothing, and, before he 
 had turned round, Jane felt the ribbon taken 
 softly from her hand by Mary Loggie. How to 
 get out of the shop herself, was now her per- 
 plexity. She stood revolving in her mind what to 
 ask for — what it was possible to ask for which 
 the man possessed not ? \Mien he turned round 
 she feared that he would miss the little blue roll 
 of ribbon and charge her with the theft, and her 
 knees continued to knock together with fright. 
 The suspense of waiting was too much for her, 
 and she asked at last, whilst the man was speaking
 
 58 THE RESULT. 
 
 to his customers, if he had any gloves as low as 
 three halfpence a pair : a wild question, which 
 the man answered by a sharp "No," and left 
 Jane with an excuse to retire. He looked along 
 the counter again, missing not the ribbon, but 
 drawing the other articles with which it was 
 stre\vn nearer to him, as if by instinct, and Jane 
 crept slowly, painfully out of the shop, as though 
 there were leaden weights at her heels. In the 
 street she flew like a mad thing down the nearest 
 close, and made her way towards the dancing 
 school, expecting to meet Mary Loggie at the 
 door thereof. But no Mary Loggie rewarded her 
 search, and it was not till half an hour had passed, 
 and when Jane was beginning to despair of seeing 
 her, that the girl turned up at the appointed place. 
 
 '^ Where's the ribbon?" was the impatient query. 
 
 " It's a' richt, Jane — ye're safe — they canna 
 tak' ye up for this." 
 
 '^ What hae ye din wi' it ? " 
 
 "I hae taen it to the Wee Pawn,* and got 
 saxpence upon it." 
 
 * Wee Pawns are common to all Scotch towns — small pawn- 
 broking establishments, where goods are pawned, or supposed
 
 59 
 
 " Capital, Mary — capital ! " 
 
 Now the danger was over, and the excitement 
 past, the result was "capital" — such was the moral 
 condition of Jane Cameron at this early stage ! 
 
 They entered the dancing school, received their 
 change, and found " Cannie Jock " indulging in " a 
 little nut" — as the dance was termed in which 
 most of the company were engaged at that mo- 
 ment. After the dance, Jane sought out her 
 lover, and taxed him with his want of faith- 
 fulness ; but Jock was prolific with excuses — the 
 Frazer girls had bothered him to treat them, and 
 he had had a " find" of a purse with seventeen shil- 
 lings in it, and had been induced to treat everybody. 
 Twice had he been in the close looking for her, he 
 swore with a hundred oaths ; and Jane was ready to 
 believe him and forgive him ; she told him that 
 night the story of the theft — how she and Mary 
 
 to be pa-wned, for a few hours only, at rates which are exorbitant 
 in the extreme. A blanket from a bed, for instance, is left in 
 pledge in the morning for a penny, and redeemed in the evening 
 for three halfpence or twopence — that is, fifty or a hundred 
 per cent, on the loan. Many proprietors of these "Wee Pawns 
 are receivers of stolen goods, it may be readily imagined : much 
 that is stolen in Glasgow is traceable to their depots.
 
 60 ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 Loggiehad stolen the ribbon from the haberdasher's 
 — and he patted her on the back, said, "Bravo, my 
 lassie ! " and took his oath upon the spot that it 
 was well done, and he did not think that she had 
 had so much pluck in her I 
 
 From the "skeel" they went to Loggie's house, 
 where, with a boy's, or a thief's, prodigality, he 
 treated his friends to a bottle of whiske}^, and re- 
 cited Jane Cameron's first attempt amidst the 
 plaudits of the assembled company. They drank 
 Jane Cameron's health that night, they flatteied 
 her, kissed her, turned her head with praise, and 
 made her drink whiskey till she sank stupe- 
 fied into a corner, and was too insensible to 
 enter an appearance at her mother's quarters in 
 the New Vennel that night. 
 
 The poor girl was proud of her success — she had 
 been feted by the infamous gang on having escaped 
 detection. To her disordered fancy it seemed 
 altogether a better and brighter life than working 
 in the cotton-mill, and being half starved on her 
 return by her mother. It was an easy way of 
 earning money — where was the harm? Why
 
 AN EYERY-DAY CASE. 61 
 
 had she lost two or three years of practice which 
 might have made her skilful at the business ? 
 
 These were her thoughts, she assured her 
 auditor, some years ago ; there was no remorse — 
 only pride, excitement, hope of attaining future 
 excellence in the one downward career upon which 
 she had entered, and from which, alas! there was 
 no turning back — a first step made with no know- 
 ledge of its being a step farther from good — a step 
 that is made every day by children like unto her, 
 and younger than she was. It is a soul-harrowing 
 picture. I pray that the drawing of it here, 
 even by a hand as feeble and unpractised as my 
 own, may stir the hearts of those who war with 
 evil to bolder and more energetic efforts in the 
 great Cause which seeks to thwart the tempter of 
 mankind.
 
 62 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LEFT ALONE IN THE WORLD. 
 
 Jane went from Loggie's house to the cotton-mill 
 at a late hour, just in , time to receive her small 
 modicum of wage and take it to her mother, who 
 was anxiously expecting her. The whiskey drank 
 yesternight was still confusing her faculties ; to 
 her mother's inquiries, which, by way of surprise, 
 were more strict than usual, Jane had but a con- 
 fused explanation to return. The mother was 
 irritable that day also, vexed at the small amount 
 of money brought home, and began to scold, 
 and fiDally to strike her daughter. 
 
 Jane Cameron remembers resisting her mother, 
 who was by no means a strong woman — fighting, 
 kicking, plunging, in her grasp. She was wholly
 
 REBELLION. 63 
 
 unsettled now; a girl with no respect for her 
 mother, one whose head had been turned by much 
 flattery, excitement, and temptation. She was 
 not backward in her replies, asserted her right to 
 do as she chose, taunted her mother with the past 
 cruelty in shutting her out on the common stair — 
 her who could get a comfortable home with the 
 Loggies, whenever she chose to ask for it. 
 
 " Ye had better gang and live there, ye hussy," 
 screamed Mrs. Cameron, after the daughter, who 
 had wrenched herself away and was flying down- 
 stairs towards the street again, " I '11 lock ye 
 oot gin ye ever come back here. And what's 
 mair, I'll let those Loggies ken what I think o' 
 them — see if I dinna ! " 
 
 Jane ran to the Loggies to apprise them of the 
 coming visitor, but Mrs. Cameron never appeared, 
 and Jane saw her in a whiskey-shop three hours 
 afterwards, drunk and abusive, and reckless of 
 official authority. Mrs. Cameron was locked up 
 that night, and when set free again made no com- 
 ment upon Jane's past act of rebellion, but treated 
 her even in a way less indifferent and cruel. 
 
 " We were better friends after that —she was
 
 64 A ROBBERY. 
 
 more of a mither till her cusli carne back 
 again." 
 
 The man who came back — more of a coward 
 and bully, and whom Jane hated more and more 
 with every day— was destined not to trouble our 
 guilty heroine's life much longer. There was a 
 great parting coming for all in that little top room 
 in theNew Vennel— it came about in this wise: — 
 
 A robbery had been committed in the Vennel 
 after the old fashion — a robbery that was not 
 taken quietly by the victim, but reported at the 
 police station, and registered in the police books. 
 The detectives were set on the track, and the 
 thieves, who had scent of these inquiries as quickly 
 as the police, were on their guard, and watchful. 
 The man had been lured into the Vennel in a 
 semi-state of intoxication, and robbed of a large 
 amount of money — fifty pounds- and some odd 
 silver he alleged to have been stolen from him. 
 He knew very little of the locality in which 
 the occurrence had taken place, but insisted 
 that it was in the New Vennel — a place with 
 which he appeared to be perfectly acquainted. 
 Suspicion fastened itself upon jMother Cameron's
 
 65 
 
 den; a raid was made thereon, however without 
 success, and the police were for a while baffled 
 in their search. Jane Cameron found herself one 
 morning confronted by a detective — only a few 
 mornings after her own defalcation— and gave 
 herself up for lost. She was proceeding to the 
 cotton-mill when she met him. He stopped 
 to talk to her, ask a great many irrelevant 
 questions, compliment her on her increase of 
 stature and improvement in good looks, finally to 
 work round to the question, of who was at her 
 mother's house on a certain night in September 
 
 18 ? Jane Cameron was a girl always on her 
 
 guard, however ; she had had experience enough 
 of life to know that police attentions were' 
 dangerous, and inquiries by suave officials likely 
 to lead other people into trouble, and was artful 
 enough to be deficient in information and weak 
 in memory just then. 
 
 " Never tell the truth, if ye can help it, to the 
 police," was the first caution instilled into her by 
 her mother, and the ruffian whom she considered 
 her father. Jane Cameron, it may be premised, 
 was well acquainted with the details of that 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 66 "leaving it to THE TOUNG UNS." 
 
 particular case of felony ; she had reached home 
 early that night, and been a witness to the 
 arrival of the victim, and the deliberate manner 
 in which he had been drugged and robbed, her 
 mother sitting by the fire, and taking no notice 
 of proceedings — " leaving it all to the young uns," 
 as she was in the habit of terming it. Jane had 
 gone to sleep in the midst of the scene — so callous 
 had she become to these every-day incidents 
 — and had only been awakened by a friend 
 entering to help Mrs. Cameron's lodgers down- 
 stairs with the "sleepy gent." The facts had 
 been impressed more vividly than usual upon her 
 mind, by the whole cortege slipping two steps, 
 and coming down of a heap on the stairs, amidst 
 the laughter of a dissolute crew, who watched the 
 proceedings from the top flat. There was no 
 mystery practised in this case ; it was supposed 
 that everybody could be trusted in the Yennel : 
 " Cameron's lodgers' turn to-day ; the next-door 
 neighbour's to-morrow I " 
 
 This was a mistake, however, and in this in- 
 stance there was less honour amongst thieves than 
 usual. The facts of the case began to ooze out
 
 A FLIGHT. 67 
 
 in some mysterious way ; the principal offender 
 was arrested at a public house patronized by 
 suspicious characters, and the news spread with a 
 rapidity from close to close, \Yjjid to vennel, 
 wherever lived a friend or relation of the guilty 
 ones. The thieves have a system of communi- 
 cating news which is certainly more rapid 
 than that in force amoDgst the police. Mrs. 
 Cameron was apprised of danger within a few 
 minutes of the chief offender's arrest; and if 
 the chief offender made a clean confession — which 
 was considered likely — so much the worse for 
 Mrs. Cameron's prospects in life. Mrs. Cameron 
 saw that her good name was likely to suffer in 
 this instance — that it was a serious case — and 
 disappeared. 
 
 Jane Cameron came home that evening from 
 the " skeel " at a late hour, and found the place 
 vacated by her mother, and possession already 
 taken of the domicile by her neighbour, a woman 
 who also let lodgings, an(i was far from particular 
 as to her lodgers' character. A hasty bargain 
 had evidently been struck up between Mrs.
 
 68 LEFT ALONE. 
 
 Cameron and her neighbour before the former's 
 flitting, and the furniture and fixtures — that was, 
 one chair, a stool, a few shavings, and a tin 
 mug — disposed of at a sacrifice. 
 
 From this hasty sale, this unlooked-for depar- 
 ture of the mother, evolved the whole after-career 
 of Jane Cameron — it turned her life into a new 
 groove on the instant. There is no asserting that 
 her life would have been better or purer had the 
 mother not suddenly vanished away from her — her 
 life had already lost its purity ; she had begun to 
 hate work, and perceive the advantages of stealing 
 — but at least there would have been more time 
 to think, and by some miracle a hand might 
 have been stretched forth to save her from 
 the darkness closing around her. But here the 
 shadows closed at once, and shut out every chance. 
 At twelve years of age she was left to work her 
 own way in life — left motherless and alone in a 
 city of temptation. 
 
 She was dashed down at once. The new 
 occupant of her mother's rooms was a hard- 
 hearted termagant, and refused all admittance to 
 the girl — even for one night — though her apart-
 
 INQUIRIES. 69 
 
 ments were not full, and no more lodgers were 
 expected. 
 
 " I'll hae na gals hangin' aboot my house," she 
 asserted ; " they're alwa bringin' folk into trooble 
 wi' their tongues. And you hae too muckle by a 
 lang deal." 
 
 " Where's mither ? " 
 
 " Grane awa'." 
 
 " But when's she comin back ? " 
 
 " She'll never come back to Grlasgie, if she's a 
 wise woman. She said she'd never come back." 
 
 " How am I to find her ? " 
 
 " She's maun tired o' ye — and no wonder- 
 ganging the gait that ye've been at a' yer leef. 
 Hoot awa' — na wonder she be glad to be shut o' 
 sic an idle lassie." 
 
 " Where am I to go ? " 
 
 " Grae to the workus — or the refuge — ye 
 winna coom here, I tell ye." 
 
 " I shan't do that ! " cried Jane. 
 
 " Do what ye list." 
 
 The door banged to, and Jane was shut out on 
 the common stair. This was no more than her 
 own mother had done hundreds of times ; she
 
 70 GITING WAT. 
 
 might have curled herself in a corner of the 
 flat and fallen asleep, if the cold would have 
 allowed her, but she had grown older, and was 
 not likely to adopt that course any longer. She 
 was a girl, with all the girFs tender feelings not 
 entirely obliterated ; through the rough ordeal of 
 her neglected childhood, there were some childish 
 traits still, even some instinctive affection for 
 the mother who had so cruelly deserted her. 
 She sat down at the stair-head, covered her 
 face with her apron, and began to cry. The 
 desolateness of her position, the uncertainty of 
 the life before her, the consciousness of being 
 left alone in the world with no more compunction 
 than a cat or dog might have been left, unnerved 
 her, and this strong, bold girl gave way at the 
 murky prospect stretching out before her. 
 
 " I eanna say what I cried for," was her remark 
 at this crisis in her fate — "not that she hadna 
 taken me wi' her, but that she had shaken me off 
 without a thocht. It was the first time that I had 
 gien wa' sin I was sax years oold. I was 
 troobled — I didna see what to do — I was even 
 afeared I might be starved to death noo."
 
 IN DOUBT. 71 
 
 After sitting on the stairs about half an hour, 
 Jane went slowly into the street again. She was 
 well acquainted with her mother's haunts, her 
 mother's fi-iends, and thought that it was possible 
 to discover her after all. She made the tour of 
 inspection, and learned no news of Mrs. Cameron's 
 whereabouts — only elicited the fact that she had 
 been heard to express her determination to leave 
 Grlasgow at once, before it became too hot to hold 
 her. One more fact she discovered, that the man 
 who had been the hete noire of her young life 
 had gone away with Mrs. Cameron, and therefore 
 that it was a studied desertion, which it was not 
 probable any potver of her own could remedy. She 
 was thrown upon her resources, and would have to 
 get her own living in the best way that presented 
 itself. She would have gone at once to " Cannie 
 Jock " and have asked his advice, if she had known 
 where to find him ; failing this, she went 
 to the Loggies, people who had at least been 
 kind to her, and who she thought would be kind 
 to her again. She would take their advice as to 
 the best method of proceeding on the dark road 
 that lay before her. There was no one else in 
 whom this poor wanderer could confide !
 
 72 SHELTEB. 
 
 It was three in the morning when she went up 
 the stairs of the house in the High Street Close 
 to Loggie's home on the first flat. She knocked 
 several times before an answer was returned to 
 her; then Loggie's voice, in far from amiable 
 accents, inquired who was there. 
 
 "Jennie," was the answer. 
 
 " What's the matter? What do ye want ? " 
 
 " I thought ye'd gie me a nicht's rest — mither's 
 run awa' frae me." Loggie appeared to hesitate, 
 and Jane Cameron's heart sank with suspense. If 
 he turned her away too ! — if she were thrown 
 upon the refuge, or the workhouse ! 
 
 " Ye can come in for ance," he muttered, with- 
 drawing the bolt at last — " we're vera full here, 
 though. Here, sit ye doon by the fire, and dinna 
 stir it. It's banked oop for the nicht." 
 
 Mr. Loggie turned into bed again, and Jane 
 sat down before the fire, whose friendly warmth 
 drew her off to sleep. She was very grateful 
 for this shelter from the world — very thankful 
 that she had not been driven to the Refuge for 
 the Destitute. 
 
 I have often wondered, if the Loggies had been
 
 A THOUGHT. 73 
 
 less good-natured, if the girl had been driven to a 
 home where thoughtful, pious men and. women 
 would have met her for the first time, whe- 
 ther her life might have not been far different 
 from the one it has become my task to shadow 
 forth.
 
 74 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. LOG&IE's advice. 
 
 Mrs. Loggie was stirring before daylight, pre- 
 paring coffee for those moneyed lodgers who might 
 feel inclined to have breakfast before departure ; 
 and Mr. Loggie was also shuffling about the 
 room in a pair of slippers, a little while after his 
 spouse's debut. The lodgers, who took things 
 easily, and had no particular work on hand, did 
 not rise early that morning, and when breakfast 
 was ready, there was time for the amiable couple 
 to hear all that Jane Cameron had to relate with 
 respect to her mother's desertion. 
 
 Mr. Loggie sat, smoked, and listened to all the 
 details. Mrs. Loggie looked from Jane to her 
 husband. When the story was finished, Mr.
 
 ADYICE. 75 
 
 Loggie volunteered his advice in a fashion akin 
 to this : — • 
 
 " If we're respectable eno' for ye, ye can lodge 
 here for a shilling a week; if ye dinna mind 
 making shift in odd corners, and keeping quiet 
 as to what ye see and hear, ye may stap, and 
 we'll trust ye for a week or twa on the chance o' 
 payin' gin anythin' turns up. Ye can get siller 
 if ye keep your een open, or somethin that I may 
 take instead o' it, and we're na likely to ask 
 questions as to how ye get it. Ye are a quick 
 lassie, Mary tells me." 
 
 " Yes, I'm quick eno'." 
 
 ** Then I'd advise ye to stay here, and begin 
 business for your ainsel. Do what ye list ; we'll 
 keep quiet on the matter, and when ye're lucky 
 eno' to get a gude prize, p'raps ye'll think o' us 
 who hae helped ye at a pinch. All my gals 
 are doing well eno' — even Mary." 
 
 " And th' cotton-spinnin ? " 
 
 " Wark at it as hard as ever, my lassie," was 
 the advice proffered here, " and as long as they'll 
 keep ye. The police are sure to speer ye wi' a great 
 many questions as to where ye are warkin', and
 
 76 jane's new life. 
 
 it keeps them satisfied if they think that ye are in 
 place. When ye are out of wark, and yet hae 
 money to spend/ they get unco suspicious. Will 
 ye hae breakfast wi' us ? " 
 
 Jane assented to this very willingly. 
 
 " All that ye hae, will be scored up against ye, 
 to be paid for when ye can, and I dinna fear that 
 ye will be able to pay us." 
 
 Jane did not fear that she should be unable 
 to pay them in good time — she took her first 
 breakfast on credit, and sealed the devil's com- 
 pact with Mr. Loggie, lodging house keeper. 
 She went to the cotton-mill at the usual hour, 
 came home to dinner, and received further advice 
 as to the best method of proceeding in life. Mr. 
 Loggie only gave her advice by instalments, 
 watching its effect upon the recipient, and draw- 
 ing in his horns, or increasing his effective elo- 
 quence, according to the result upon the individual 
 addressed. In three days Mr. Loggie had fully 
 initiated Jane into all the mysteries of Glasgow 
 thieving, and all the best chances of success 
 therein. " Cannie Jock" had seen her during that 
 period, and commended her for the resolution
 
 CONTENTED ! 77 
 
 which she had formed of boldly entering the pro- 
 fession — the profession itself had been introduced 
 to her in due course ; she was enrolled with as 
 much formality into the fraternity of vice, as 
 though she had entered any respectable service 
 requiring an equal amount of precaution. 
 
 Into the art of thieving she was initiated by 
 the elder daughters of Loggie ; in quiet hours 
 lessons were given in pocket-picking and shop- 
 lifting, and Jane, naturally quick, began to evince 
 a degree of excellence for which her teachers had 
 not bargained. She was taught to be a thief, 
 and flattered into being one — golden prospects of 
 a future made glorious by earning large sums of 
 money, and spending them, were dwelt upon, 
 until their brightness dazzled her — the life before 
 her seemed a happy one — she was glad that she 
 had come to live with the Loggies ! 
 
 " Money — we make lots of money — the police 
 ken not half the money we make in lucky 
 times o' the year," said Loggie : an assertion 
 which John Ewan verified, although his luck 
 had not been very apparent of late. 
 
 Loggie's assertion is true enough. The police are
 
 78 EARNINGS. 
 
 not aware of the extent to which robberies are 
 carried on, and the many crimes that are com- 
 mitted in secret, to the one that is detected and 
 punished. A thief calculates on six months', even, 
 on twelve months', security from conviction ; 
 there are some who have been free for five and 
 six years, and have " earned " a large amount of 
 money in that period. Some of these Scotch 
 thieves, more especially the female thieves, as 
 will be presently seen, are often in possession of 
 fifty, even a hundred, pounds — a sum which is 
 lavished away recklessly — dissipated in the course 
 of a few weeks. Eeceivers of stolen goods, like 
 Loggie, often amass considerable wealth by 
 speculating in bank notes of a heavy amount 
 which are difficult to change — giving even as 
 much as seventy pounds in gold for a hundred 
 pound note, and starting to London or Liverpool 
 to change it. Some curious statistics with regard 
 to thieves' earnings have been more than once 
 presented to committees by governors of prisons, 
 &c., who have closely questioned the prisoners 
 on their former lives; the confession is true 
 enough, and affords a startling picture of the
 
 DIFFICULT TO REFORM. 79 
 
 success of some of these men and women. A 
 man tolerably lucky throughout his life may earn 
 seven or eight thousand pounds — has been even 
 known to earn it ; and a thief's income has been 
 averaged at three hundred to four hundred a year, 
 which is possibly below the average, such is the 
 gross carelessness of well-to-do people, and the 
 incessant watch of those who prey upon them. 
 There is very little real reformation in the pro- 
 fessional thief — he or she is the hardest and 
 most inflexible subject to deal with in our prisons. 
 Eeligion has, Grod be thanked, worked its miracle 
 of regeneration here and there, but the instances of 
 real penitence are few and far between. Men 
 and women of this character, who have by a life 
 of crime reckoned their wages of sin by hundreds 
 of pounds, find it almost impossible to settle 
 down to a steady and arduous life, recompensed 
 by a few shillings a week. And female profes- 
 sional thieves are harder, perhaps, to reform than 
 the male portion ; if they be more impressionable, 
 they are also more easily influenced for evil, more 
 prone to fall back upon their old life when the 
 prison gates are once more unbarred for them.
 
 80 A PE0FES3I0XAL THIEF. 
 
 The Prisoners' Aid Society, quietly and steadily 
 working to reform these characters, has, however, 
 some fair stories to tell of the sinner's repent- 
 ance after a long career of vicious indulgence, 
 when the first good impulse that brings the 
 penitent to its shelter, to ask its advice in the 
 honest world which is so strange a sphere for 
 him, has been worked upon to the honour of its 
 earnest servants, and the glory of Him whose 
 faithful followers they are. Of this Society more 
 anon; but it is pleasant to break in upon the dark 
 shadows of the story with the brighter thought 
 that, amidst the number resolved to sin on to 
 the end, there are a few who turn away from 
 evil, and seek refuge and honest counsel at the 
 last. 
 
 To return to Jane Cameron. Be it understood, 
 then, by those who have the courage or heart to 
 follow this sad chronicle, that she had become a 
 professional thief — and that she entered upon her 
 career without one throb of remorse. At twelve 
 years of age she no more knew good from evil than 
 when she was an infant at her mother's breast — 
 she felt that she had been ill-treated by her mother,
 
 A thief's motto. 81 
 
 and that there was only one way of living open to 
 her. Of religion she knew nothing — of a Bible 
 she had never heard — the books in the shop- 
 windows were a mystery to her ; around her were 
 hundreds of boys and girls, men and women, 
 whose lives were spent in stealing for a living — 
 stealing from those who could afford to lose, who 
 were never likely to miss what was taken from 
 them ; such is the consolation sentimental thieves 
 — those who think of the matter at all — take to 
 themselves. All this in the very early stage of 
 proceedings ; the life is a hardening process, and 
 one cares for nothing, studies nothing, after a 
 while. 
 
 Jane Cameron strolled about the streets, and 
 lingered at the corners of the closes, with a motive 
 now; she, Mary Loggie, and " Cannie Jock" worked 
 together; many a long practice at the art of 
 passing a stolen article from hand to hand had 
 taken place in Loggie's rooms. 
 
 " Never pass a crowd on any pretence," was the 
 thief's motto, ingrained upon Jane's memory ; and 
 she was always looking out for crowds, and pray- 
 ing for a chance therein, by which she might pay 
 
 VOL. I. a
 
 82 EWAN S HOPES. 
 
 off the debt which was accumulating against her at 
 the High Street Close. She was attached to the 
 Loggies ; a girl that was grateful for the interested 
 charity which had been proffered her, and whose 
 gratitude it was difficult to shake. The vile 
 young reprobate who was her accomplice sought 
 to shake it ; he did not like the Loggies, and took 
 every opportunity to assure Jennie that she was 
 putting herself too much in old Loggie's power. 
 He liked Mary very well, but he objected to old 
 Loggie ; he was a jealous youth in his turn, and 
 even objected to the lads she met there when his 
 back was turned. He was only waiting for a good 
 haul, he told her ; then they would take a room to 
 themselves, or go partners with another couple 
 who were thinking of starting in life also, and if 
 
 they couldn't manage better than with that 
 
 Loggie, he was not wide awake in the world, that 
 was all ! 
 
 Poor Jane Cameron began to build upon the 
 " good haul " which John Ewan had promised him- 
 self. That would be happiness indeed, when they 
 had a room in the Vennel or the Havannah, and 
 there was no one to take care of her boy husband
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT. 83 
 
 save herself. Still for the nonce she was grateful to 
 the Loggies, and attached to Mary, who had taught 
 her to shift for herself in the world. She had been 
 a week at the High Street Close, which for the sake 
 of a name I may as well term Close No. 700, 
 High Street, when she made her second attempt, 
 in concert \vith Mary, to raise a little capital on 
 her own account. This was on a Saturday night, 
 when the streets are fuller and more drunken 
 people than usual are in the poorer thoroughfares 
 of Glasgow. Crowds collect every half-hour in the 
 vicinity of the Salt-market, where whiskey-shops 
 are prolific, and wanderers through this part of 
 Glasgow stop to see what is the matter, and 
 ascertain if possible what the man or woman 
 has done who is being taken to the station- 
 house. 
 
 It was arranged that Jane Cameron was to 
 mingle with any crowd that might be found, and 
 if a respectable man or woman should be seen to 
 mix with it, to attempt the new art in which she 
 had already given signs of proficiency. "Caunie 
 Jock" and IMary were to be on the watch, ready to 
 receive any article that Jane might be fortunate — 
 
 G 2
 
 81 THE SECOND THEFT. 
 
 unfortunate! — enough to procure; there were 
 other old pals about the Salt-market ready to pass 
 it on still further in a case of emergency. 
 
 A crowd collected after a while — a crowd 
 purposely got together by one of Loggie's gang. 
 People coming up and down the street stopped to 
 see what was the cause of disturbance ; a sunburnt 
 lad in a blue jacket with gilt buttons halted also 
 for an in&tant, and in that instant Jane's guilty 
 hand had glided under his arm into his breast 
 pocket, secured a pocket-book, passed it with 
 lightning-like rapidity to Mary, who passed it to 
 Ewan, who disappeared down the close. It 
 was all very suddenly accomplished, the crowd 
 had surged to and fro, and in the hustling the 
 young stranger had detected nothing to arouse 
 his suspicions, and had even gone on his way 
 again without being conscious of his loss. 
 
 Five minutes after the robbery, the three 
 children — they were little else — met in Loggie's 
 house, where the news had already spread, and 
 where Loggie was awaiting them. "Cannie Jock " 
 opened the pocket-book, and produced two five- 
 pound Bank of England notes and a few shillings 
 in silver.
 
 UNDER SUSPICION. 85 
 
 " No gold ? " commented Loggie, who had no 
 belief in honour amongst thieves. 
 
 " No gold," affirmed Ewan, whose word was 
 bound to be believed in the absence of any proof 
 to the contrary. 
 
 The notes were purchased at the usual discount 
 by Loggie, and the sum realised shared between 
 the three young thieves on the instant, after a cer- 
 tain percentage had been claimed by and allowed 
 to Loggie, and Jennie's share considerably dimi- 
 nished by payment of arrears. Then the three 
 went into the streets again, in the hope of another 
 chance before the night was out, and separated to 
 different quarters of the city, suspicion being 
 likely to be aroused if seen too often together. 
 
 Jane fancied that suspicion was already aroused, 
 the police eyed her furtively that night; and 
 the detectives scouring the streets in their pri- 
 vate dresses nodded towards her in so meaning 
 a manner, and looked at her so hard. But sus- 
 picion was not awakened concerning the theft of 
 that particular night ; the police knew nothing 
 concerning it as yet, and were only distrustful of 
 her ojeneral movements. It was known to all
 
 86 A MATTER OF CERTAINTY. 
 
 the force that little Cameron had been deserted 
 by her mother, had left the New Vennel for Close 
 No. 700, and gone to live with the Loggies ; and 
 people who lived with the Loggies were always 
 of a doubtful class. They knew that Jane Came- 
 ron was going wrong, and would be presently in 
 the police court, and then in Glasgow prison ; it 
 was a matter of certainty which must occur in 
 due course; they had seen these things hun- 
 dreds of times, and had never known an exception 
 to the rule. 
 
 Jane was new to the business still, and still 
 nervous ; a young recruit in the devil's regiment, 
 where coolness and audacity are only acquired 
 by practice. By herself in the lighted streets, 
 she did not dare to attempt a second theft that 
 night, but she was elated with her first essay in 
 pocket-picking, proud of the good words they had 
 all bestowed upon her at home. She wan- 
 dered about the streets till 10 o'clock, meet- 
 ing Jock or Mary occasionally, and passing 
 them without a word, and then returned to 
 the close, where that evening there was more 
 whiskey-drinking than usual, and Jane Cameron'
 
 SINKING DEEPER. 87 
 
 health was drunk, and the girl's head turned with 
 coarse flattery. They got up a dance that even- 
 ing amongst themselves, and in this whirl of high 
 spirits, reckless gaiety, and horrible ignorance, the 
 evil sank deeper into the girl's heart, and she 
 joined in the laugh against the little good of 
 which she had ever heard.
 
 88 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " BAD LUCK." 
 
 It is not my intention to present the reader with 
 a complete catalogue of the offences of Jane 
 Cameron, or trace minutely step by step her 
 progress downwards to all moral death. Such a 
 plan would be but a tedious recapitulation, and 
 far from the intention which I formed in present- 
 ing this dark history to the world. 
 
 Still I am anxious to render this a complete 
 life — to extenuate nothing which may afford the 
 reader an opportunity of estimating the true cha- 
 racter of Cameron, and of tracing her through 
 the several phases of her adventurous life. In 
 avoiding all iteration as much as possible, I 
 shall not suffer to escape me those salient points
 
 FIDELITY. 8(1 
 
 which illustrate a criminal career, or throw some 
 new light upon the manners and customs of " the 
 dangerous classes." 
 
 Briefly, then, let me pass over six months 
 more of Jane Cameron's life ; the six months 
 which wholly changed her and settled her cha- 
 racter for the worst. She was nearly thirteen 
 years of age then ; tall for her age, a woman, 
 and worse than most women in thought and 
 action. During that period she had seen no- 
 thing of her mother, who had evidently left 
 Grlasgow for good; she had been constantly suc- 
 cessful in her petty thefts, her shop-lifting and 
 her pocket-picking ; she was still working at the 
 cotton-mills in the daytime, was frequenting all 
 places of debauchery at night; she had parted 
 with honesty, modesty, virtue; her only trait of 
 character expressive of a something in her nature 
 that might have been traced to a higher purpose 
 was her unflinching fidelity to the scamp who had 
 done so much to sink her. 
 
 And I may say here, that this is no uncommon 
 fidelity amongst those poor unfortunates who con- 
 stitute themselves the companions of thieves.
 
 90 
 
 With all sense of modesty dead within them, with 
 no knowledge of the rules governing polite society, 
 they are as faithful as wives to those men who 
 have professed a liking to them, and they cling 
 to them through all the several gradations of evil, 
 in their good fortune and their bad, until a long 
 sentence, or death, or the man's own inconstancy, 
 sets them apart. These female thieves, consorting 
 with thieves, hold in supreme contempt those 
 fallen sisters of theirs parading their painted 
 cheeks in the gas-light; they will enact their cha- 
 racters at times for the purposes of deception, but 
 the " cush " is on the alert, and steps in to rob the 
 victim when the field lies open for his depreda- 
 tions. Even female thieves who have no parti- 
 cular attachment to one man pride themselves 
 upon their chasteness of conduct, and only sin 
 with the hope of robbing the man who has been 
 foolish and wicked enough to be enticed away by 
 them. All this is more strikingly exemplified 
 amongst the Glasgow and Edinburgh thieves than 
 the London. I dwell upon this painful explanation 
 for the better understanding of what follows in 
 due course.
 
 rOND OF HIS TEADE. 91 
 
 Constant success is dangerous ; it engenders 
 false confidence, which deceives and ensnares. 
 This is particularly applicable to thieving. Jane 
 Cameron had been successful, and had lost every 
 particle of old fears of the prison. She had be- 
 come more than ordinarily bold, and had more 
 than once escaped the clutch of the police officer 
 as by a miracle. Still with all her " run of luck " 
 there had been no more ten pounds obtained by 
 a single larceny ; and Cannie Jock's " good haul " 
 was still in prospective, and still being looked 
 forward to. It was Jane Cameron at this parti- 
 cular juncture who supported her paramour by 
 odd shillings and half-crowns ; it would be dif- 
 ferent presently, the sanguine thief was con- 
 stantly remarking ; his vanity assured him that 
 he should distinguish himself in the bad time 
 coming. 
 
 This lad, now fifteen years of age or thereabouts, 
 could read and write pretty ^\e\\ ; he was as in- 
 fatuated with his vicious calling as more honest 
 lads are with those moral professions to which 
 they have begun to devote themselves. He was 
 ever fond of recounting to Jane the lives and
 
 92 A TURN FOR THE WORSE. 
 
 adventures of vagabonds whose careers had for a 
 while been more successful than his own; he 
 knew the whole history of Dick Turpin, and with 
 every chapter of Harrison Ainsworth's novel — 
 that unfortunate novel which has worked much 
 mischief and been the ruin of many foolish 
 youths — he was as familiar as the author. All 
 thieves it may be premised know the story of 
 Jack Sheppard from Ainsworth's novel, and the 
 plays which have been founded upon it ; all thieves 
 reverence Jack Sheppard as the one great man 
 and inimitable model ; half of them are romantic 
 enough, in the midst of their morbid depravity, to 
 believe that they may become as celebrated and 
 be talked of as much. Johnnie Ewan fully be- 
 lieved in the dawn of his coming greatness, and 
 put up with the adverse circumstances of the pre- 
 sent like a philosopher. 
 
 It was summer-time when Jane Cameron's 
 luck took a turn in the wrong direction ; this 
 occurred before she was thirteen years of age. 
 The tourists from various towns were passing 
 through Grlasgow in considerable numbers at this 
 period of the 5^ear, and it was a rule amongst the
 
 DISGUISES. 93 
 
 pocket-picking fraternity to look out for them in 
 particular; for the females to throw themselves in 
 their way, to haunt the hotels in Greorge Square, 
 Buchanan Street, and Argyle Street. Jane was 
 employed constantly as a decoy now ; she was 
 pretty, she looked as well in a silk dress and 
 bonnet, which she put on now and then, as in the 
 humble factory girl's dress, which was her more 
 constant wear. " Glasgie lasses do well in the 
 summer," was Jane Cameron's confession ; " there 
 are lots of young men with siller in the cit}^ 
 and they keep late hours, and dinna mind 
 what part o' Grlasgie they visit for the change. 
 They are much oftener in the High Street and 
 Salt-market after us, than we in the grand squares 
 after them." 
 
 The tourists, young and inexperienced, who 
 read this may possibly be more careful of chance 
 acquaintances in the Glasgow streets, after this 
 avowal ; there are a host of dangerous actresses, 
 whose appearances are deceptive, therein; who 
 can feign the modest factory-girl anxious to 
 escape from their polite attentions, as well as other 
 characters less difficult to personate.
 
 94 A DECOY. 
 
 Jane Cameron was an actress at that time; 
 she had studied her part well; the lessons 
 that had been taught her at Loggie's had 
 been conned over and elaborated; six months' 
 proficiency in crime had rendered her as 
 clever, artful, and dangerous as the rest. She 
 was known now to be a thief by the police ; they 
 were no longer suspicious on that point, but they 
 were baffled at present, and were more than 
 commonly anxious to secure her. 
 
 In the Salt-market, one summer night then, 
 Jane in her every-day dress, with her bare head 
 and her naked feet, the picture of modest po- 
 verty, hurrying homewards, attracted the atten- 
 tion of an English tourist, a stranger to the town. 
 Jane confesses to have half returned his impudent 
 smile, then to have feigned alarm at his attempt 
 to address her, finally to have listened to him 
 with a shyness and embarrassment which lured 
 the young profligate on. It ended in Mary Loggie 
 joining them, and suggesting after a while that 
 a glass of whiskey each would be a fitting pre- 
 lude to their better acquaintance, in all three 
 proceeding to a whiskey-shop in the Salt-market,
 
 ANOTHER ROBBERY. 95 
 
 where it was hoped that the young man would 
 drink deeply^ and render himself more open to the 
 coming attempt upon his purse. There at the 
 bar of the whiskey-shop, the three laughed and 
 talked, and two watched keenly the progress of 
 events — outside in the street two men, neither of 
 them Ewan, w^ho was not considered old enough 
 yet for this portion of the business, prowled to and 
 fro, and were ready to assist, if necessary, to pass 
 the money, or to attack the victim, if in the 
 ordinary course of events he was induced into the 
 closes, yawning like black gulfs on each side of 
 the Salt-market. 
 
 The business, however, was settled without 
 rough means ; before the second glass of whiskey 
 was drunk, the purse of the stranger was in Jane 
 Cameron's possession, and all that was required 
 was to decamp as speedily as possible. Jane 
 Cameron, purse in hand, made an excuse to 
 speak to a friend outside for an instant, leaving 
 Mary with the tourist. She was to w^atch her 
 opportunity and follow also, but the dupe's 
 suspicions had been aroused by Jane's hasty de- 
 parture, and the purse was discovered to be
 
 96 MART S ARREST. 
 
 missing before Mary could find a chance of im- 
 itating her companion's example. 
 
 Then followed the usual details, which occur so 
 frequently in our newspapers that it is a wonder 
 that there are any persons left to be deceived by 
 these shallow artifices : — Mary Loggie charged with 
 the theft, an indignant denial, a crowd round the 
 door, a policeman sent for, and the accomplice 
 marched off to the Central Police Court, with a 
 crowd of the Glasgow unwashed at her heels. 
 
 Before Jane Cameron reached Loggie's house 
 the news had been received that Mary Loggie 
 was in custody. The money was entrusted to the 
 safer keeping of Loggie, who left home at once, 
 there being notes that it would be awkward to 
 discover on the premises. As Jane Cameron might 
 be also fully described by the victim, and identified, 
 it was considered advisable that she should vacate 
 Close No. 700 for the present, until the facts of the 
 case had transpired at the examination, and it 
 was known what there was to fear or elude. 
 
 This was Cameron's first sense of danger, and 
 without waiting for any further instructions from 
 Mrs. Loggie, she hastened out of the Close, and
 
 A EASE STEP. 97 
 
 went direct to the lodgings of "Cannie Jock," who, 
 rolling stone as he was, and secretive as was his 
 disposition, had sufficient confidence in Jane to 
 keep his location no longer a mystery. 
 
 Ewan was lodging in a house in the Old Wynd 
 at that time, and was absent when Jane ar- 
 rived. It was early for thieves to be at home for 
 the night, and Jane sat herself down in a corner 
 of the room to wait for him. Had she reflected a 
 moment, or waited for Mrs. Loggie's further 
 advice, she might have considered that the course 
 she had adopted was one of considerable risk : the 
 detective police knowing the degree of relation- 
 ship existing betwen her and Ewan, and missiug 
 her at Loggies', would come on to this quarter, if 
 it could be ascertained from any communicative 
 thief where "Cannie Jock" was likely to be lodging. 
 Jane Cameron did not believe that her partiality 
 for Ewan was generally known, and considered 
 herself safe in this quarter, even if there had not 
 been a hope of her identity being difficult to 
 establish. She felt almost safe here, although 
 the child's fear had stolen back to her heart, and 
 a little disturbed her that night. After all, she 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A SUSPICIOUS SUMMONS. 
 
 was but a child, and the events of that evening 
 had brought back the child's feeling — the old 
 dread of prison which she had been ever unable 
 to conquer, and which dissipated some of that old- 
 ness of thought or hardness of heart that had 
 gained terrible ground during the last six months. 
 
 Jane Cameron was not long alone in that 
 stifling back room at the top of the house, to 
 which stern necessity had banished John Ewan. 
 The room was a place for many lodgers, some- 
 thing like the mother's house in the New Venn el, 
 where all that the floor could accommodate were 
 admitted at the rate of two-pence per head. By 
 eleven o'clock three or four lodgers had arrived, 
 and were discussing the topics of the day, pre- 
 vious to turning in to their shavings for the night: 
 by a quarter past eleven, and before Ewan had 
 made his appearance, there came a suspicious 
 knocking with a stick on the panels of the 
 door. 
 
 The lodging-house keeper, an old hag, who was 
 already undressed in a corner under the window, 
 screamed out from her lair, 
 
 "Who's there?"
 
 JANE S ALAEM. 99 
 
 " Open the door, v/ill you," said the rough 
 voice of a man without. 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " The Police ! " 
 
 The lodgers looked from one to the other, and 
 then towards Jane Cameron. Thej were no novel- 
 ties, these nocturnal visits of the police ; at all hours 
 of the day and night legal authority has free access 
 to houses of a doubtful character ; Jane Cameron 
 had seen the police a dozen times at Loggies', but 
 had never felt her heart sink, or her tongue grow 
 so dry in her mouth, as at that moment. It was 
 her first impression of a punishment for crime — 
 of the arm of the law being stretched forth to 
 arrest her in the course in which she believed her- 
 self so safe. She knew by instinct that the police 
 were coming for her. 
 
 " Oh ! hide me somewhere ! — canna I get oot o' 
 the window ? — it's for me, it's for me ! " 
 
 " Hold your jaw, ye fule," said the mother of the 
 "house;" "it's mayhap naethin', and if it beant 
 naethin', they'll na kill ye for anythin' that ye've 
 doon. Unbolt the door, Jamie, my mon." 
 
 Jamie my mon withdrew the bolt, and the 
 
 B 2
 
 100 AEEEST. 
 
 detective and constable entered, slowly, carefully, 
 officially, with that comprehensive glance which 
 takes in everything and says nothing for a while. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Grreen," said the detective. 
 
 «' Well, what 's up now ? " 
 
 '' We don't want you." 
 
 « I should think na." 
 
 The keen eyes of the detective were fixed on 
 Cameron, who clung to the mantelpiece, and 
 breathed hard. 
 
 " We want you to come with us down to the 
 station, Jennie," he said. 
 
 " Very well," gasped the young girl. 
 
 She moved towards the door ; at the door she 
 asked what was the charge. 
 
 " Nothing particular — you'll hear down there. 
 P'raps it's a mistake," he added somewhat 
 kindly. 
 
 " P'raps it is." 
 
 "You've been keeping bad company, you see, 
 Jennie, and it's brought you almost into trouble. 
 Are you ready ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Down the stairs, passing flat after flat, to
 
 THE POLICE STATION. 101 
 
 the lower story and draughty lane, through 
 the lane or wynd, to the streets adjacent, 
 finally round to the back of the great Central 
 Police Station — then of smaller dimensions 
 than it is at the present day — through the 
 first open gateway and across the paved yard 
 to the lighted office on the other side, where the 
 low long counter was, and the desks behind it, and 
 the clerks at their books — the great books of 
 charges and committals, which are so speedily 
 filled, and are the saddest reading in the world. 
 
 The detectives passed round to the back of the 
 counter ; the chief clerk left his desk to interro- 
 gate Jane after a few words with the officers who 
 had just arrived ; the policeman on duty in the 
 court, and whose province it is to see that no one 
 makes a hasty retreat into Nelson Street or there- 
 abouts, approached Jane's side ; the man. whom 
 Jane had robbed a few hours previously made his 
 appearance, and looked steadily at the arrested 
 girl. 
 
 "Is this the girl?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You can swear to that ? " *
 
 102 IDENTIFIED. 
 
 " I'll take my oath of it, anywhere." 
 
 The interrogator applied his mouth to a small 
 orifice in the wall and called up through a tubing, 
 " Send down the female searcher." The female 
 searcher appeared, and conducted Jane to a room 
 on the right of the office, where a search was made 
 for the purse long since gone on its way, and 
 where all that Jane was possessed of — her own 
 purse with a few shillings therein, a thimble, a 
 needle-case, &c. — were appropriated for the nonce. 
 The search completed, Jane and the female 
 searcher returned to the office, where her name 
 was entered in the great books, the articles taken 
 from her registered, the man who had been 
 robbed again asked the question if he felt pre- 
 pared to swear that this was the girl who had 
 stolen his purse in a whiskey-shop in the Salt- 
 market. 
 
 The man was still positive, Jane hazarded a 
 faint denial, and then the matter was ended for 
 that evening. 
 
 *^ Lock this girl up," w^as the stern mandate ; 
 and Jane followed the gaoler out of the office and 
 up the stairs to tlv? cells on the first floor — cells
 
 LOCKED UP. 103 
 
 very large, but very few in number at that 
 period. 
 
 The door opened, a stifling vapour saluted her 
 by way of welcome; she entered the unhealthy 
 and dark den, where the inmates were whispering 
 and talking at the time ; the key turned on her, 
 and her first experience of the law began.
 
 104 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 BEFOKE THE BAILIE. 
 
 The police cell at Griasgow appropriated for wo- 
 men was a large square receptacle, into which 
 all night charges were hustled, there to wait the 
 morning's reflection and the morning's judgment. 
 I believe that there were no separate cells for 
 prisoners at that period, and that it was not till a 
 year or two later that those important alterations 
 of the Central Police Court were made which now 
 constitute it one of the first buildings of its kind 
 in the United Kingdom. 
 
 The night cell of the Glasgow Police Court 
 was a stern initiation into the process of the law 
 for Jane Cameron. She had heard of it more than 
 once from her contemporaries, but had failed to
 
 CAGED CONTEMPORAEIES. I(i5 
 
 realize tlie idea until the door clanged behind her, 
 and shut her in with the darkness. Her heart 
 sank lower than ever ; she was the child of thir- 
 teen then rather than the woman old in thought 
 and deed ; the horrors of her position exercised for 
 a while — for a very little while — a salutary effect. 
 
 " I thocht that if I e'er got awa frae the place, 
 I would na thieve ony mair. I would keep to 
 the factory, and try to live honest," was her re- 
 mark at this portion of her history. 
 
 But this impression did not last the night out, 
 nor the first hour of her incarceration. Becomino;' 
 used to the cell, she found the place was not wholly 
 dark, and that the large trap which remained open 
 in the door allowed a glimmer of light into the cell 
 from the gas jet burning in the corridor. She 
 could just make out her company also, — five or 
 six women, either drunk or defiant, crouched on 
 the floor, or lying on the slanting wooden boards 
 which constituted a hard bed for those disposed 
 to assume a recumbent position. The key had 
 not turned upon her, ere woman's curiosity 
 asserted itself. 
 
 " What are ye in for ? " asked the soberest of
 
 106 CURIOSITY. 
 
 the party, against whom Jane Cameron found: 
 herself standing. 
 
 " Stealing, they say," was the reply. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In the Salt-market." 
 
 "Na wi' Mary Loggie?" 
 
 " Yes, it is*" 
 
 " Mary, Mary, they've got your pal here I " 
 
 Mary Loggie, already an inmate of the police 
 cell, lying on the slanting board fast asleep with 
 her face to the wall, roused herself at this adju- 
 ration, and sat up rubbing her eyes. 
 
 "What is it?' 
 
 " Oh ! Mary, is that ye ? " cried Jane, glad to 
 find a friend, and to hear a friendly voice in this 
 new estate of hers. 
 
 " Yes, it's me. So they've caught ye ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, it's our luck. We canna help it, Jennie." 
 
 " What will they do to us ? what will they do 
 tons?" 
 
 "Hang the couple o' ye," remarked an old 
 crone of a humorous turn of mind ; an assertion 
 which curdled Jane's blood, although aware of
 
 AN OLD HAND. 107 
 
 the exaggeration. Mary Loggie laughed wildly 
 at this — screamed with laughter. 
 
 " I dinna see anythin' to laugh at," reproved 
 Jane. 
 
 " Ye're afraid of the prison," said Mary : 
 " pooh, prison's naethin' ; they gie ye a clean 
 "hoose," and somethin' to eat; and the oakum 
 pickin's easy after a week" 
 
 " How long a sentence will it be, Mary ? " 
 
 " How long will they gie us ? " asked Mary of 
 the assembled company. 
 
 The question was deliberated by the sober por- 
 tion. So far as regarded information respecting 
 the term of sentence, it was fortunate that there 
 was an old hand in " durance vile " that evening, 
 a woman who expected to go before the sheriffs 
 instead of the bailie,* and get her twelvemonths 
 perhaps — a woman whom experieuce had ren- 
 dered well up in the law. 
 
 This woman listened to the facts of the case, 
 related in a very frank and straightforward 
 
 * The bailies of the Scotch police courts, holding a position 
 somewhat similar to our police magistrates, only adjudicate 
 upon offences punishable by a sentence not exceeding sixty days' 
 imprisonment.
 
 108 FKESH ARRIVALS. 
 
 manner by Mary Loggie, and then expressed her 
 sentiments upon the matter. 
 
 " It depends whether Bailie Gilmour or Bailie 
 Gourlay tries ye, a wee bit ; ye'll get mair hard 
 labour frae ane than the tither p'raps. Ye'll hae 
 your sixty days, if ye dinna get passed on to the 
 Sheriffs like me, Mary, and your pal mil hae 
 ten or twenty days, as it's a first start afF. 
 Hech, I wish it was my first." 
 
 A discussion ensued upon this assertion of the 
 referee. The old woman who had talked of hanging 
 ventured to differ, and some quarrelling imme- 
 diately ensued, which the turnkey tried to stop 
 by shouting innumerable threats through the open 
 trap. 
 
 The angry waves of discussion were appeased 
 after a while. Fresh arrivals changed the subject 
 of discourse; more female thieves, more drunken 
 women, were turned in, till the place resembled 
 a Black Hole, and even Jane Cameron, accus- 
 tomed to crowded society, gasped for breath here. 
 Still the society of these peojDle took away the 
 sense of horror at her position ; everybody there 
 made a jest of it ; many told some laughable
 
 THE MORNINa. 109 
 
 anecdotes of their former experience : one woman 
 congratulated herself on a chance of getting to 
 gaol again ; another broke into a ribald song, that 
 set the rest laughing and joining in chorus till the 
 uproar became unbearable ; and the turnkey, 
 after a second remonstrance, banged the trap to, 
 and shut out the little air and light that had 
 filtered through there. 
 
 \Mien it was just possible to distinguish day- 
 light through the cracks of the great wooden 
 screen nailed before the ^dndow above their 
 heads, most of these caged women dropped off 
 to sleep, and Jane tried to imitate their example, 
 but did not succeed well. They were all 
 asleep after a while, and Cameron had fallen into 
 a troubled doze, when she was awakened by the 
 bread and water being served in through the 
 trap. The majority availed themselves of this 
 governmental attention. There were some hours 
 to ensue before their examination was likely to 
 occur, and bread and water were better than 
 nothing, under the circumstances. The time 
 stole on ; some of the drunken women who had 
 slept themselves sober, and whose cases were of a
 
 110 NERVOUSNESS. 
 
 trivial character, not worth intruding upon the 
 attention of the bailie or the procurator-fiscal, 
 were allowed egress from the cells, and dismissed 
 to their homes with a caution. As the day wore 
 on, there was much tramping up and down the 
 wards by the heavily-shod officials, much locking 
 and unlocking of doors ; finally, periodical visits 
 from policemen, who called through the trap the 
 names of the parties whose turn had come to face 
 the law. 
 
 Jane Cameron thrilled at every sound now; 
 she was still nervous, and unaccustomed to the 
 new position of things ; and although she felt 
 there was nothing to grieve about, yet she was 
 far from calm ; and Mary Loggie's stoicism was 
 enviable and unapproachable. 
 
 "Ye are takin' it coolly, Mary," Jane could 
 not refrain from remarking. 
 
 " Just now." 
 
 This answer was explained when they were at 
 last called to the police court, when Jane 
 Cameron, her knees knocking together with 
 nervous trepidation, went with Mary Loggie along 
 the corridors, in charge of a police officer, into
 
 THE LAW IMPRESSES CAMERON. Ill 
 
 the great court on the first floor of the Central 
 Police Station. Jane cast a timid look round, 
 and then followed Mary to the part allotted 
 for offenders on the right hand of the bailie's 
 table. 
 
 The large court-room, the presence of those 
 who were to decide her fate at the table before 
 her, the procm-ator-fiscal or public prosecutor 
 facing her, the number of people in the court, 
 the policemen hanging about the doors, the 
 Grlasgow public, represented by thirty or forty 
 friends of various offenders whose cases were to 
 be heard that morning, sitting one above the 
 other on raised seats at the extremity of the 
 room — seriously impressed Jane Cameron. In all 
 her after-life, for offences of a more serious 
 nature, for cases which she knew must shut her 
 from the world for a long period, she acknow- 
 ledges to have never experienced such a feeling 
 of horror and heart-sickness as on that day when 
 she first faced the Scotch maofistrates as a 
 prisoner charged with theft. Mary Loggie began 
 to cry and protest her innocence at the top of 
 her voice — to lay all the blame on the young
 
 112 STRONG EVIDENCE. 
 
 man who had enticed her in to drink — to deny all 
 knowledge of Jane Cameron, and utter at the 
 top of her voice a hundred falsehoods and lamen- 
 tations, till warned of her breach of decorum in 
 the court. Jane struggled with her feeliogs, and 
 tried to assume a dignified composure, which broke 
 down upon perceiving, amongst the audience at 
 the end of the room, John Ewan and Loggie's 
 sisters, absorbed in every word of the case which 
 was being stated to the bailie. Jane cried and 
 choked and sobbed then; it was all very awful 
 and impressive — what was to become of her ! 
 
 The case occupied some time. There were 
 many witnesses to call : the foolish young man 
 who had been robbed, the landlord of the whiskey- 
 shop, the policeman who had taken Mary Loggie 
 in charge, the detectives who had apprehended 
 Jane Cameron, &c. The case was very plain — 
 Jane's identity was sworn to, and Jane's sudden 
 outburst of denial disbelieved. 
 
 "Does anyone know these girls — have they 
 been here before?" asked the bailie. The police 
 bore testimony to a knowledge of them both. 
 Mary Loggie's previous conviction was alluded
 
 THE SENTENCE. 113 
 
 to — Jane Cameron was alleged to be " going bad," 
 to be always associating with the worst characters 
 in Griasgow. Still, it was a first offence; Cameron 
 was only a child in appearance after all — her age 
 seemed to tell in her favour — the facts of the 
 case appeared to point to Mary Loggie as the 
 thief, and Jane as simply her accomplice; and 
 Jane being at work in a cotton-mill was another 
 feature in the case which had its advantages for 
 her at last. 
 
 The bailie passed sentence — Mary Loggie sixty 
 days' imprisonment with hard labour, and Jane 
 Cameron twenty days. Jane Cameron was re- 
 commended to give up all evil associates, and 
 keep to cotton-spinning for the future ; the 
 prisoners were removed, and the next case was 
 called for hearing. One little wave from the 
 great sea of crime had rolled to land here — how 
 many waves since then have followed one another 
 in swift and uninterrupted succession, each so 
 like the last, and yet each evidence of an im- 
 mortal soul passing aw^ay — perhaps for ever — from 
 all that is right and lawful in the sight of Grod ! 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 GLASGOW PEISON. 
 
 The same day witnessed Jane Cameron's entry 
 into Grlasgow Prison. At that period the extensive 
 alterations resolved upon, in the building of the 
 new wing for the reception of the male convicts, 
 were not completed. The accommodation for pri- 
 soners was limited at that period, and there was 
 considerable difficulty in carrying out the prin- 
 ciples of the separate system — the main difference 
 in the Scotch treatment of prisoners to that of the 
 English and Irish. 
 
 The treatment of convicts in the jails of Edin- 
 burgh and Grlasgow is distinct from that of the 
 treatment at Perth Greneral Prison. After long 
 and anxious consideration of the matter, I am
 
 A GOOD SUGGESTION. 115 
 
 inclined to consider the Edinburgh and G^lasgow 
 principle right ; and the Perth, even the English 
 and Irish system, wrong. It seems hard and cruel 
 to deny all association to prisoners, more especially 
 to those whose sentences are to extend over a long- 
 period of years; but association of prisoners has 
 worked ill, and will continue to work ill, whilst so 
 little care is exercised as to the characters of women 
 classed together — perhaps whilst they remain 
 classed under any circumstances. It is not pos- 
 sible to assert what advantage can arise from the 
 contact of two unhealthy minds ; but it is easy to 
 guess what danger is likely to evolve from it. 
 The monotony of prison-life is relieved in the 
 latter case, it is true ; but is not that monotony 
 one of the chief determents to a convict? 
 
 It was lately suggested to the writer of this 
 work by a prison governor — a gentleman whose 
 experience of prisoners and prison management 
 extends over a considerable number of years — 
 that the principle of placing a healthy mind in 
 contact with an unhealthy had never yet been 
 fairly tried, and was, in his opinion, the one 
 method to do good, and work a lasting reforma- 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE SEPARATE SYSTEMS. 
 
 tion. I believe this is an approximation to the 
 great secret of managing well our convict popula- 
 tion. I believe that this principle, fairly tried, 
 would produce results scarcely dreamt of yet by 
 the stoutest supporters of pet theories. 
 
 There is no difficulty in the way of testing the 
 method : more, there is but little expense attached 
 to the experiment. 
 
 Let us suppose a small model prison conducted 
 on this principle — on the strict principle of keep- 
 ing apart the female convicts in theii* cells, in the 
 airing-ground, at all hours of the night and day. 
 There is no collusion between the prisoners; there 
 are no stories told of great success in crime ; no 
 advice given as to the best methods of excelling in 
 their business ; no comparing notes, and strength- 
 ening each other for the future in the bad resolves 
 which have shut them thus apart from the world. 
 In association at Perth, in Ireland, at Brixton, 
 Parkhurst, and other prisons, this is the staple 
 and natural subject of discourse; and evil must 
 evolve from it, despite the good intentions with 
 which they profess to depart when the ticket-of- 
 ieave is granted. In our model prison this is
 
 AN IDEAL PRISON. 117 
 
 done away with, let us suppose, and the following 
 principle substituted. Once a day, the Scripture- 
 reader, or a matron chosen from a numerous body 
 of well-conducted, well-educated women, acts as 
 associate to the prisoner; spends an hour with her 
 in her cell, if she be a prisoner to be trusted — 
 that is, a woman who has already passed a certain 
 number of months of strict " solitary," by way of 
 probation. This relieves the monotony of the 
 cellular system, and introduces the poor ignorant 
 convict — whose crime is a disease foisted upon 
 her by neglect — to an intelligent, thoughtful com- 
 panion, who talks of a new world to her, of the 
 advantages of honesty and sobriety, but who, be it 
 understood, is not always preaching, or expected 
 " to talk good " at all times and seasons, and weary 
 the easily-tired auditor. She is the companion 
 for the nonce, to discourse with her on any subject 
 which she may consider most fitting to the occa- 
 sion; to read to her from the book of history, 
 travel, or high-class fiction, which appertains to 
 this prison library. Am I wrong in supposing, 
 for this imaginary prisoner, a change in her 
 thoughts and character, in many instances a great
 
 118 THE BRIDEWELL. 
 
 and lasting reformation ? I base this theory on 
 my knowledge of what a prisoner is; what a 
 little touches her heart; what power a thoughtful 
 matron can exercise over an unruly prisoner; 
 and, above all, what children of a large growth, 
 open with their all-viciousness to a good impres- 
 sion, these female convicts are. 
 
 At Griasgow and Edinburgh Prisons this system 
 may be said to be existent " in the rough," and 
 the prisoners, as a rule, are well-behaved. The 
 separate system is carried out to the best of the 
 governors' power, wherever there is sufficient room 
 in the gaol for the purpose ; which, however, is 
 not often. 
 
 Matters were worse when Jane Cameron added 
 one more to the list of unfortunates condemned to 
 spend a portion of their existence in Glasgow Graol. 
 The prison was very full at her period of arrival : 
 not one-half of the whole body of prisoners were 
 then undergoing the separate system ; two, and 
 even three in a cell, were to be found in the 
 Bridewell — that is, the old part of the prison, 
 used exclusively for female convicts. The prison 
 was full, and the prisoners were hard at work
 
 OCCUPATION. 119 
 
 when Jane Cameron arrived — close on three 
 hundred female prisoners, on whom sentence had 
 been passed, and over a score of women waiting 
 trial before the sheriff, or in the High Court of 
 Justiciary. Men and women, against whom the 
 charge is of too grave a nature to be settled by a 
 bailie of the city, are sent to the chief prisons at 
 once, there to await their time of trial. They are 
 not subjected, of course, to the discipline of the 
 prison; the diet is different; they are not com- 
 pelled to work ; and their friends are allowed to 
 see them twice a-week. 
 
 Jane Cameron, after being subjected to the pro- 
 cess of a bath, and even carefully weighed, was 
 sent at once to the Bridewell, and placed in tem- 
 porary association — owing to the crowded state of 
 the prison — with a middle-aged female convict of 
 delicate health, who was employed at the time on 
 knitting. Varieties of occupation were in force 
 at this time amongst the female convicts: there 
 were oakum-pickers and teazers, menders and 
 darners, veiners and winders, hair and cotton teaz- 
 ers, needlewomen, washerwomen, kitchen-women, 
 women employed at force-pump work, and, I
 
 120 THE SELF-SUPPORTING SYSTEM. 
 
 believe, weavers. The self-supporting system here, 
 as elsewhere : prison-labour competing with free- 
 labour beyond there in the closes, where there 
 was rent to pay, fire, food, and candles to buy. 
 
 In my first work I protested against this sys- 
 tem with all the little power I possessed. At one 
 period I indulged the bright hope, buoyed up by 
 the able manner in which the press supported 
 my protest, that this system would die out, or be 
 subjected to some amelioration ; but the needle- 
 women, alas ! still starve in their honesty, or 
 plunge to ruin in despair of earning enough 
 money to keep home together. Contracts 
 are still made with those city firms which are 
 wise enough to seek the cheapest market, no 
 matter where, or whose lives and morals their 
 policy affects. They are encouraged by our 
 G-overnment, our prison directors; and it is not' 
 for the men of trade to have a higher standard 
 of morality than those who talk so much about 
 the comfort, well-being, and moral progress of 
 our criminals. I wonder did the tragedy of 
 March 15th, 1863, strike home to any of those 
 theorists who support this obnoxious policy?
 
 COMPETITION. 121 
 
 Did the woman making shirts for five farthings 
 a-piece, and dying over them — propped up in 
 bed, and dying and sewing together I — strike 
 home to any fine gentleman anxious to keep 
 down the expenses of prison government? Did 
 he think of the dreadful competition which crime 
 was carrying on with those who fought against 
 it, or of the many who die, like unto that poor 
 woman, in the melee, and whose sad histories are 
 not chronicled in the newspapers of the day? 
 Did he th.mk'^—iuill he tJiinh? — that he may 
 stand answerable some day for a part of the evil 
 v/hich by his means is born into the world ? So 
 much a-year saved from prison expenses on the 
 one hand ; but how many hurrying to crime, and 
 making for the prison gates, to be fed and clothed 
 at the expense of Grovernment, on the other? 
 Men of thought — men of Grod — men who are at 
 the head of the state, and have power to effect 
 a change, will you not think of this ? — have you 
 not the courage or the heart to work this great 
 amendment ? 
 
 Jane Cameron had much to wonder at in the 
 prison world of which she had become a denizen.
 
 122 GOOD COUNSEL. 
 
 A cleaner, more corafortable, and better-venti- 
 lated home for her than Loggie's house in the 
 close, or her mother's place in the New Yennel. 
 Plenty of room to breathe in, a bed to herself, 
 warm and comfortable clothing, such as she 
 would have been always glad of; a full blue stripe 
 jacket, and a skirt of warm blue serge; shoes 
 and stockings for the feet that had so long run 
 naked on the Glasgow pavement — by necessity 
 once, occasionally by choice, and since then for a 
 purpose or a disguise. 
 
 Here in the prison Jane dropped into the 
 regular routine of the establishment; spent twenty 
 days, Sundays exclusive, in rising early, working 
 persistently, living by rule, seeing the Scripture- 
 reader, being taught her alphabet, hearing good 
 advice from the lips of the first good man who 
 had ever addressed her, and for the first time 
 being told by the chaplain of the commandments 
 she had broken, and warned of the danger which 
 was threatening her soul. A^Tiat would have 
 been the effect of this good counsel under dif- 
 ferent circumstances, at her age, upon a nature 
 that many years later was found susceptible of
 
 LIFE IN GLASGOW PRISON. 123 
 
 impression, I Avill not attempt to guess. Even 
 in prison she met with another evil counsellor, 
 and the good seed fell among thorns, and was 
 choked in its growth. I will speak further of 
 this a few pages hence. Now, as a companion 
 sketch to female life in English prisons, perhaps 
 female life in G-lasgow Graol may not be con- 
 sidered uninteresting. 
 
 The experience of Jane Cameron, with a little 
 alteration here and there, is the experience of every 
 female convict who passes from our Scotch local 
 prisons to the Perth Penitentiary. Since Jane 
 Cameron's time the alterations have not been 
 many; at Griasgow, for instance, I believe there 
 have been but few variations with regard to 
 diet, and the prison rules almost in every in- 
 stance remain the same. They have worked 
 well on the whole, and time has not disturbed 
 them. 
 
 The Bridewell of Griasgow Prison is in the 
 .centre of the building, and detached from the 
 male portion : it is the oldest part of the prison, 
 was built before prison architecture became an 
 elaborate study, and there is consequently con-
 
 124 EOUTINE. 
 
 siderable room for improvement ; but the way in 
 wliicli the best has been made of the defects, 
 and the manner in which, at the present time, 
 the Glasgow Bridewell is conducted, reflects in- 
 finite credit upon its present governor, Mr. J. 
 Stirling, and on its estimable matron, Mrs. Wat- 
 son. Let me add, that the proportion of female 
 warders to prisoners * is also greater than at our 
 English prisons, and that the proportion of well- 
 conducted prisoners to unruly ones is thus greater 
 in consequence. 
 
 The prisoners at Grlasgow rise at six in the 
 morning, arrange their cell, and work till eight 
 (or half-past, I am uncertain which), at which 
 time breakfast, the first meal of the day, is served 
 through the large traps in the cell doors. The 
 dietary is not the same throughout the prison, 
 long-sentenced women being supplied with a 
 larger amount of food than those serving their 
 ten, twenty, thirty, or sixty days ; but all prisoners, 
 both male and female, are not lavishly sup- 
 
 * In Scotch prisons, the lady holding the rank of superintendent 
 in England is termed matron, whilst female warders correspond 
 with our own prison matrons.
 
 DIET. 125 
 
 plied with food, and do not fare so well as 
 the inmates of our London prisons. The por- 
 ridge, which is the breakfast, and a disagreeable 
 substitute for our English cocoa, is served out 
 in little wooden troughs ribbed with iron, long- 
 sentenced women receiving six ounces of that 
 slabby mixture, or in liquid quantity about a 
 quart — more than, under any circumstances, I, 
 who am not a Scotchwoman, could possibly get 
 through myself. No bread is given with this 
 meal; but at dinner, after four or five hours' 
 work — and the tuork must be half done, or the 
 dinner is not forthcoming — a six, eight, or 
 twelve-ounce loaf, according to the woman's sen- 
 tence, is given with the soup, which is made of 
 ox-head, and is savoury and good, as it need be, 
 no meat being allowed to Grlasgow or Edinburgh 
 convicts. Now and then, by way of variation, 
 bread and cheese are served out in lieu of soup, 
 and doubtless relished for a change. The 
 third meal consists of porridge again, or gruel, 
 served to those who have completed their 
 day's task; and that is the dietary on wliich 
 prisoners thrive and increase in weight, and
 
 126 EXEECISE. 
 
 against which, I trust, there is to issue no com- 
 plaint ! There is^ at least, no pampering of our 
 Scotch convicts at the local prisons. At Perth 
 the dietary more closely resembles our English 
 scale ; but at Perth are assembled all the long- 
 sentenced women, and it requires something 
 more to sustain them through the long melan- 
 choly years of penal servitude. After work-hours 
 the women are allowed time to read in their 
 cells for a little while before the gas is turned 
 out, and the women, tired and wear}^, seek their 
 rest. 
 
 The variation to this labour is an hour's 
 exercise a-day — exercise also in solitary. In one 
 portion of the grounds is built a circular kind of 
 structure, from the centre of which radiate a 
 number of separate airing-cells, open in front 
 and at the top to air and light, and crossed 
 by iron bars. If the reader imagine a huge 
 coach-wheel, and each space between the spokes 
 a separate airing-cell paved with stones, and in 
 each space a figure in a prison dress, flitting to 
 and fro, to and fro, like a spirit tormented by 
 unrest, whilst above all, and looking do^\^l on
 
 DIVINE SERYICE. 127 
 
 all from a raised observatory in the centre, is 
 the officer on duty, he will form an idea of 
 the airing-" grounds " of Grlasgow Prison. The 
 men exercise here at one portion of the day, 
 the women at another ; and it is a strange, heart- 
 depressing sight to see these erring souls pacing 
 up and down in wild-beast fashion, thinking of 
 the past which has brought them to this, or of 
 the future wherein it will be all left behind, 
 and resting not for a moment until the exercise 
 hour is at an end. 
 
 There is a chapel for the male prisoners, each 
 prisoner being barred in from his fellow-convicts ; 
 but the women hear divine service in their cells — 
 a principle which might be easily rectified, and 
 would be of greater benefit to the women. The 
 prisoners are prayed and preached to from 
 a distance, and in two wards at a time; the 
 chaplain taking his stand on the stairs between 
 an upper and lower ward, and the doors of the 
 cells being left ajar and secured only by a chain. 
 This is a strange and somewhat irreverent 
 method of conducting divine service; and I am 
 doubtful if the prisoners at the extremities of the
 
 128 ROMAN CATHOLIC PRISONERS. 
 
 ward can hear very distinctly, although I am 
 assured to the contrary, and have no grounds 
 for my doubts. 
 
 The service is that of the Church of Scotland, 
 and no Koman Ciitholic priests at the time I write 
 are allowed the entree of the prisons, unless sent for 
 on special occasions. The Roman Catholic prisoners 
 do not take the restriction to heart, and attend 
 the Protestant form of worship with singular com- 
 placency and unanimity. Only two women, in a 
 long course of years, have been known to decline 
 attendance at the regular services. There are 
 no gratuities or regular mode of pay for work done 
 as at the English prisons ; a woman, on leaving, 
 is presented with a small sum, the amount of 
 which is left to the governor's discretion. Neither 
 Edinburgh nor Griasgow is a long-service prison — 
 a woman is not supposed to remain a longer 
 period than ten or twelve months. This was a 
 rule " more honoured in the breach than the 
 observance" in the old days before the Greneral 
 Prison at Perth assumed such gigantic and 
 magnific proportions. 
 
 To those old days when Jane Cameron was
 
 THE OLD TIMES. 12'9 
 
 prisoner there, and Captain Mullen was governor — 
 when Griasgow Prison was overcrowded, and the 
 new wing for male convicts had not attained com- 
 pletion — let us turn again. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 130 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE TWENTY DAYS. 
 
 This history would not have been written had 
 Jane Cameron been passed to a reformatory in 
 lieu of a prison. Many lives would have known 
 a different and less sad termination had children 
 younger even than the girl whose life I am 
 attempting been more frequently spared the con- 
 taminating influence of a gaol. A child of any 
 age was, probably still is, liable to the criminal 
 law of Scotland. A child of eighteen months 
 was convicted and sentenced to imprisonment, 
 along with its guilty mother, some years ago — 
 the child being registered in the prison books 
 as a convicted thief for life ! 
 
 For a career begun so early as Jane Cameron's,
 
 ASSOCIATION. 131 
 
 the marvel is that she should have escaped so 
 long. Children several years her junior found 
 admittance to the prison very frequently, and 
 it was even a late time for the girl to begin to 
 experience the effects of prison discipline. Had 
 the prison been less full at this period — had 
 Jane Cameron been placed alone, or even with 
 a less designing, hypocritical woman than the 
 one with whom she was doomed to associate, 
 the chaplain's words might have had their proper 
 effect, as I have already remarked in the pre- 
 ceding chapter. 
 
 This woman was a Griasgow thief — from the 
 New Vennel, as it afterwards appeared — a crafty, 
 hypocritical prisoner, who made great professions 
 of amendment, and was even supposed at that 
 time to be penitent for her many sins. Possibly 
 it was thought that the grave-faced woman, 
 ostensibly awaking to a sense of the error of 
 her ways, would be a fitting companion for Jane 
 Cameron, and teach a moral after a fashion. 
 Necessity compelled an associate at the period, 
 and Jane's companion was a woman whom we 
 will call Elizabeth Harber. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 ELIZABETH HAEBER. 
 
 This woman took but little notice of our 
 juvenile prisoner for the first day; on the second, 
 after the governor had visited the cell and made 
 some general remarks, she whispered — 
 
 " You needn't mind that man. He's a bad 'un." 
 
 Jane looked surprised at this sweeping criti- 
 cism upon one who" had impressed her^ and whose 
 visit had cast her into as much trepidation as 
 though it had been a royal one. 
 
 "He's a fine 'un to talk, my dear," said this 
 prisoner; "but it's easy to talk when one has 
 got a coat on his back, a large house to live 
 in, and goodness knows how many thousands 
 a-year to take care of us trodden-down critturs." 
 
 Prisoners have always exaggerated ideas of the 
 salaries of prison officers. 
 
 " You'll have the parson here soon, and you'll 
 hear how he 11 go on about your sins and your 
 ignorance. He's the worst character in the 
 prison, my dear." 
 
 And this woman proceeded deliberately and 
 systematically to lie away the character of a good 
 man, to invent a series of fabrications concerning 
 him, which Jane Cameron believed.
 
 HYPOCRISY. 133 
 
 Hence, there was no good done to this iin- 
 regenerate soul, waiting its chance of redemption 
 and baffled by cruel circumstances. The chaplain 
 of the prison came. The old woman received him 
 with every evidence of respect and deep humility, 
 feigned an interest in all his questions and 
 remarks to Jane, sighing with a profundity 
 that implied how she felt the force of them 
 also. 
 
 " My poor child, you appear to know nothing — 
 to have never known good from evil," was one 
 of the chaplain's remarks. 
 
 " She's just like an animal, sir," Elizabeth 
 Harber ventured to break in with. " I've been 
 trying to make her understand a bit myself 
 about the Bible, but she only stares." 
 
 The clergyman did his best, the old woman 
 her worst; and the woman — or the devil, who 
 prompted her — got the best of the battle. 
 
 The reverential curtsey which she adopted 
 upon the departure of the chaplain was followed 
 by a wry face and a spring at the door as it was 
 closed after him, the latter performance making- 
 Jane laugh.
 
 134 "BAD UNS. 
 
 "He's paid to talk all this stuff," she whis- 
 pered ; " if he wasn't paid, he w^ouldn't a come 
 nigh lis. It's as well to be ceevil to 'em all; but 
 I hate the lot : they're bad uns." 
 
 Every one was a " bad un." She demolished 
 the characters of the matron, the female w^arders, 
 the surgeon, the head warder, and the governor, 
 who occasionally came round with visitors. She 
 was a woman grateful for nothing. She had spent 
 a long life in crime, beginning at even an earlier 
 age than little Cameron; and when the oppor- 
 tunity presented, she amused her several com- 
 panions with recitals of the success she had had 
 in the profession, and the money she had made 
 and spent. 
 
 "Always pertend, my dear, to be growing 
 good," was her advice to Jane; "they think so 
 much more of you ; and it's so much better than 
 being obstrepolous, and getting bread and water 
 and handcuffs, and being shut in the dark cell 
 across the yard. And always be as delicate and 
 sickly as you can, and make yourself so if )^ou 
 can get a chance ; because you don't come in for 
 the oakum-pickin', or that nasty crank-machine
 
 USED TO PRISON. 135 
 
 they've got here. They tried hard labour with 
 me, but my health wouldn't stand it ! " 
 
 Words such as these — words akin to these — 
 were whispered all day long by this old woman, 
 who was fond of talking ; and Jane Cameron saw 
 hypocrisy and evil everywhere. 
 
 The prison did not terrify her now ; the disci- 
 pline was not particularly severe ; the dry oakum- 
 picking for a portion of every day was tedious, 
 and made her fingers ache, but she was a quick 
 girl, and rapidly improved at it; the cell was 
 comfortable ; she was not even in solitary ; 
 and if the food were on the lowest scale — she 
 being a "short-sentenced tuoman^^ — and she 
 could have eaten more very often, that was to be 
 reckoned amongst the minor ills of life to which 
 her incarceration had reduced her. 
 
 In the airing-cell, pacing up and down, or 
 standing underneath the little slanting board 
 which kept her from the wet when the rain came 
 on, she had leisure to think, not of her sins, 
 although they would trouble her a little, but of 
 John Ewan ; of Mary Loggie, a prisoner in the 
 same gaol, but whom she never met ; and of the
 
 136 LOW SPIEITS. 
 
 life in store for her when her twenty days were 
 over. 
 
 She had promised the chaplain to amend, to 
 keep to the cotton-spinning, and shun all bad 
 associates from the day she gained her liberty; 
 but it was a promise which intended nothing 
 more than to deceive the minister, who was hope- 
 ful of her, she being young and apparently im- 
 pressionable. She would never be a prisoner 
 again, she thought. She did not like prison, 
 although it was a better place than her home; 
 for she loved her liberty, the run of the streets, 
 the evil companions with whom her life had been 
 passed, and by whose bad example she was going 
 farther and farther away from hope of salvation 
 every day. 
 
 Jane became strangely dull after the first ten 
 days of her imprisonment. The monotony of 
 prison routine was depressing and horrible. To 
 a girl accustomed to run wild, this restraint to 
 which she was subjected preyed upon her, even 
 affected her health somewhat, robbed her of her 
 appetite, and stole away the colour from her 
 cheeks. When Harber told her one day that she
 
 WARNINGS. 137 
 
 was looking ill and ngly, she burst into tears. 
 The assertion alarmed her; she had begun to be 
 vain of her good looks, and she thought if they 
 deserted her she would lose " Cannie Jock," and 
 mar all her prospects in life. 
 
 " I am sae tired o' this place," she confessed. 
 
 " Ah," grunted the old woman, <' you'll have 
 to bear it again and again." 
 
 " I'll take care another time." 
 
 The old woman made the most doleful pro- 
 phecies, although she offered her what she con- 
 sidered the best advice. She understood every- 
 thing connected with criminal life, did Mrs. 
 Harber ; she knew everybody in Griasgow — those 
 who were lucky enough to be generally free, those 
 who were unlucky enough to be alwa3^s getting 
 into trouble. She knew the Loggies, and warned 
 Jane of the senior members, who were sneaking, 
 grasping people that robbed their own set, and 
 often curried favour with the police by betraying 
 them. She had known Jane's mother, who was 
 a poor whiskey-drinking fool ; and Jane's father, 
 who was an artful customer, and never stopped 
 long in one place — that was a weakness which
 
 138 A TALKATIVE PKISONER. 
 
 had been her own ruin, she whispered. She 
 knew "Cannie Jock," and remembered Cannie 
 Jock's brother before he was transported for 
 fourteen years — neither of them was worth 
 his salt, and the sooner Jane gave the first 
 "the go-by" the better for her. She only 
 wished that Jane was old enough to be her com- 
 panion, as they were going out of prison within 
 a few days of each other ; and she offered Jane 
 the address of a young friend of hers in the 
 Bridge-gate who was "just Jane's sort," and likely 
 to be of service to her. 
 
 Elizabeth Harber would whisper away half the 
 night, and keep Jane awake against her will — 
 Jane, who was heartily tired of her and her 
 maunderings. She thought that she would have 
 preferred a cell to herself in preference to this 
 woman's company, and considered it an extra 
 punishment to be so constantly bored by her 
 loquaciousness. 
 
 Elizabeth Harber's tongue was never still, and 
 as she slept badly, Jane suffered in consequence. 
 Jane would drop off to sleep with the woman 
 whispering huskily from her bed in the opposite
 
 A thief's creed. 139 
 
 corner, and wake up hours afterwards to hear her 
 still muttering lugubriously in the darkness. 
 
 "I thocht I should hae liked solitary muckle 
 better than that woman's gabble," she said, in 
 allusion to this anecdote ; " but I didna ken 
 what solitary was like then." 
 
 Jane Cameron preferred the visits of the 
 Scripture-reader to all other official visits. 
 
 " She was a kind lassie, and I should hae 
 luved her, and she would hae dune me gude, if it 
 hadna been for Harber's lees aboot her." 
 
 Harber would not allow that there was a scrap 
 of goodness in the world — everything was done 
 because it was paid for — no one in the world was 
 better than his fellow-men. This was consolatory 
 teaching to Jane Cameron, reconciled her to her 
 position in life, and strengthened her in all ill 
 resolves. It was satisfactory to hear, even from 
 Elizabeth Harber, that she was no worse than 
 other people, that other people in her position, 
 brought up as she had been, and exposed to the 
 same temptations, would have come, like her, to 
 inevitable harm. The chaplain had told her 
 some horrible tales about punishment for sin;
 
 140 LIBERTY. 
 
 tales that made her hold her breath with affright, 
 till the evil woman at her elbow assured her that 
 they were not true — that the Bible which he 
 preached from was not true — that there was 
 nothing to fear — and that following his advice 
 was an impossibility. 
 
 "We must live," commented Harber. "If 
 people will see us starve rather than give us 
 money, why, we must help ourselves. If anybody 
 would give you and me a hundred a-year and a 
 house to live in, why, we should be honest people, 
 and go to church every Sunday. We ain't good 
 characters, so we must starve or steal. I shall 
 steal, for one ! " 
 
 So the twenty days passed, and Jane Came- 
 ron's first experience of prison life was terrible 
 enough, and brought about no reformation. She 
 went out of the gaol making many promises, and 
 thinking not of them for one instant after she 
 was left free to pursue her way in that world, 
 which she thought made to be preyed upon 
 by her and her class. She went direct to the 
 Loggies', where she was well received, and where 
 a hundred questions were put to her as to prison
 
 A MISSING LOYEE. 141 
 
 life, and how she fared, and whom she saw in 
 Grlasgow G-aol. Mary was inquired for ; but Jane 
 could afford no information. And Jane asked in 
 her turn if any one knew what had become of 
 Jock Ewan ; and no one knew or cared. 
 
 " He dinna belang to us — he thinks he kens 
 too muckle for us/' said old Loggie, with whom 
 " Cannie Jock " was no favourite. Jane, however, 
 felt that half the joys of liberty were lost without 
 this scamp, and went wandering about the streets 
 in search of him. The close in which she had 
 been apprehended was visited, but Ewan had 
 changed his lodgings once more ; the friends she 
 met in the streets, and who were surprised to see 
 her out again — time flying so fast with the free ! 
 — gave her but little consolation, and now and 
 then wrung her heart with jealousy ; he was 
 " on " with the Frazer girls again, they thought — 
 at least, he was always with them now; but 
 perhaps it was merely to keep his spirits up 
 while Jennie was " in quod." He was about Grlas- 
 gow ; some one had seen him last night ; Jennie 
 doubtless would run across him soon enough. 
 
 Half indignant, half sorrowful, this part child
 
 142 
 
 part woman returned to the Loggies', and re- 
 mained there, sullen and thoughtful, for the rest of 
 the night. If Ewan wanted her he would know 
 the day of her release and come after her, she said ; 
 a remark in which Loggie coincided. During the 
 night Loggie settled money matters with Jane, 
 and Jane took her share of the wages of sin, her 
 fair share of the money stolen from the tourist in 
 the Salt-market whiskey-shop. 
 
 Jane was a good-tempered girl in her way, and 
 easily flattered into anything. When old faces 
 were round her it was like home again, and it 
 was thought that it would be but handsome on 
 her part to stand glasses round in commemoration 
 of her liberty, and of the sovereign or two which 
 Loggie had taken care of for her. So she stood 
 glasses round; and there was a great deal of 
 drinking and laughing, of swearing and obscenity, 
 in Loggie's close after that. They made fun of 
 Cameron's attachment to John Ewan, who was a 
 favourite with no one but Jane, and recommended 
 her to throw him over and get a better man at 
 once. And Jane sat and laughed and cried and 
 drank whiskey in the midst of the motley tribe
 
 SAD STATISTICS. 143 
 
 who surrounded her, went mad over the drink 
 with which they plied her, and spent nearly all 
 her money on the knaves who called her friend ; 
 and then raved about Jock Ewan, and how she 
 didn't care a rap for him, and could get on better, 
 fifty thousand times better, without him. 
 
 This was the second estate worse than the first, 
 and the good words of the chaplain were far- 
 away echoes now: from that hour she thought 
 no more about them. Why John Ewan had tired 
 of her, and behaved ungratefully to her, was 
 a matter of far greater concern even at that 
 hour, with the whiskey driving her wild, and 
 leading her tongue to cry out against him. This 
 is the life, horrible and revolting, not alone of 
 Jane Cameron or John Ewan, but of some two 
 hundred and forty thousand juvenile offenders 
 against Grod and man who are being trained to 
 crime 'professionally in the towns and cities of 
 the United Kingdom.* 
 
 Two hundred and forty thousand juvenile 
 thieves! — of volunteers in the devil's service. 
 
 * It was estimated some years since that the number of juve- 
 nile thieves was in excess of 240,000. I fear that there has been 
 no decrease in this frightful axmy.
 
 144 AN ARMY. 
 
 What can become of them ? What will becoDie 
 of these appalling numbers ? — who is to reform 
 them, preach to them, turn them from their 
 evil practices, strike at the evil which is born 
 with them, and which has taken deep root 
 before the first effort is made to lead them to 
 repentance ? 
 
 Is there not need to be ever stirring in the 
 good cause, ever watchful of these myriads, who 
 increase rather than decrease, whose slowness to 
 accept a good impression is awfully contrasted by 
 the rapidity with which a bad one is received ? 
 
 The army of workers in Grod's cause against 
 them is not small; will it attack their homes 
 more often — their crowded, sin-haunted homes, 
 where poverty and ignorance are such deadly 
 antagonists against it ?
 
 145 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MAKING IT UP WITH JOHN EWAN. 
 
 Jane Cameron awoke the next day with a 
 racking headache and a sense of despondency, 
 partly attributable to whiskey-drinking, partly to 
 John Ewan's desertion of her. 
 
 She did not know what to think of this John 
 Ewan ; she would have sacrificed all she had in 
 the world to have a long talk with him and give 
 him a bit of her mind — her full and energetic 
 opinion of his treatment of her. 
 
 " I wouldn't let any man serve me like that," 
 said an elder sister of the captive Mary to Jane ; 
 " I'd pay him out, if I waited a lifetime for it. 
 I'd split upon him when he least expected it, 
 and get him locked up for a year or two." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE MEETING. 
 
 Cameron had not thought of revenge before, 
 but the suggestion was not forgotten — in the days 
 ahead of her, the days still more dark and still 
 more impenetrable to light, she thought of this 
 as a retaliation for a wrong. He deserved every- 
 thing for behaving so shamefully to her, thought 
 this girl, who had scarcely reached her thirteenth 
 year. If he treated her like that, why should 
 she shrink from turning upon him ? 
 
 Still she was hopeful at the period that Jack 
 Ewan was not very much to blame; she had 
 only heard the story from Ewan's enemies — 
 people to whom Ewan had always told her 
 he objected. She resolved to spend all the next 
 day in searching for him — in finding out the 
 Frazers, for instance, and Ewan's " pals," those 
 whose faces were familiar to her, and whom 
 she had seen very often in company with this 
 mysterious lover of hers. 
 
 In the evening John Ewan was discovered in 
 the High Street Full of her wrongs, Cameron 
 rushed at him at once, and assailed him with a 
 hundred reproaches for not thinking of her last 
 night — for not coming to Loggies' after her.
 
 ''a sing-song." U7 
 
 Ewan professed to have made a mistake in his 
 calculations — he took a very elaborate and awful 
 oath to that effect — and Jane, somewhat pacified 
 at this energetic denial on his part, condescended 
 to listen to reason, and to allow him to explain 
 matters. This strange pair walked up and down 
 the High Street, explaining and arguing: there 
 was a mystery about the Frazer girls, or about 
 Ann Frazer in particular, which he did not satis- 
 factorily elucidate, although he took sundry fresh 
 oaths that Annie was a girl he didn't care " one 
 ha'p'orth for," and that there was no occasion 
 for Jane to be jealous about her. 
 
 They went into a whiskey-shop, where Jane 
 stood treat, and made it up over two glasses of 
 fire-water ; then they went together to a " sing- 
 song" that was being held that night down a 
 close in the Bridge-gate — a "sing-song" for the 
 benefit of a thief who had caught the typhus 
 fever, and was therefore thrown out of work. The 
 dark profession get up these benefits at times for 
 favourite members of the fraternity, and the sum 
 accumulated on behalf of the sick reprobate 
 serves to keep the wolf from the door — that is, 
 
 L 2
 
 348 MAKING IT UP. 
 
 the rent-man — for a few weeks. These "sing- 
 songs " are like everything appertaining to 
 the class of which I treat — obscene, immoral, 
 revoltinor in the extreme. The door is locked 
 against all strangers, the whiskey is produced in 
 a stone jug from a secret receptacle, the fire is 
 stirred if it be winter time, the gang cluster round 
 it, the collection is made before all the money 
 is spent, one man is chosen as chairman for the 
 occasion, and no one is expected to refuse his 
 contribution to the general entertainment. 
 
 Thieves, as a class, are very good singers — 
 albeit their choice of subjects is far from select. 
 The majority of songs are filthy enough, I am 
 told, although " Hurrah for the Eoad," and " Dick 
 Turpin," and sentimental songs, are indulged in 
 by those young men who have tenor voices. At 
 this " sing-song " Jane Cameron and John Ewan 
 became the best of friends again, swore eternal 
 fidelity, and made many promises and arrange- 
 ments for the future. 
 
 It was settled that Jane should leave the 
 Loggies at once, and that they should make 
 an effort, if possible, to rent a " house " to them-
 
 ELEEPINa HOUSE. U9 
 
 selves. Jane had money to pay a fortnight's 
 rent in advance, and that was a good beginning 
 at any time. 
 
 They began housekeeping then together — 
 renting a small room at the top of a five-storied 
 den in the Old Wynd, a place, notwithstanding 
 the number of closes that have been pulled down 
 by order of the Lord Dean of Guild, still full of 
 fever-haunted lodging-houses of the lowest de- 
 scription. Thieves have a partiality for the Old 
 Wynd still; it is narrow, dark, and intricate, and 
 the closes are so thick on either side that it is 
 difficult to follow a man, or guess into which 
 cavernous interior he has plunged away from his 
 pursuers. 
 
 Here these two lived, then, or tried to live — 
 for the " luck " which they were always expecting 
 did not make its appearance in any definite 
 shape. Everybody seemed better off than they, 
 doing better, and falling into better — that is, 
 more fortunate — channels. 
 
 Before Jane Cameron went to Glasgow Prison 
 she was unaware that she was doing wrong; 
 now she remembered once or twice the chaplain's
 
 150 NOT happy! 
 
 words, but not with any spasm of contrition for 
 the sad nature of her life. The parson was paid 
 to tell everybody so, Elizabeth Harber had in- 
 formed her ; doubtless this was true enough, she 
 thought, and sorry enough would the parson be 
 if everybody followed his advice, and left his 
 services no longer required — throwing kmi out 
 of work, in fact ! 
 
 The criminal class reasons in this fashion — 
 convicted felons always stand their ground when 
 pressed too much upon their past wickedness. 
 *' If it wasn't for us, where would the lot of ye 
 be ? " the female prisoner shrieks through the trap 
 at her matron in the turbulent or sullen moods 
 which afflict her at times. 
 
 It was a miserable, discontented life of theirs ; 
 Jane Cameron, with a " house " of her own, was 
 not happy. These thieves are never happy, 
 despite the money they obtain and the boast 
 some of them make of being their own masters. 
 They are always in fear of detection; they are 
 generally penniless — for the money they have 
 lightly gained is spent in the same fashion, 
 and before the next guilty spoil is obtained
 
 CONTBASTS. 151 
 
 they are on the brink of starvation. A few 
 days' feasting, drunkenness, and debauchery, and 
 then once more in distress, and often reduced 
 to the extremity of begging — thieving having 
 become so flat, stale, and unprofitable. 
 
 "I canna remember that I ever had a clear 
 happy day in a' my life," Jane Cameron said, many 
 years later. 
 
 *' Picking pockets, when you can find plenty of 
 money, and can get to the plays, is a very happy 
 life," was the assertion, however, of another thief, 
 closely questioned by one of our prison governors. 
 But the " plenty of money " is not always forth- 
 coming, and it is this grim hiatus in the career of 
 crime which depresses the guilty one, and makes 
 his lot wretched, ever bringing to the surface the 
 wish that he had been an honest man, living so- 
 berly and steadily all his days. 
 
 ' Still amongst so great a body there are all con- 
 ditions of thieves : there are thieves who even save 
 money, bank it, and provide for the rainy day 
 which is sure to come in its turn. But it may be 
 said as a rule — and it is consolatory to assert it — 
 that there is no life so utterly wretched, so full
 
 152 A MAEKED HOUSE. 
 
 of a false excitement that in its reaction preys 
 upon the brain of the guilty one, as the life of a 
 professional thief. 
 
 Jane Cameron found it necessary to take in 
 lodgers to her " house " — her house of eight feet 
 long by five wide — juvenile lodgers of her own 
 class and character, whose mothers had turned them 
 out of doors for being worse than themselves, per- 
 haps. This " house " in the Old Wjnad became 
 well known to the police ; a marked house, to be 
 intruded upon very frequently whenever robberies 
 or pilfering occurred which might be set down to 
 the depredations of juvenile hands. Given a 
 back door entered in the daytime by scaling a 
 yard wall, an article snatched from a shop counter, 
 a child robbed in the street by children not much 
 older than itself, and Cannie Jock's house was the 
 first to be intruded upon in search of evidence. 
 
 Cameron did not get back to the cotton-spin- 
 ning. When hands are in request, characters 
 are not looked into very closely, but Jane 
 Cameron's character was over-bad, and by some 
 means was now pretty generally known. 
 
 " They ca'ed me ane o' the warst characters in
 
 EWAN'S CAEEFULNESS. « 153 
 
 Glasgie/' she said, "afore I deserved it, when 
 there were hundreds worse than mysel." 
 
 Jane Cameron was close on fourteen years of 
 age, before she was a second time brought before 
 the notice of the Grlasgow bailies. In one sense 
 of the word she and Ewan had at least been lucky 
 in escaping the clutch of the police officers ; Ewan 
 in particular, who never picked pockets or en- 
 tered a house without being quite certain of 
 success. " He was over -cautious, and lost many 
 good chances," his comrades asserted when sum- 
 ming up his merits and demerits ; and this was 
 probably a true criticism, for Ewan was of a timid 
 nature as well as crafty, and objected strongly o 
 prison life. He knew that his next sentence 
 would be a long one, and that kept him wary of 
 any felonious indiscretion. 
 
 Jane Cameron, remembering Grlasgow Gaol, 
 was equally careful, much to Ewan's dissatisfac- 
 tion, who did not admire precaution in others. 
 Precaution on both sides kept their pockets 
 empty, and made the rent hard to pay ; it was 
 quite a struggle to live with this young couple. 
 All their earnings had been on a small scale
 
 154 DISCONTENT. 
 
 lately ; a gown abstracted from a rag-shop door, 
 a purse stolen with only a few shillings in it ; 
 petty pilferings which just kept them from star- 
 vation, and rendered John Ewan morose and dis- 
 contented. In prosperity this youth was pass- 
 able company, in adversity a demon ; but in all 
 cases an ungrateful scamp, with selfishness highly 
 developed. 
 
 " I ha' aften wandered what I fancied him for," 
 Cameron said ; " he was a sneak ; he did na care 
 for me, he went aften wi' ither girls ; naebody 
 liked Jock Ewan 'cept mysel." 
 
 Jane Cameron was mourning over the decadence 
 of this affection when she was fourteen years of 
 age ; it was the source of many quarrels between 
 them, ending in blows sometimes, for Jock Ewan 
 was free with his fists when his blood was up, and 
 exercised no gallantry towards the fair sex. 
 
 Jane Cameron bore his blows and remained 
 true to him ; obeyed his orders, stole for him ; 
 walked the streets at night in search of dupes 
 for him, did her best or her worst, and failed 
 to please him. I^rom all her accounts it is easy 
 to see that this lad was a tyrant and coward ;
 
 THE SECOND OFFENCE. 155 
 
 that every side of his character was despicable and 
 mean, which is a harsh criticism to pass even 
 upon a professional thief. 
 
 Once during the year which we have cursorily 
 noted, Jane was in great trouble, for he was ar- 
 rested on suspicion of being concerned in a theft 
 of wearing apparel ; but the case failed for want of 
 evidence, and Johnnie Ewan was dismissed, whilst 
 his accomplices in that case went to Grlasgow Gaol. 
 After that, and when Jane was over fourteen years 
 of age, she fell " into trouble " once more, as we 
 have already remarked. 
 
 The trouble was through Ewan, who taunted 
 her with doing nothing to keep house, who 
 threatened to leave her to shift for herself if she 
 got so lazy and flung all the work upon him, who 
 was extra hard upon her, the fire being out, the 
 cupboard empty, and money preternaturally 
 scarce. She was driven out of the Old Wynd to 
 earn money in some fashion, and she made an 
 attempt at pocket-picking in Argyle Street, was 
 discovered and carried off to the station-house. 
 
 This was her second offence against the law, 
 and Bailie Gr committed her to Grlasgow
 
 1.56 FRIENDSHIPS. 
 
 G-aol for sixty days with hard labour. Mary 
 Loggie, with whom she was still intimate, attended 
 the examination in the court, but John Ewan did 
 not appear this time. 
 
 Mary Loggie looked sadly after Cameron when 
 the sentence was passed ; she remembered her 
 own sixty days, and felt for her friend. Be- 
 tween this girl and Jane Cameron there really 
 existed a friendship, almost a love for each other ; 
 Jane's departure from the Loggie household had 
 not weakened it. 
 
 Such friendships are not rare between female 
 thieves. In the midst of much that is foul, false, 
 and unwomanl}^ there are existent affections which 
 would not put to the blush people who are not 
 like unto these poor sinners.
 
 157 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 THE SEPAEATE SYSTEM. 
 
 When Jane Cameron returned to Grlasgow Graol, 
 she was placed in a separate cell. The prison 
 was still over-full, the new wing was not com- 
 pleted, and officials were still praying for more 
 space. Still Jane Cameron was favoured with a 
 separate cell, which she thought would be a 
 change, having a lively remembrance of Mrs. 
 Harber's loquacity. For the first day of her 
 incarceration it was a change; the solitude 
 was pleasant after the stir and bustle of the 
 Wynd ; the clean, neat cell, with its rules, regu- 
 lations, and its Scripture texts upon the walls, 
 contrasted favourably with the stifling precincts 
 of that room, smaller than the cell which was to
 
 158 A NEW FEAR. 
 
 be her home for sixty days. She had left Jock 
 Ewan in anger, and there was a morbid satisfac- 
 tion in fancying that he would be sorry for it 
 now, and in imagining his discomfort at the 
 separation. But on the second day these 
 thoughts took a turn. The consciousness of 
 being away from him, and isolated from the 
 world for sixty days, began to disturb her. "WTiat 
 would he do? With whom would he consort 
 during the long separation ? He would find 
 some one else — one of those Frazers — and 
 throw her off: she was sure of it. And then 
 what was to become -of her ? 
 
 She thought of Ewan as her one hope and 
 comfort in the world, instead of the one hea\'y 
 stone that had been hung round her neck to 
 sink her deeper and deeper into guilt. 
 
 The separate system had its effect on Jane 
 Cameron. There was much time to think over 
 her oakum-picking, and in her practice at 
 the crank, to which she was set for a time, 
 until the doctor suddenly stopped it, after ask- 
 ing her several questions which startled her — 
 which added a new element to her future.
 
 THE CHAPLAIN. 159 
 
 and opened forth a new light that " dazed " 
 her. 
 
 She had had her suspicions before; but Dr. 
 
 Gr confirmed them. In six months she would 
 
 be a mother ! 
 
 This was a revelation at which she did not 
 know whether to laugh or cry. The doctor had 
 muttered "Poor child ! poor child !" as though it 
 were something to weep over ; and then the door 
 closed upon her, and she was left to pick the 
 hard lumps of rope, and think of it all, and won- 
 der what difference it would make. 
 
 There was a well of deep feeling inherent in 
 this girl; in the latter days it was plainly evi- 
 dent. In the days of which I am writing now, it 
 lay hidden; and the clergyman was the first to 
 see that, had " things been different," Jane 
 Cameron might have been a respectable woman 
 all her life. 
 
 Mr. E had better opportunities with Jane 
 
 than during her last imprisonment. There was 
 no evil agent to turn all his words to ridicule 
 directly his back was turned ; and though he- set 
 to work on a nature that had had more than a
 
 1 60 IMPRESSED. 
 
 year's further hardening in a criminal world, he 
 chanced to visit her at a time when her thouo:hts 
 were disturbed, and she was far from happy. By 
 degrees he learned all Cameron's history; from 
 the doctor he, heard the particulars of what 
 lay before her in the future, and he expatiated 
 on the facts with a kindness and gentleness that 
 touched her. 
 
 He did not spare her fears ; for to arouse the 
 fears of those more hardened than the rest is not 
 an unwise or a cruel process — anything to induce 
 them to reflect upon an estate better and purer 
 than their own. He asked her if she had ever 
 thought of death, or what was to become of her 
 after death. He spoke of her coming trial in a 
 few months, and whether, if it pleased God to 
 take her away at that time, she had ever 
 considered the awful result of passing away un- 
 regenerate and defiant. 
 
 Jane Cameron listened horror-stricken. After 
 he had left her, she thought that she should have 
 gone mad. He had not left her before he had 
 spoken of the mercy that is extended to sinners 
 that repent, but he had awakened in her a con-
 
 THE SCRIPTURE-READER. 161 
 
 sciousness of the enormity of her sins, and she 
 could not believe that there was any mercy to be 
 hoped for. The dread of dying in childbirth 
 blanched her cheeks and made her shudder with 
 fright. She had never thought of facing death, 
 or that it might come early, and leave her no 
 time for reflecting upon what a wicked woman 
 she had been. 
 
 She pined for the clerg3rman's next visit — that 
 he might give her more hope, and take the load 
 from her heart — that he might set her in the 
 right way, from which, she thought, she would 
 never depart again. The chaplain was absent the 
 next day and the next ; there were many duties 
 to fulfil and many prisoners to visit, but the 
 Scripture-reader was a good substitute, and, 
 before the sixty days had expired, Jane Cameron 
 learned to value her earnest teaching as highly as 
 the chaplain's. 
 
 " At first I thocht she could na ken sae muckle 
 as the gentleman who was there to pray and 
 talk to us, but she was a gude young woman and 
 comforted me mair. Grin I had been under 
 sentence of transportation then, I should hae 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 FLEETING IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 wholly altered, I felt sae great a change, and sae 
 sorry for a' my wickedness." 
 
 This is no common confession : the first meet- 
 ing with good Christians, with earnest and God- 
 fearing men and women, exercises a salutary 
 effect ; the ignorant and criminal are often 
 bewildered by the new truths, and touched by 
 the counsel that is proffered them. But the 
 sentence is for a short while, and the prisoner 
 goes back to the old haunts — there is no following 
 each beyond the prison, when the temptation 
 begins anew, and where each day the warning 
 becomes weaker and weaker, dying away at last like 
 a faint echo one may have heard in a dream. If 
 there were a Prisoners' Aid Society outside every 
 prison in the kingdom, what good might evolve, 
 and what a number of souls be saved from 
 destruction ! If the care over the prisoner's 
 regeneration could follow more frequently the 
 first faltering steps from the prison gate, there 
 would not be always the pressing need for new 
 gaols, or a constant outcry for new systems. 
 
 Eecommending a reformatory, a Magdalen, a 
 refuge, is of little avail ; the evil agent meets the
 
 A GOVERNMENT HOME. 163 
 
 good impulse on its way, and thwarts it on the 
 road to good. 
 
 It has been said, on official authority, that a 
 reformatory on a large scale, and under Grovern- 
 ment control, would not succeed — such is the 
 prisoners' antipathy to discipline and horror 
 of any institution of a G-overnment character. 
 The prisoners would look upon it as another gaol 
 foisted upon them when the liberty days came round 
 to which they were entitled. The man or woman 
 dead to all sense of shame and resolved to hurry 
 on in the same wicked career would think so, but 
 not those who have been impressed by good 
 words, and depart in hope of the chance of turning 
 to good in future. The feeling is transitory be- 
 cause the old life begins, the old companions return, 
 directly the captive is free ; but if there were at 
 once a home for these Pariahs, where the moral 
 teaching went on without the prison restraint, 
 where government could assume a new character, 
 and set aside that sternness and harshness without 
 which prison obedience is incompatible, what 
 would be the result? 
 
 I have seen as much of prison life as most
 
 164 EEFORMATORIES. 
 
 people ; it has been my lot to mingle with all 
 classes of female convicts, with the very worst of 
 the worst class, and I do not hesitate to assert 
 that a success undreamed of would follow the 
 institution of a large and well-conducted Grovern- 
 ment reformatory. But it must begin from the 
 beginning, with juvenile offenders especially — 
 with those on whom no long course of crime has 
 deadened every honest thought. It must not 
 begin with Millbank and Brixton women — with 
 women who have been sentenced half-a-dozen or 
 more times, and to whom a prison has nothing 
 terrible in it — it must be ever watchful for those 
 who have sinned from ignorance and neglect, and 
 who are affected by the light which good teachers 
 have let in upon their darkened way. And a 
 reformatory of this kind must be begun early, or 
 even that effort will fail, and the next estate be 
 worse than the present. It is a hard, but it is 
 an incontrovertible fact, that the criminal world 
 is hardening more and more — it is ossifying. 
 
 Our juvenile prisoners are more daring, more 
 depraved, more dead to all sense of shame at 
 their position than they have ever been.
 
 SHAMELESS. 165 
 
 The following remarks were made to the 
 author's faithful aide-de-camp in his search for 
 the truths connected with a portion of this story 
 — a search in dark places, where no woman could 
 have entered. The remarks are those of Super- 
 intendent List, of the Edinburgh constabulary, a 
 gentleman whose experience of criminal life in 
 England and Scotland extends over a long period 
 of years, and whose skill and judgment at his 
 present post have done so much for the proper 
 organization of the force which he now so ably 
 superintends : — 
 
 "I remember the time," Mr. List remarked, 
 " when those first sentenced to prison would cry, 
 go down on their knees, and wring their hands 
 with horror at the thoughts of confinement in a 
 gaol — when the very name of ^ prison ' would 
 affright them. Now a juvenile prisoner receives 
 his sentence with an unparalleled effrontery, and 
 marches off to his cell perfectly unmoved by 
 •the shame or the terror of his position." 
 
 These juvenile prisoners have in the aggregate 
 learned everything connected with the interior of
 
 166 COOL INQUIRIES. 
 
 a gaol long before their entrance there. There 
 is little to alarm them in the details; twenty, 
 thirty, or sixty days' board and lodging for 
 nothing ; and then the old life, taking care to be 
 a little more careful in " matters of business " 
 next time ! 
 
 One prisoner at Edinburgh Gaol, at his first in- 
 carceration, aroused almost a tumult in the ward 
 by his indignant demands to see the governor. 
 Where was the governor ? he must see him at once. 
 It was a matter of importance, and a business 
 that must be immediately attended to. Would 
 anybody be kind enough to call the governor 
 to him on the instant? The governor, Mr. 
 Smith — still the same able, energetic governor 
 of Edinburgh Prison, I am happy to assert — 
 being in the ward at the time, repaired to the 
 prisoner's cell to learn the reason for his excite- 
 ment and indignation. 
 
 " Look here, sir," was the explanation prof- 
 fered, " I find that in my cell is marked up a list 
 of the articles to which I am entitled here. I 
 have gone over the list very carefully, and am 
 one thing short ; now I demand to hioiv why I
 
 Cameron's promises. i67 
 
 am not supplied with that article as well as the 
 rest!" 
 
 This in an ao-orrieved tone and in an elevated 
 
 oO 
 
 voice — a guest at an hotel complaining to the 
 landlord of the absence of a bootjack, or a square 
 of Windsor in his soap-dish. 
 
 An amusing detail of prison life — a light 
 thread woven in the dark texture, yet having its 
 gloomy side also, when the coolness and hardness 
 of the prisoner are taken into consideration. In 
 the old times, afraid of the prison ; in the new, 
 tenacious of prison rights and privileges, and all 
 sense of fear annulled for ever ! 
 
 Jane Cameron, a figure from what I may term 
 the old times, spent her sixty days in Griasgow 
 Graol, and went away promising to repent from that 
 time forth — went away with a knowledge of 
 Grod's laws, and how grievously she had offended 
 against them. 
 
 How long the good thoughts remained with 
 her, the next chapter will prove.
 
 168 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Outside in the streets Mary Loggie was waiting 
 for her — ^waiting for her with all the news of what 
 had happened in her absence, and concerning 
 which Jane Cameron was naturally anxious. 
 . She w^as glad to see Mary's face, to shake her 
 by the hands, kiss her^ and even cry a little at 
 the sight of her. 
 
 " How pale ye hae got, Jeanie ! " Mary re- 
 marked ; " hae ye nae been weel ? " 
 
 "Weeleno." 
 
 " I thocht I 'd cam and wait for ye," said Mary. 
 
 " There 's a gude lassie." 
 
 Jane Cameron had been given the address of 
 the matron of an institute in Glasgow where it
 
 infidelity! 169 
 
 was likely help might be afforded her, but the 
 sight of Mary's appearance had disturbed her 
 already ; and the evidence of Mary having 
 thought of her, had affected her a little. She 
 thrust the address a little deeper into her pocket, 
 and asked how Jock was. 
 
 "Jock Ewan's nae warth askin' aboot," was 
 Mary's answer. 
 
 " I hae made up my mind to gie him up 
 althegither," said Jane; "but what's he been 
 doin' noo ? " 
 
 Mary burst forth with her budget of news on 
 the instant, and the indignant woman — Cameron 
 was a woman now — took the place of the 
 penitent. 
 
 Jock Ewan had been " carrying on " again ; he 
 had been very unlucky, and the police had been hard 
 upon him and worrying him. He had given up 
 the place in the Old Wynd, and gone to live with 
 the Frazer girls, and the Frazer boys who were 
 .in the Wynd also, it may be premised. Then he 
 and Annie Frazer had taken to keeping " house " 
 together, or rather, had gone partners in a house 
 with another vicious couple setting up in busi-
 
 170 DRINK. 
 
 ness — and Jennie Cameron might consider herself 
 thrown overboard from that time forth. 
 
 " I alwa' told ye to hae naethin' to do wi' the 
 loon ! " Mary Loggie cried. 
 
 Jane Cameron gave vent to an indignant out- 
 burst at this news. If she had resolved to decline 
 Johnnie Ew^an's acquaintanceship from that date, 
 still it was hard to be forestalled before she had 
 apprised him of her intention. In her indignation 
 she forgot all the resolutions she had formed, tore 
 up the address of the matron at the reformatory, 
 or whatever it was, for Jane had no recollection 
 at the time of her relation of the story ; she had 
 been ill-treated, and now she would " pay Ewan 
 out " for it. 
 
 Both 1:hese girls went into a whiskey-shop in 
 the Bridge-gate, and had a glass each on the 
 strength of their reunion, Jane had imbibed her 
 mother's taste for whiskey, and in excited moments 
 it was necessary to seek the consolation w^hich 
 that drink afforded. 
 
 They were drinking thus when old Loggie 
 sauntered in with another man, to whom he 
 had cogent reasons for standing treat, and the
 
 OLD QUARTERS. 171 
 
 greeting with Jane, and the congratulations at 
 seeing her face again, turned Jane's head, and made 
 her cry once more. Then came more whiskey, 
 and then Jane, crying afresh — more from drink 
 than contrition now — told them all how she was 
 going to amend, and how the parson had been 
 talking to her — at which there was plenty of 
 laughing, and Jane laughed too after a time, and 
 said, " it was only a spurt ! " 
 
 Loggie, who was in good spirits, invited Jane 
 home to the old place in the Close ; and here 
 more whiskey was produced from the stone jug she 
 had been so well acquainted with ; and then away 
 went the last glimmer of reason, and it was the old 
 story — the same melancholy denouement as had 
 characterized her first return from Glasgow Graol. 
 
 Jane took up her residence with the Loggies — 
 she did not intend to stop with them any longer 
 than she could turn herself round, she said — and 
 she commenced again that cent.-per-cent. credit 
 system by which it was supposed Loggie, senior, 
 was fast accumulating a fine fortune to himself. 
 
 Loggie senior's turn was coming to get into 
 trouble, however — there is a rule that knavery shall
 
 172 THE NEW VENNEL AGAIN. 
 
 not flourish uninterruptedly, no matter how careful 
 its votaries may be ; and three months from that 
 period the little family in Close No. 700 was 
 broken up and scattered. Both Loggie and his 
 wife " came to grief," as the phrase runs ; the de- 
 tectives were too keen for them in this instance, 
 and they were carried away to gaol ; and for good — 
 for good in all senses of the word — one infamous 
 den was broken up. 
 
 Jane Cameron had been three months with 
 them then — had taken to theft again — had, with 
 a cunning matured by experience, watched oppor- 
 tunities and escaped through the network of 
 danger in all instances. She was particularly 
 careful in thus stealing for a living ; she dreaded 
 more than ever going back to prison, not for the 
 sake of its punishment, but for the horror of its 
 isolation. She preferred to starve rather than to 
 steal boldly — her caution now would have gTeatly 
 irritated Jock Ewan. 
 
 By this time she had returned to the New 
 Vennel — the birthplace where her mother had 
 ill-treated her in the far-off days. She, Mary 
 Loggie, and another girl of the name of Clarkson,
 
 QUAKRELS. 173 
 
 took a " house " to themselves — i. e. a room of 
 narrow dimensions, as the reader understands by 
 this time — and tried every evil means of living 
 that suggested themselves. They were the decoy 
 members of an infamous gang in the same lodging- 
 house, and here the old life — worse than the old 
 life — went on. 
 
 Jane Cameron heard of Jock Ewan very often 
 — met him frequently in the streets, but main- 
 tained a rigid silence towards him. She was 
 nursing her hate, and it preyed upon her. She 
 saw the father of her unborn child, but he had 
 treated her ill ; he flaunted before her his " new 
 girl," and she sneered at Jane and her " airs," and 
 wondered what else she could expect. All Jane 
 Cameron's love for him vanished utterly away, 
 but her jealousy remained. 
 
 She had not been a month in the New Vennel 
 before Ewan — ever shifting his lodging on the 
 principle he had invariably adopted — also came 
 to the New Yennel with this woman, who was 
 three years Jane's senior, and one year the 
 senior of Ewan. This brought them all more 
 frequently into contact, led to quarrelling on
 
 174 EWAN DISAPPEARS. 
 
 the stairs, and threats of a variety of kinds to 
 " do " for each other when a chance should fall 
 in the way. The chance fell in Jane Cameron's 
 way, and she availed herself of it in this wise. 
 
 There had been a robbery in the Yennel — a 
 robbery that had not been treated lightly by the 
 victim, who had resisted, and who, escaping from 
 the den, had laid his report before the police, and 
 been so explicit with his details that Jock Ewan 
 became subject to suspicion. Ewan disappeared 
 before he could be called upon for an explanation, 
 and inquiries for him became more urgent in 
 consequence. 
 
 Ann Frazer, Jane's rival, was not concerned in 
 this crime, was not identified by the prosecutor, 
 she being absent from the Vennel at the time of 
 the commission of the robbery. To detract sus- 
 picion from Ewan's hiding-place, she remained at 
 her house in the Vennel, and was deaf to all per- 
 suasions of the police — feigned, when questioned 
 on the subject, the most perfect ignorance of 
 Ewan's whereabouts. 
 
 Jane and she met very frequently on the 
 common stair of the Crescent, and Ewan's ab-
 
 A DISPUTE. 175 
 
 sence from home rendered them no better 
 friends. Disputes will arise between women who 
 have an antipathy to each other, and have the 
 misfortune to live in the same house, and Ann 
 Frazer and Cameron formed no exception to the 
 rule. 
 
 After Ewan's absence, a fresh taunt very natu- 
 rally suggested itself to Jane. 
 
 "Ye '11 nae see Johnnie Ewan again — he'll 
 thraw ye aside as he did me, Ann." 
 
 " Not he — he's too fond o' me." 
 
 " He'll be aff oot o' Olasgie on the first chance, 
 and then whistle him bock, if ye can." 
 
 " I wudna whistle for any mon," was the 
 quick answer. 
 
 " P'raps ye ken where he be noo ? " 
 
 " Gin I did, I would not tell Jennie Cameron." 
 
 " Hoot awa wi' ye ! — Johnnie Ewan was always 
 too cannie to trust a woman wi' his secret." 
 
 " He'll trust me." 
 
 Ann Frazer's confident manner enraged Jane 
 still more, and led to fresh taunts, innuendoes, and 
 invectives, summarily cut short by Ann Frazer 
 slamming the door in Cameron's face.
 
 176 BOASTING. 
 
 Affairs continued thus for three or four days, 
 till the Saturday night, when these two young 
 women met again in the Salt-market. Saturday 
 night is a rare drinking-night in Grlasgow yet, and 
 was infinitely worse in the time of which I treat. 
 Everyone with a taste for drink — every poor 
 person to whom drink is an attraction, perhaps a 
 disease —treats himself or herself to a " wee drap " 
 of whiskey on that night in particular. Jane would 
 rather have gone without her supper than this 
 " wee drap " now — it was a stimulant, and kept 
 her spirits from wholly vanishing away. Ann 
 Frazer did not object to whiskey at any time, and 
 at that period was suspiciously wasteful of her 
 money. 
 
 They met at the bar of a drinking-house, and 
 Mary Loggie made a futile attempt to render 
 these women friends — an attempt which might 
 have succeeded, had not Ann been more than 
 usually boastful. 
 
 She was in luck's way — the old story about 
 "luck," which stands for successful crime — 
 she did not want to earn her own living, 
 she had a friend who would always earn that
 
 TAUNTED INTO BETRAYAL. 177 
 
 for her; he was clever enough to see his way and 
 blindfold other people. She could afford to stand 
 glasses round to drink that friend's health, if Jane 
 Cameron dared to drink it. 
 
 Grlasses were ordered round, as Jane was willing 
 to dare anything, and ' Cannie Jock's ' health was 
 drunk in neat whiskey. After that, the subject 
 of Master Ewan brought round the old grievance, 
 and the women were at high words again, much 
 to the annoyance of the landlord, who had been 
 threatened -vsT-th proceedings for harbouring 
 disorderly characters. Jane taunted Ann Frazer 
 with her superior knowledge — asserted that she 
 knew nothing of Ewan, and that he was too 
 cannie to trust his secret to any woman upon 
 earth, and Ann Frazer in a fit of ungovernable 
 fury disclosed the hiding-place of "her man," 
 and told her to go and look at him for herself — 
 she'd let her know that she was to be trusted with 
 a secret. 
 
 The quarrel was finished out in the Salt- 
 market, and the disputants would have concluded 
 the evening in the station-house had not friends 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 MS DARK THOUGHTS. 
 
 of both crowded round them and taken them dif- 
 ferent ways. 
 
 Jane Cameron found her way to the New 
 Vennel — dizzy with drink, she groped her way to 
 the top -room, and sat down on the big stone which 
 served for a footstool there. Mary Loggie had 
 not returned with her, and she was left to brood 
 over the new quarrel on the old subject. Her 
 wrongs, she assured the narrator afterwards, in 
 her own plain way, assumed a gigantic appearance 
 that night — kept her mind distracted and her 
 heart beating rapidly. All John Ewan's treachery 
 revived her wish for vengeance — his preference 
 for Ann Frazer — a woman she hated — exasperated 
 her beyond endurance. She had not drunk so 
 deeply as Ann Frazer that night, and her memory 
 was tenacious. She remembered the address of 
 Johnnie Ewan, and how it lay in her power to 
 serve him out for the shabby trick that he had 
 once played her. She had always sworn to pay 
 him out when the chance presented itself, and 
 there might never occur again the opportunity to 
 wreak her woman's vengeance. Down the dark 
 stairs into the crowded High Street she went
 
 A DETECTIVE OFFICEK. 179 
 
 again, irresolved what to do, whether to give him 
 up or not. She would walk about the streets and 
 think of it, and whilst thinking of it, and sobering 
 herself in the night-air, a detective officer well 
 known to her, stopped to exchange a few words. 
 
 The detectives invariably assume a friendly air 
 with the street wanderers — much information is 
 gained thereby, and nothing is lost by being civil. 
 They have their rough jokes for the men, their 
 compliments for the women, and their ears always 
 open to the chance remarks of both of them. 
 
 "Well, Jennie!" 
 
 « Well, Eobert ! " 
 
 " How are you to-night ? " 
 
 "Pretty well." 
 
 " Where's Cannie Jock ? What have you done 
 with him ? " was the next question, asked as a 
 joke this time, the detective being pretty certain 
 that Jane Cameron was not in the secret. 
 
 Jane resented his remark. 
 
 . " Ye dinna think I can tell you ? " 
 
 " To be sure not." 
 
 The detective officer remarked something
 
 180 CONFESSION. 
 
 strange in Jane's demeanour, and did his best to 
 elicit the truth. Had she drunk no whiskey- 
 he would not have succeeded, for she would 
 have been disposed to hold back the secret 
 acquired from her drunken rival ; but the 
 whiskey fed the revengeful feelings that were in 
 her, and the detective knew what strings to play 
 on, and played his best. " Dinna bring my name 
 in question — find it a 'oot by your ain sel, mon." 
 
 He assented to this, and still Jane hesitated, 
 till he told her of how Johnnie Ewan had been 
 ''making fun" of her all the time she was in 
 prison, even before she went to prison, when he 
 used to meet Ann Frazer on the sly. 
 
 Jane burst forth with the revelation which Ann 
 Frazer had made to her, in her angry desire to 
 prove how far she could be trusted — Ewan was 
 hiding in one of the closes in High Street : she 
 particularized which close — and the bloodhound 
 of the law started off on the track at once. 
 
 "When I had told him I leaned against 
 the street corner and cried," confessed Jane 
 Cameron. She ran down the street after him, 
 to ask him not to go in search of Johnnie. She
 
 KEMORSE. 181 
 
 went on to the close and hid about, in all the 
 open doorways, listening. 
 
 She thought of stealing up-stau-s and warning 
 Johnnie Ewan of the police; but she felt that 
 the police were already there, and it was out of 
 her power now. She waited in the close for the 
 result; presently she heard footsteps coming 
 down the common stair, and then the detective, 
 a constable, and Ewan emerged from the dark 
 cavity, and went slowly up the narrow passage 
 into the High Street — from High Street, to 
 Nelson Street, and the police station. Not 
 finding courage to proceed farther, Cameron 
 went back to the New Vennel to cry over what 
 she had done. 
 
 She felt that she did not hate John Ewan any 
 longer — that she would have died to set him 
 free again. 
 
 " Not that I luved him any mair, but that it 
 was so wicked a thing for me to do." 
 
 This was Cameron's idea of what was wicked. 
 
 When Mary Loggie came home, a little while 
 before Clarkson, she found Jane still grieving 
 over a something which she would not confess,
 
 182 EXIT EWAN. 
 
 but which she found out in due course, and then 
 asserted that it served Ewan right. 
 
 *' But I ne'er thocht sae," remarked Jane, " for 
 I was ne'er hicky again: everythin went clean 
 agin me after that — trooble upon trooble, as I 
 might hae expected." 
 
 Jane Cameron was superstitious — like most 
 ignorant people — and set down the misfortunes 
 which followed her, and for which she had but 
 herself to thank, to her meanness in disclosing 
 the secret of Jock Ewan's hiding-place. 
 
 And Jock Ewan, who departs from this history 
 of a fallen woman, in whom so little good is yet 
 apparent ? It is satisfactory, on the part of the 
 writer, to let him pass from these pages : I do not 
 think the reader will object to his retirement. 
 
 Jane Cameron saw him at his trial, I believe : 
 and then he vanished away, as thieves do vanish 
 at uncertain intervals : their lives being doomed 
 to sudden changes. And whether he returned to 
 Griasgow or not, after a sentence of seven years' 
 transportation, I have no means of informing 
 those readers who may be curious on the subject.
 
 183 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 HELPINa HANDS. 
 
 Jane Cameron never forgave herself that one bit 
 of treachery. Jealousy and drink brought it 
 about, and led her to betray Ewan ; but she 
 never reckoned upon those diseases as extenu- 
 ating circumstances. Cameron was an exception 
 to the rules of her order — for thieves seldom 
 betray each other — have, in theii' odd-fashioned 
 ideas of what is right, a horror of one bad 
 character betraying another to justice. There 
 is such a rule as " honour among thieves," and 
 the man or woman who breaks it is likely to 
 regret the act of betrayal. 
 
 Jane Cameron's secret was known to Mary 
 Loggie, and she kept it even from her fellow-
 
 184 HARD TIMES. 
 
 lodger, Clarkson. Ann Frazer did not guess at 
 the means by which Ewan had been appre- 
 hended: she had continued her drinking-bout 
 that night until the police had taken her to the 
 station-house, and in her sober moments, when 
 she was turned out of the police-cell, she heard 
 the news of Ewan's arrest with no consciousness 
 of having helped so materially to that unlooked- 
 for result. 
 
 She was a girl who did not grieve, however, 
 and took the ills that flesh is heir to with won- 
 derful composure ; she left the Vennel for a new 
 home, and Jane saw her, a few nights after 
 Ewan's sentence, in company with a friend of 
 Ewan's, who had offered her consolation for her 
 moroanatic widowhood. 
 
 Jane was now fast approaching her confine- 
 ment, and the " luck " was still against her — 
 went against her secretly and decisively, and 
 exposed her to trials such as, before or since, she 
 had never experienced. During the last month 
 she was almost too weak to get about the streets, 
 and in the streets was existence, but at home 
 only starvation. Clarkson left them to lodge
 
 DESPONDENT. 185 
 
 with a " pal," who had just served her time 
 at Grlasgow Prison, and thus there was the rent 
 to be made up by the two in lieu of three — 
 sevenpence-halfpenny each instead of five-pence 
 — a serious consideration when victims are scarce 
 and pockets are impenetrable, or people walk 
 suspiciously about with their hands in them. 
 Jane began again to be afraid of dying, and 
 thought once or twice of the chaplain's warning, 
 till thinking, in that home with those com- 
 panions around her, was too horrible ; and she 
 fancied that it would be better to die suddenly, 
 without thinking of it at all, than face the awful 
 truth and feel powerless to save herself. 
 
 " No good could come to her in the Vennel — 
 Mary Loggie would ha' laughed hersel to death, 
 if she had talked aboot her sins, and dying in 
 them. It was too late." 
 
 Not fifteen years of age, and she thought that 
 it was too late for repentance ! 
 
 . It must be put to the credit account of Mary 
 Loggie, that she remained by Jane's side in this 
 tribulation — that she might have bettered herself 
 by joining her sisters, who had been fortunate
 
 186 A "FREE CLOSE." 
 
 lately — and that she preferred to keep with 
 Cameron. She begged, borrowed, and stole for 
 their mutual support, when Jane was too ill to 
 leave the Vennel : she cooked, did the washing, 
 went on errands, found out an old woman who 
 was great in midwifery, and who undertook to see 
 Jane safely through her trouble. 
 
 But, before the trouble came, the rent-man 
 refused to let them remain any longer in the 
 Crescent, and these two girls took their departure, 
 and found refuge for a term, and at a price that 
 was agreed upon to be paid when funds were at 
 command, in the room of an Irish beggar-woman, 
 w^ho had been fortunate enough to secure a room 
 in a " free close," that had been deserted by its 
 landlord to evade an action for repairs. 
 
 Closes of this kind were more common ten or 
 fifteen years ago in Glasgow than they are at the 
 present time. A house would become so fearfully 
 dilapidated, and threaten so speedy a fall into 
 the narrow court, that it would be pronounced 
 dangerous by the Procurator Fiscal, and its pro- 
 prietor would in many cases prefer resigning the 
 property to the expense of rendering it habitable.
 
 TENANT-RIGHT. 187 
 
 A place thus deserted would be eagerly seized 
 upon b}^ the poorer classes, ever on the look-out for 
 a cheap home, and free quarters would be retained 
 until the house was condemned and pulled down, 
 or death took away the tenants who had been for- 
 tunate enough to secure a domicile there. In the 
 latter case, the news spread through the closes 
 adjacent that some one holding a free " house " in 
 a certain close or wjTid was not expected to live, 
 and quickly a crowd of expectants hung about the 
 court and on the common, stair, waiting for the 
 breath to pass from the body of the occupant, in 
 order to make a rush for admittance, or endea- 
 vouring to bribe the dying man or woman into 
 giving possession just a little while before ! The 
 first comer's rights were respected by the less for- 
 tunate, who made their way down stairs, trusting 
 for better luck next time it pleased Providence to 
 take one of these proprietors out of the wa}'". In 
 this close, with a beggar-woman for landlady, and 
 surrounded by Irish, who were generally the most 
 apt at securing these little freeholds, the unhappy 
 girl waited her time to give birtli to her child. 
 She gave no thought as to the baby at that period ;
 
 188 ADVICE. 
 
 she was sorely afraid of the result for herself; 
 clinging to life — that life of misery, shame and 
 guilt — with a tenacity natural enough in one so 
 young. 
 
 The beggar-woman was a comfort to her at this 
 period ; kept up her spirits by treating lightly the 
 matter altogether; was very kind to her also, as 
 the Irish always are, no matter of what class, or 
 however low may be their own estate. And Mary 
 Loggie, in the midst of all this, went in search of 
 food and money ; returning sometimes with both, 
 very often with neither. 
 
 "What's to become o' us?" whispered Jane 
 one night ; " I had better hae gan to the workus." 
 
 " Oh ! the workus ! — that's awfu' ! " answered 
 Mary, with a thief's horror of that institution, 
 " better anythin than that." 
 
 The beggar-woman thought that stealing some- 
 thing and getting into prison at once would 
 have been the best plan for Jane. Mary had 
 thought so, and hinted so before this ; but with 
 all its comforts for the poor and houseless, all its 
 temptations — even in a Scotch prison, where the 
 food is less than in the English — Jane shrank still
 
 CAMERON S BABY. 189 
 
 from prison life, and would have preferred starving 
 to coolly committing a crime for the purpose of 
 detection and incarceration. She struggled on till 
 her time came, and a child, in the midst of much 
 desolation and penury, was born. She thought 
 that she was going to die, and gave one wail over 
 the past crimes. " Oh ! I wish I had na been sae 
 wicked a' my life ! " But the midwife and the old 
 beggar-woman assured her that she was getting on 
 famously ; that in less than a fortnight she would 
 be about again. " I didna think muckle o' the 
 wee bairn the first nicht," she said, " but on the 
 second day I luved it awfully ! " 
 
 The mother's instinct gave birth to a love for 
 the child born under adverse circumstances, and 
 she clung to it in her weakness and trouble as to 
 the one hope that brightened her life. 
 
 It was a terrible effort to live in that free close ; 
 it was a poverty that even alarmed her who had 
 passed through several degrees of penury in her 
 day. Once she was without food for twenty-four 
 hours, and she began to fear that she and her 
 baby must die of starvation in that great and 
 wealthy city.
 
 190 "PLAYING THE LADY." 
 
 But the Irish who thronged that unhealthy 
 dwelling-place knew her condition, and did their 
 best for her. They were principally beggars, with 
 a sparse sprinkling of thieves, who preferred 
 living at as cheap a rate as possible; and the 
 feminine portion, callous as they naturally were, 
 felt their womanly sympathies aroused by the 
 young girl's miserable position. 
 
 They came up to her room, where she lay on 
 the shavings in a corner with her baby, and talked 
 to her, and bade her be cheerful, for she'd get 
 strong enough presently. They pitied her posi- 
 tion, and ignored the shame of it, and did their 
 best to support her by their humble contributions. 
 One woman would bring a bit of fish from her 
 own hardly-earned dinner; another had a little 
 milk to offer her in a tea-cup ; and the old beg- 
 gar-woman was prolific with dry crusts, which she 
 had accumulated in a long day's round. Still 
 Jane did not get strong very rapidly ; at the end 
 of a fortnight she felt still miserably weak, al- 
 though she made an effort to sit up in her corner 
 for a few hours a day. The Irish denizens could 
 not understand her '* playing the lady " so long ;
 
 WANT OF SYMPATHY. 191 
 
 a fortnight with them was a return to the old 
 strength and the old work, and they were disap- 
 pointed in the little progress manifested by the 
 young mother. The child itself was very weak, 
 sickly, and querulous : it was fighting hard for the 
 life which had been given it, but it was an uphill 
 journey, and the child's breath was scant. 
 
 Jane had learnt to love it now very passionately : 
 it was the first thing which she had had to love — 
 the vagabond Ewan excepted — and her fears that 
 she should lose it made her fret, 
 
 Mary Loggie, who sat by her, who was her 
 nurse, and who relieved guard by nursing Jane's 
 little boy, gave her much attention, but very little 
 sympathy. She was a woman of the world, who 
 could not understand for what reason Jane wanted 
 the child to live. 
 
 "I'm thinkin' ye'll find it an awfu' trooble," 
 she would say, " a pull upon ye, that'll be vera 
 hard to manage. What'U ye do wi' the bairn 
 when ye get Strang ?" 
 
 " \Miat do ither folk do ? " inquired Jane. 
 
 "They're na like ye; not so young, not sae 
 puir, not sae lanelie, Jennie."
 
 192 STILL WEAK. 
 
 "That's true." 
 
 "And I'm thinkin' that it would na be sae 
 terrible if it deed, but just the vera best thing 
 that could happen to it." 
 
 ^^ Oh ! dinna gae an like that, Mary." 
 
 Mary might have been right, for what was to 
 become of this child, save to be ranked as one 
 more in a sinful crowd ? but it was a stern 
 philosophy which chilled Jane Cameron, and to 
 which she would not listen. Jane would not 
 consider the future — what was to become of the 
 child, or how was she to support it? She con- 
 sidered nothing but her love for it, and the com- 
 fort that it was to her, nestling to her side, and 
 making her feel not entirely alone in the world. 
 
 What Mary Loggie said chilled her blood, but 
 made her love the child the more ; and when the 
 beggar-woman followed Mary's example, and was 
 of the same opinion as Mary, Jane cried, because 
 they were all against her, and had " ne'er had a 
 gude word for the wee thing." 
 
 Jane was not well in three weeks ; at the end of 
 a month, she could only walk feebly up and down 
 the room. She descended once with her baby in
 
 MART S ABSENCE. 193 
 
 her arms into the narrow court or close for " a 
 breath of air " — such air as might be obtained in 
 that place, where the houses were three feet apart 
 and five stories high— and it seemed almost death 
 to her to climb all the stairs back again to her 
 lair. 
 
 Still she must get on now — she was deeply in 
 debt, and tiring out the patience of those who 
 had been kind to her — and she made an effort 
 every day, and would not give way again ! She 
 was beginning to consider herself strong, when 
 Mary Loggie, who had been absent all day, 
 entered not an appearance in the evening. Mary 
 Loggie kept very fair hours — could not do mth- 
 out her " bit of sleep," she had always said ; and 
 when it came to three and four in the morning, 
 her absence alarmed Jane, wtio had gro\vn very 
 thoughtful and nervous lately. 
 
 " I'll gae down to the police office," Jane said 
 at last. 
 
 The old woman huddled up in the corner 
 bade her be still for a witless fool, and went to 
 sleef) again, muttering that Mary Loggie was all 
 right ; but Jane was of a restless disposition, and 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 THE POLICE-STATION. 
 
 more than commonly anxious that night about 
 her " pal," who had been faithful to her through- 
 out her illness. She felt sure that Mary had 
 fallen into trouble again — there were a hundred 
 reasons for her absence ; but in her nervousness, 
 she fixed upon that one which would affect her 
 most of all at that time. 
 
 Too restless and excited to sleep, she rose, 
 caught her baby to her breast, covered it with 
 the shawl, and then went out barefooted and 
 scantily clad into the High Street, and across the 
 High Street to the police-station that she knew so 
 well. 
 
 " I kenned what had happened before I put a 
 question to 'em," she said ; " some ane must hae 
 told me in my dreams aboot her." 
 
 Into the lighted office, and looking across the 
 counter at the clerks who were always at work 
 there — at all hours of the day and night, booking 
 charges, registering articles found in the pos- 
 session of the arrested one, entering in their 
 unwieldy books reports of new cases brought in 
 by the night detectives, who had been scouring 
 the streets in search of information. The clock
 
 195 
 
 ticked noisily, the pens were travelling rapidly 
 over the paper, a reporter of one of the Griasgow 
 journals was waiting for the latest news before 
 "going to press," and sleeping soundly during 
 the interim. 
 
 " If you please, sir, is Mary Loggie here ? " 
 
 ^' What name?" 
 
 " Mary Loggie." 
 
 The clerk on duty there to reply to questions 
 of this character, turned slowly over a leaf of his 
 book. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " WTiat's the charge, sir ? " 
 
 ^^ Pocket-picking." 
 
 Jane Cameron went slowly out of the station- 
 house, holding her baby tightly to her breast. 
 She was now friendless in the world, and the law 
 would be hard upon Mary Loggie this time. 
 
 What was to become of her now ? 
 
 o2
 
 196 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Mary Loggie was tried at a higher court for her 
 new offence, which, aggravated by previous con- 
 victions, was not leniently dealt with. Here had 
 been a bold attempt at robbery, and it merited a 
 punishment of a severe character. Mary Loggie 
 was sentenced by the sheriffs to twelve months' 
 imprisonment. 
 
 Deprived of the assistance of Mary, gathering- 
 strength but slowly, and too weak yet awhile to 
 be ever on the watch for likely subjects to steal 
 from — she intended to steal again when she was 
 better off — still it was necessary to live. 
 
 She even began to think with less horror of 
 the workhouse, when the beggar-woman suggested
 
 A BEGGAE. 197 
 
 her own calling, as one that, at certain times 
 of the year, was sure to pay. 
 
 " You and your sick babby might turn in a 
 power of pence," she said ; " I should try it. 
 Make yourself look as miserable as you can, and 
 go in the crowded parts of G-lasgie. That babby's 
 worth a crown a week to one who knows how to 
 manage well." 
 
 Jane set forth on this errand, a deplorable 
 picture enough, and wandered as far as her 
 strength would permit. She was very weak still, 
 and could not follow up those who, tired by her 
 persistence, might relent, and give her money to 
 be quit of her ; but her appearance was vastly in 
 her favour, and many were touched by her des- 
 titute aspect. 
 
 '' WTiat a young mither ! " was the general 
 comment — "poor creature I" was often added by 
 those whose hearts were moved at her condition. 
 Jane returned home to the close with one shilling 
 and sixpence in her pocket, together with a pair 
 of shoes, which had been given her by a charitable 
 old lady in Frederick Street. 
 
 The address of the lady was learned by the old
 
 198 WEARIED. 
 
 Irishwoman, — the addresses of all who bestow 
 eleemosynary gifts on stragglers are circulated 
 amongst the numbers who make begging a well- 
 studied business — and the shoes, which, although 
 not new, were in good condition, were taken to 
 a wee pawnshop and disposed of for sixpence. 
 
 " What ! on the begging lay, Jennie ? " was the 
 comment of the first policeman who recognized 
 her in the streets. 
 
 " Is na beggin' better than stealin' ? " 
 
 " We dinna allow begging," answered the 
 officer ; but he was not hard with her, and affected 
 not to notice her avocation. He considered it 
 doubtless an improvement on her past career, and 
 so gave her a chance of succeeding in it, to the 
 best of her ability. 
 
 Jane was three weeks a beggar in the Grlasgow 
 streets, and then the monotony of the occupa- 
 tion wearied her, and the harsh rebuffs she ex- 
 perienced tried her temper as her strength came 
 round. Besides, being out in all weathers gave 
 her baby a cough, and begging, after all, was 
 arduous work, and to a thief given to snatch 
 at large sums of money, particularly wearisome.
 
 "THE BEGaAKS' HAUNT." 199 
 
 It suited the Irish — it suited those who were clever 
 at imposture, which she was not ; it suited people 
 who had been brought up to it, and clung to it as 
 to a profession which they loved. 
 
 A few of the beggars were thieves when an 
 opportunity presented itself; but they were 
 very careful, and would not risk a long sentence 
 in prison, for that ruined their trade and cut up 
 their " connection." The beggars of Grlasgow were 
 a saving class : one man, by feigning to be im- 
 becile, accumulated as much as 700^. before he 
 died on a bare floor, with his son in ignorance of 
 his father being worth a penny ! 
 
 In Jane Cameron's time, the beggars were 
 accustomed to meet together in a house in Wallace 
 Court, Grlasgow. The place was called '^^The 
 Beggars' Haunt," and was a frightful den to visit 
 in those days. Here, the work being over, the 
 beggar men and women would congregate, com- 
 pare notes, ask and give advice on various matters, 
 and wind up the evening by card-playing, dice- 
 throwing, and whiskey-drinking, accompanying 
 all three by an obscenity and blasphemy which 
 would have put thieves to the blush.
 
 200 ASHAMED OF HER NEW TRADE. 
 
 It is strange to assert here that Jane Cameron 
 grew ashamed of this life and these people. Their 
 manners horrified her ; their skill in imposture, 
 and their revolting methods of maiming and dis- 
 figuring themselves, were things to which she 
 never became accustomed ; the taunts of her old 
 companions weaned her gTadually from this new 
 pursuit. 
 
 There was nothing bold or daring in the life ; 
 and in a thiefs life the false excitement has a 
 certain amount of attraction. In this beggars' 
 haunt there was nothing but hypocrisy — hypo- 
 crisy of so rank a character, so sedulously followed 
 up, that there was no wholly shaking it off, even 
 in their orgies. One man, who was accustomed to 
 feign idiocy of a horrible description, became 
 three-fourths of an idiot at last, imposture being 
 a decadent, and preying on the minds of all 
 who practise it. 
 
 Jane went to the beggars' haunt once or tAvice, 
 but the feasting and revelry there were not to her 
 taste ; and when they wanted to buy her baby of 
 her, she gave them up for good. That was the 
 last feather on the camel's back, and disgusted her
 
 A CHANGE. 201 
 
 with the fraternity. The luhole thing ivas too loiv 
 for her, and she had lost caste by mixing with 
 these miserable wretches. 
 
 She gave them up, left the close and the Irish 
 beggar-woman who had been kind to her. She 
 was stronger now, and a chance presented itself 
 of sharing a home in a close with some new ''pals" 
 — setting up in business on an original principle, 
 which was to elude the clutch of the law for ever 
 afterwards.
 
 202 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 Jane Cameron plunged headlong into the old 
 life : she was strong enough to steal again, 
 when the baby would allow her — that is, when it 
 would suffer itself to be rocked to sleep and laid 
 in a corner of the room until her return. 
 
 This baby was a strange hinderance to her 
 guilty life — it was always in her way, but she 
 loved it the more for that reason. WTien it was ill 
 — and it was never well — it kept her within doors, 
 " minding house " for her pals' return, soothing, 
 hushing, and singing to it as young mothers who 
 have lived virtuously all their lives soothe, hush, 
 and sing to the children whom they idolize. 
 
 There was *^ rare fun " made, at times, about 
 Cameron's brat ; her new companions objected to
 
 THE CHILD. 203 
 
 children of all descriptions, and cursed the child 
 at night, when it woke up and refused to be 
 pacified. They were always persuading Jane to 
 leave it at home and come into the streets in 
 search of their prey without it ; and Jane, a girl 
 easily persuaded, would occasionally leave it in a 
 corner on its bed of rags, shavings, or straw, as 
 the case might be, and depart, returning home 
 at a late hour to find the close ringing with the 
 child's cries. Once upon her return, the child, to 
 her horror, was missing, and she dashed to the 
 next " den " to make inquiries, and found the 
 woman — as vile a character as any in Glasgow 
 — rocking the child to sleep in her arms. 
 
 " What are ye doin' wi' my bairn ? " shrieked 
 Jane, tearing it from the arms of its new nurse. 
 
 "It was dinging doun the hoose with its 
 skreeks," replied her neighbour, " and the man 
 doun stairs swore he'd come up an' cut its 
 throat, if it kept on sic a noise. And I could 
 na bear the wee thing's bleating mysel'." 
 
 " Ye're na richt to touch my bairn ! " 
 
 And this was Jane Cameron's return for a neigh- 
 bour's kindness ! She was jealous of her child
 
 204 DISSATISFACTION. 
 
 falling in love with a strange face, and preferring 
 the stranger to herself ; the kindness of comfort- 
 ing the little one in its fear, and for its mother's 
 loss, was thus rewarded by the mother's in- 
 gratitude. 
 
 There was an interchange of personalities on the 
 staircase, and then the door of each cell — for these 
 rooms in the close are nothing more or better 
 than ill-ventilated and ill-smelling cells — was 
 slammed, and Jane sat down to comfort her bairn. 
 
 She took the " bairn " out with her for several 
 nights in succession after that. She feared the 
 woman in the next " house " weaning the infant's 
 love away — she was not going to nurse her child 
 whilst her back was turned ! Jane's companions 
 objected to Jane's company when the child was 
 brought into the streets ; its voice spoiled busi- 
 ness by attracting too much attention, and they 
 heartily wished that it would die, and so an end 
 to it, and the maundering of a girl who might 
 have been useful to them, and who had been 
 always clever at picking pockets. 
 \ In all weathers, then, for the next week or two, 
 Jane wandered about the streets with the child
 
 A EECOGNITION. 205 
 
 under her shawl — she begged with it, stole with 
 it, went reeling home in a state of intoxication 
 with it, the mother's instinct holding it to her 
 breast, and saving it from slipping from her arms. 
 She and her companions quarrelled constantly 
 about the child ; one heartless wretch even sug- 
 gested the desertion of it, and one — half in jest, 
 half in earnest — thought that it might be easily 
 dropped into the Clyde from the Broomielaw, and 
 never a soul the wiser ! 
 
 " Poor people can't afford to keep children, and 
 be bothered with 'em — children weren't meant 
 for the like o' us." 
 
 In the Salt-market, one Saturday night, a figure 
 from the past took her by the arm, and stared 
 eagerly into her face. 
 « Jennie ! " 
 " Mither ! " 
 
 The woman who had deserted the child shook 
 her by the hand, and expressed her satisfaction at 
 seeing her. Jane, who had been alone in the 
 world so long, was as glad to see her mother, also, 
 as though their parting had been the most affec- 
 tionate and heartrending.
 
 206 INQUIRIES. 
 
 Without a friend she cared about then — Ewan a 
 traitor and in prison, Mary Loggie in prison too 
 — associating with a ''new lot " with whom she did 
 not agree, she was glad to alight upon her mother 
 in the bustle and turmoil of that ever-busy street. 
 
 " So ye're bock agin ? " 
 
 " Ay, and I've been lookin' for ye a' the nicht." 
 
 " Let us come and talk it over — where are ye 
 lodgin' ? " 
 
 Jane informed her. 
 
 " I dinna want a lot o' girls round me," said 
 her mother, who was particular about her com- 
 pany; "we'll lodge in anither close to-nicht. 
 What's that bundle?" 
 
 " My bairn ! " 
 
 " Ech — so ye're come to that already ! I thocht 
 ye'd gae wrang — what a trouble it maun be to ye ! " 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " Where's the father o' it ? " 
 
 " In prison for seven years." 
 
 " Gude Lord ! ye hae made a mess o' it, Jennie," 
 said the mother ; ^'puir lassie, it's hard. Come 
 and hae some whiskey before we gae any farther." 
 
 Into a whiskey-shop went mother and daughter —
 
 DESERTED. 207 
 
 struggled their way to the bar, whereat they stood 
 drinking, talking, and exchanging notes. " The 
 mither was different," commented Jane, at this 
 episode; "she talked to me like a woman, and 
 after a' I liked her a little. I was vera glad to 
 set een on her, though she had ne'er said a gude 
 word to me afore this time." 
 
 The mother had not been treated well by the 
 world since her sudden departure from the New 
 Vennel. The man who had accompanied her, and 
 with whom she had passed " off and on " so 
 many years of her life, had deserted her at last — 
 decamped to America with a girl young enough to 
 be his daughter, and without saying so much as 
 good-bye to her. She stood at the bar of the 
 whiskey-shop, and cursed the man who had de- 
 ceived her, till her energetic gestures made the 
 drinkers laugh who were near her. She had been 
 living in Perth, then in Aberdeen, since the time 
 when she might have got into trouble by staying 
 at Glasgow ; but the affair having blown over, and 
 the case not being likely to be raked up again, 
 she had chanced coming back to the old spot, 
 where she had always been able to get a living.
 
 208 OLD HAUNTS. 
 
 That is a singular fascination which brings the 
 criminal back to the old haunts : it is like a man's 
 love for his country, or his birthplace, and Scotch 
 women are particularly prone to the attraction — 
 in the prison, their hearts yearn for the towns or 
 cities where the crime was committed that brought 
 them to punishment — their reminiscences are of 
 those crowded spots ; all their many sorrows, their 
 trials, temptations and tribulations are thought of 
 as other people think of their pleasures and joys, 
 and when they are free again, they drift back to 
 the old haunts, at any expense, at any risk — back 
 once more to the vortex wherein every womanly 
 trait was whirled away years ago. Years of cap- 
 tivity do not wean the prisoner from her love of 
 the old " Guilt-Grarden ; " she is fond of talking 
 of it to the woman put in association with her, 
 and to dream of being free in the vennels, wynds, 
 and closes of " auld Grlasgie " or Edinbro' is a 
 happy dream, from which she curses the " quarter 
 to six bell " for arousing her. 
 
 Though, with her usual good fortune, she had 
 escaped captivity, Mrs. Cameron could not resist 
 returning to Grlasgow. She knew every turning
 
 THE OLD YENNEL. 209 
 
 of the old place, the name of every close, and the 
 place was home to her. Deserted by the man 
 with whom she had cohabited, she had wandered 
 about in a restless fashion, which impelled her as 
 it were to the city again ; she had even a wish to 
 meet this daughter of hers — she would be old 
 enough to be her companion now, and together, 
 perhaps, they might manage to work. She told 
 Jane this had been her thought, at least, and 
 Jane believed her, and took to her mother after 
 her usual impulsive manner. 
 
 The matter of the desertion was an old story, 
 and she did not dilate upon it, although everybody 
 had said, at the time, what a shame it was. The 
 man would not allow Jane to accompany them — 
 "he ne'er liked ye, Jennie, ye ken," and Ca- 
 meron, satisfied with the explanation, allowed 
 the subject to be dismissed. 
 
 There is a place called the Old Vennel, as well 
 as the New Vennel, in Grlasgow. They lie parallel 
 to , each other, separated by Grlasgow College and 
 Blackfriars Street. In the Old Vennel, by way 
 of a change, Mrs. Cameron and her daughter 
 took lodgings together ; were joined by one or 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 BEGINNING AFRESH. 
 
 two members of that innumerable gang of dis- 
 reputables infesting the low quarters of all towns. 
 
 The detectives, visiting all questionable locali- 
 ties, soon found Jane Cameron located with her 
 mother in the Old Vennel. The mother was re- 
 cognized by the police, but, as she had prejudged, 
 the affair had blown over, and that which would 
 ha^e been very difficult to prove at the time was 
 not likely to be rendered any clearer by the lapse 
 of years and absence of witnesses. The case was 
 alluded to, and Mrs. Cameron feigned entire ig- 
 norance of it in the most natural manner, which 
 might have deceived the police or not, according 
 to fancy. Mrs. Cameron, who was a conceited 
 woman, considered that she had "done them" 
 very nicely, but her daughter had her own 
 opinion on that matter. She had had great expe- 
 rience of the detectives, and knew that they 
 were not likely to be easily deceived. In the 
 sharp eyes of those gentlemen she could read that 
 their new " house " was already marked, and that 
 calls were likely to be frequent there. 
 
 They began business carefully — mother, and 
 daughter, and friends — the old cruel business of
 
 SOLDIERS. 211 
 
 preying upon honest folk, robbing and maltreating 
 them. Jane could leave her baby at home for 
 her mother to mind, and be free to flaunt the 
 streets now, watchful of the folly which might be 
 misled and tempted away. 
 
 " It's the safest plan — much safer than pocket- 
 pickinV' remarked Mrs. Cameron. '' If ye had 
 alwa followed it, ye would na hae been to prison 
 twice, I reckon." 
 
 We need not dwell on the details of this fresh 
 lease of crime. The reader can easily imagine 
 what this life was — how much deeper it submerged 
 Jane Cameron. 
 
 I dwell upon this phase of her existence 
 in order to call attention to a fact confessed by 
 Cameron, and which, for all I know to the 
 contrary, may exist still, and might, by a little 
 care, be remedied. 
 
 At the back of the Old Vennei runs a street 
 called Hunter Street, in which is the barrack- 
 wall dividing the barracks and grounds from 
 the main thoroughfare. When Jane Cameron 
 lived in the Old Vennei, it was not an unusual 
 custom for some of the soldiers — the black 
 
 P 2
 
 212 A HINT. 
 
 sheep of the regiment, in most cases — to leave 
 their sleeping quarters, scale the walls, and 
 make for the low lodging-houses in the Vennels 
 adjacent. 
 
 One or two were accomplices of the women 
 infesting these quarters, and were in the habit 
 of inducing their companions — especially com- 
 panions who had lately seen their relations, 
 and had money to spend — to scale the walls with 
 them, and have a "night's spree" in the dens 
 adjacent to the place. These foolish soldiers 
 were encouraged by Mrs. Cameron; they were 
 the best of customers, and, although much 
 money might never be reckoned upon, yet they 
 were men who could never complain or confess to 
 so gross a breach of military discipline as escap- 
 ing from the barracks in the dead of the night to 
 the Vennels. 
 
 Whether this continues, is a matter I leave to the 
 consideration of the powers that be. The Vennels 
 are there still — swarming still with the dregs of 
 Glasgow life ; the barracks are there still, and 
 human nature has not undergone very startling 
 changes since the time I dwell upon in this 
 narrative.
 
 213 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 JANE CAMEKON S LOSS. 
 
 Sinking farther and farther away frora hope, 
 bearing the unenviable reputation of being one 
 of the worst girls in Glasgow, Jane Cameron's 
 devotion to her child did not undergo any dimi- 
 nution. 
 
 In the midst of her worst acts she remembered 
 it ; sober or intoxicated, she was always anxious to 
 weary her companions about it, and to ask those 
 who had been mothers themselves why it always 
 looked so ill, and got no stronger. 
 
 One evening, returning somewhat suddenly to 
 the Vennel, she discovered Mrs. Cameron in the 
 act of drugging the child to sleep, and she knocked 
 the spoon from her hand, with a frightful impre- 
 cation on the mother.
 
 214 
 
 " That's why my bairn dinDa get Strang — ye're 
 pisoning him ! " 
 
 '^ I'm sendin' him aff to sleep ; it's the best 
 thing for him," growled the mother. 
 
 '' Ye '11 na send him aff to sleep wi' those things!" 
 said Jane, and she took the babe from her mother's 
 arms, sat down by the fire, and refused to stir 
 again for the rest of the night. Then began the 
 first quarrel between mother and daughter. 
 Staying at home was losing a chance, and Mrs. 
 Cameron was a covetous woman, who never liked 
 a chance to slip. That very evening a man half 
 drunk, and with plenty of money in his pocket, 
 might be strolling up High Street, anxious for any 
 distraction — who knows ? Jane refused to go 
 out, or to trust the baby with her mother again. 
 She was of an obstinate nature in her way, and 
 when resolved upon a plan of action it was diffi- 
 cult to turn her. 
 
 She remained at home that day because her 
 spirit had been aroused; on the second day, because 
 her baby became very ill indeed. It was not the 
 cough, to which Jane was accustomed; it was not 
 the old weakness which had seized the child — it
 
 FEVER. 215 
 
 was something new, which utterly prostrated it. 
 She wished to send her mother for the doctor — a 
 suggestion which horrified Mrs. Cameron, who had 
 no faith in doctors, and no desire to pay money 
 to them; and when the mother refused to go, 
 Jane caught the baby up in her arms, and cover- 
 ing it with her shawl, hurried away in search of 
 assistance. 
 
 The first doctor was out, and she went on to 
 the second, who looked at the child, and then told 
 Jane to take it home at once — it ought not to 
 have been brought out in the night air. 
 
 " What's the matter with the boy ? " 
 
 " Fever." 
 
 "WTiat fever?" 
 
 " Scarlet fever." 
 
 " Oh ! good Grod, sir, say it winna kill him ! " 
 
 "The child's in a bad state — where do j^ou 
 live?" 
 
 " In the Old Vennel." 
 . *^ Oh, indeed ! " was the dry response. 
 
 " Ye'll come and see him ? " 
 
 "Well — yes, I'll come and see him."
 
 216 GETTING WORSE. 
 
 He ascertained the address from Jane, and the 
 next day came to see the child. Jane had taken 
 a fancy to this doctor, and would have no other 
 — seek no dispensary or hospital. He understood 
 the child's complaint, and she had the idea 
 that a doctor who was paid for his attendance, 
 must know more than one who would come for 
 nothing. 
 
 The mother quarrelled with her upon this 
 point also, and fresh words ensued, and threats of 
 separation were made on both sides. 
 
 " I wish I'd ne'er come back to ye," said the 
 mother. 
 
 " I msh ye had na," was the response. 
 
 Meanwhile, the baby grew worse, and the 
 doctor gave no hope of its amendment. The 
 fever was likely to spread also ; one of the lodgers 
 caught it of the child, and had to lie down 
 on the shavings, and rave at Jane and the baby 
 for bringing her into that trouble. 
 
 Jane nursed and cried over her child, taking 
 no heed of this vituperation ; if she could have 
 remembered the Lord's Prayer, which the Scrip-
 
 GIVEN UP. 217 
 
 ture-reader had taught her in G-lasgow Graol, she 
 would have attempted it — tried it, like a charm 
 which might have been lucky to her ! 
 
 " I thocht o' Jock Ewan again — and kenned all 
 at once that it was to serve me out for that," 
 said the superstitious woman ; *' I gave up then, 
 and was sure that the child would die." 
 
 She told her mother so, and was comforted 
 with the following remark : — 
 
 " Sae muckle the better ! " 
 
 " I think I hated the mither after that — I 
 ken that I had nae vera great luve for her 
 afore." 
 
 When the doctor finally gave the child up, 
 Jane went in search of another medical man, who 
 might give her more hope, and when the same 
 verdict was delivered, she returned to the Old 
 Vennel, and sat down to see the last of it. 
 
 The last of it came the next night — late the 
 next night, which was a Sunday, when there was 
 .more noise than usual in the flat, the denizens 
 having laid in whiskey for the day, and been em~ 
 ployed all day in drinking it. They were singing
 
 218 NOTHING LIKE WHISKEY. 
 
 ribald songs, quarrelling and fighting underneath 
 her, and on all sides of her, when this child of an 
 outcast mother drifted to heaven before it knew 
 aught of the temptations of earth. 
 
 '^ It was like the deevil in the hoose that 
 nicht — I shall ne'er forget it," said Jane. 
 
 When the child was dead, Jane laid it out 
 with her own hands, and then took comfort in 
 the whiskey which her mother proffered her by 
 way of solace. 
 
 " In trouble, there's nothing like whiskey !" is 
 the motto of the G-lasgow unfortunates.
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 UNSETTLED. 
 
 The little spark of a better nature visible in this 
 woman, died out with the child she had loved. 
 After that time, wholly bad — -wholly wretched and 
 depraved. 
 
 Her sorrow at the child's loss was great — ^was 
 even visible after the drink which she sought by 
 way of solace, and which rendered her grief more 
 extravagant. This demonstrative sorrow puzzled 
 and annoyed her contemporaries ; they could not 
 understand the principle on which she fretted, 
 and endeavoured for a while to reason her out of 
 it. Many of them had had children themselves, 
 and lost them ; had been glad to lose them, and 
 feel an incumbrance, expense, trouble, shaken
 
 220 INFANTICIDE. 
 
 off their shoulders — others had even tired of them 
 so utterly, and possessed so little of a mother's 
 feeling, or any human feeling, as to desert them, 
 even kill them. 
 
 This is a horrible truth, to which Jane Cameron 
 confessed ; but it is the whole truth, notwith- 
 standing. The cases of infanticide which shock us 
 in the pages of the public press are many, but the 
 cases which never find their way into the papers — 
 successful cases — are equal to, if not in excess of, 
 the crimes that have been brought to daylight. 
 
 A heartless woman soon tires of the child 
 which sin has brought into the world : she is 
 poor, and has her living to get — honest or dis- 
 honest — away from home. Ere the child is born, 
 she has dwelt on this, weighed the consequences, 
 and prepared her plans, and the life is taken 
 with but little compunction, and no one any the 
 wiser, perhaps. 
 
 "Better out o' the way," is the consolation 
 afforded to the conscience, and a little body is 
 found in the Clyde, or has died of suffocation in 
 the night, and the line is hard to draw between 
 accident and murder.
 
 EECEXESS. 221 
 
 Jane Cameron — very poor and a very bad cha- 
 racter, clinging to this child's memory as she had 
 clung heretofore to the child — was a paradox; 
 they reasoned with her, they laughed at her, they 
 " made game of her.'''' But for a while she con- 
 tinued to grieve, and her wickedness was of a 
 new character — something akin to despera- 
 tion. 
 
 She still walked the streets, and drank like no 
 other woman — it was all a temporary insanity, 
 to which her friends objected, and which led them 
 by degrees to drop her company. She was reck- 
 less, talked too much of matters that should have 
 been kept dark, and assumed too often a defiant 
 position, which was bad policy, and must in- 
 evitably turn the key upon her once more. In 
 these fits, Jane's room was better than her com- 
 pany ; and, if she only got herself into trouble, it 
 would not matter so much. 
 
 Mrs. Cameron argued and quarrelled with her 
 daughter to but little purpose. She scolded her, 
 blasphemed at her, shook her fist in her face, 
 when "the custom" dropped off; no one would 
 work with them whilst Jane's tongue ran so
 
 222 DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP. 
 
 glibly. But Jane was no longer a child, and 
 could take her own part now. 
 
 The baby had been dead a month when Jane 
 and her mother had their last quarrel — came to 
 blows upon the old subject of advice given and 
 contemptuously disregarded. 
 
 "I'll stand nane o' yer nansense now," cried 
 Jane ; " I 'm na the gal to be half starved and 
 half murdered any mair. Who sent for ye ?" 
 
 '* What wud ye hae been without me, ye 
 hussy?" 
 
 " Gret oot o' the hoose-place — this is my hoose, 
 and ye shall na stap any longer." 
 
 " The sooner I gae awa' the better." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then gang your ain gait, and see how soon 
 they'll lock ye up in the prison again." 
 
 Mrs. Cameron, indignant at her daughter's dis- 
 obedience and open rebellion, gathered the few 
 things that she possessed into a bundle, and left 
 Jane to the entire possession of her room in the 
 Old Vennel. 
 
 Jane enjoyed the change for a day or two ; then 
 the solitariness of her position became unen-
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 223 
 
 durable, and the expenses of keeping herself and 
 paying fifteen-pence a week with her own fugitive 
 earnings suggested reflection and a change of 
 tactics, if " luck " did not turn. Still there was a 
 morbid satisfaction in being entirely on her own 
 account — left to her own resources, with not a 
 single pal to work with or for her. It was a 
 change, and varied life a little. 
 
 With no one to quarrel, and with the respon- 
 sibility of a " house " on her hands, Jane Cameron 
 suddenly assumed a more quiet demeanour, and 
 worked for herself in a cooler and more practical 
 manner. She was " sent to Coventry " by her 
 associates in crime ; they were afraid of her, and 
 would not work with her. Her mother, whom she 
 met in the streets very frequently, would not 
 condescend to address a word to her, and Jane 
 flaunted by with her head very high in the air, 
 and made no effort to a renewal of acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 She grew tired of Grlasgow, felt herself too well 
 known there, and too unsettled, after all that had 
 happened, to remain. One morning she made up 
 her mind to proceed to Edinburgh and try her
 
 224 EDINBURGH. 
 
 fortunes in the sister city, and started suddenly 
 and without warning for the " modern Athens." 
 
 She had only a few shillings in her pocket — too 
 little capital in hand to afford the expense of a 
 railway journey, so she walked the distance bare- 
 foot, reaching Edinburgh in two days. This was 
 her first departure from her native town; she 
 tired of her change of quarters very rapidly. 
 
 In the closes of the old town she found almost 
 as many disreputable characters ; and, before the 
 night was over on which she had first arrived, she 
 had discovered a dancing " skeel," and patronized 
 it in the hope of making fresh acquaintances 
 there. Acquaintances were made ; she was intro- 
 duced to Edinburgh society, and began life there 
 in her old wicked fashion. She even obtained 
 work for awhile in a factory at the back of High 
 Street, but during this time she was away from all 
 that she considered home, and the Edinburgh 
 thieves were too fine for her — even jeered at her 
 accent ! Besides, the chances were against her 
 succeeding in life here; she had lost most of 
 her good looks, and it was no use wandering 
 about the new town, or attempting to lure the
 
 LOSING HEE CHANCES. 225 
 
 rich folk from Princes Street, across the bridges, 
 to the closes in the old. The old town was too 
 distinctly separated from the new, and they were 
 principally shopkeepers who were robbed in the 
 former. There were occasionally sailors from 
 Leith and Granton in the old town, but there 
 was too much competition for themi ; and it was 
 not like Glasgow, where ships came right to the 
 Broomielaw, and English, Spanish, and American 
 seamen, with their pockets full of bank-notes, 
 thronged the High Street and Salt-market, and 
 were to be picked up very frequently. Distance 
 lent enchantment to the view, and the native 
 city had its attractions now that she was away 
 from it. 
 
 She knew every turning, court, wynd, and close 
 in Glasgow; and Glasgow was home, where she 
 had been born, lived, and been imprisoned — 
 where her baby had died. She was losing a 
 chance in this place ; there was only one Glasgow 
 thief in all Edinburgh, and he had come there 
 " oiit of the way," and not as a matter of specula- 
 tion ; but there were plenty of Edinburgh thieves 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 
 
 in Grlasgow, which proved that the latter was the 
 better place. 
 
 She was unsettled and restless— that spirit 
 which preys upon all who live by crime urged 
 her away from her new home, before she had been 
 a month located there. It is this spirit which 
 renders the monotonous discipline of a prison so 
 hard to fight against. Perhaps it is a grave mis- 
 take which has lately been asserted^ that prisoners 
 do not care for prison. Its confinement has no 
 terrors, but its monotony has, and the comfort of 
 a prison is as nothing in the balance with the 
 horror of a life measured by the square and rule. 
 To the dissolute and dissatisfied it is a living 
 death; and old prison-bii'ds never get used to 
 prison life in their hearts, however lightly they 
 may affect to regard it. 
 
 The curse of unrest which follows a criminal 
 career and attends upon it, led Jane Cameron to 
 turn her back upon Edinburgh. 
 
 " I felt quite a happy woman again w^hen I 
 found mysel in the Salt-market, and saw the auld 
 shops aboot me." 
 
 Whether absence had made the heart grow
 
 "BETTEK luck. 227 
 
 fond, or greater confidence was placed in Jane, 
 seeing how long she had escaped the law, certain 
 it is that Jane's appearance was received with 
 satisfaction, and offers were made to take her 
 into partnership from more than one eligible 
 quarter. Jane accepted the best offer, and 
 worked with a will for the new gang — worked 
 on till she was fifteen-and-a-half years of age 
 without a fresh sentence — gaining what she called 
 a " prize " once or twice in that period — a 
 prize of stolen bank-notes, which allowed three 
 or four weeks' idleness, and a silk dress and 
 bonnet like a lady, for steam-boat travelling up 
 the Clyde on a Sunday — a matter which was 
 exciting the serious mind of Glasgow at that 
 period, and causing public meetings for and 
 against the measure. Mary Loggie came from 
 prison again unregenerate, and joined this new 
 gang — which was a " lucky " one, and envied by 
 those gangs less fortunate — and the old' friend- 
 ship was once more revived between them. 
 
 Jane Cameron only saw her for a few days : it 
 resembled a law of oscillation, which shut up one 
 
 q2
 
 228 ANOTHER SENTENCE. 
 
 and liberated the other : they were never moving 
 long together in the same groove. 
 
 Jane Cameron was again arrested on a charge 
 of robbery, and she and her male companions 
 went to a higher court on this occasion. Jane 
 Cameron expected a long sentence — twelve 
 months of it at least— but her heart sank and 
 her head swam when she was adjudged to suffer 
 imprisonment for two years. There were well- 
 known faces in the court, and she kept a brave 
 front till the last, departing even with an impu- 
 dent curtsey from the presence of her judge. 
 But in her cell she clasped her hands together, 
 and shuddered at the thoughts of two long years' 
 of prison life.
 
 229 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 OLD QUARTEKS. 
 
 Jane Cameron went back to Glasgow Prison 
 outwardly cool and philosopMcal. She had had 
 "her fling" — a longer lease of liberty than the 
 majority of her companions, and she forced 
 herself to believe that it was her tm*n, and so to 
 be put up with, amongst the contingencies of a 
 thief s life. 
 
 It was a dark prospect ahead of her, but she 
 must make the best of it. Some women whom 
 she knew made the worst of it, and went in raging 
 and defiant, resisted all authority, and spent half 
 their term in the dark cell, subsisting on bread 
 and water. Though she was a hasty woman, she 
 disliked dark cells, objected to bread and water,
 
 230 MAKING HER MIND UP. 
 
 and had therefore resolved always to be quiet 
 and orderly in her prison life. This rule, as she 
 became more desperate and violent, she did not 
 abide by, as I may have occasion to remark at a 
 later period in her memoirs. But at this time 
 Jane Cameron's behaviour was exemplary : she 
 was a quiet, orderly prisoner, obeying the rules 
 almost cheerfully, and doing her allotted share of 
 work in a brisk manner ; she never complained, 
 made no excuse to get to the infirmary, was civil 
 and respectful to her female warders, but was 
 very cold, hard, and inflexible for all that. 
 
 She had made up her mind not to be impressed 
 by the chaplain this time, not to be worried 
 about her fallen state any more — to try and 
 think of something else whilst he was talking to 
 her, if possible. Praying and preaching had onh^ 
 rendered her unhappy — done her no good, for she 
 had begun the old life, and was resolved to begin 
 it again directly the law lost its power to hold 
 her longer in its grasp. 
 
 I believe the Scotch law does not admit of a 
 sentence so long as two years being spent in 
 Griasgow Prison, but certain it is that Jane
 
 A HARD WOMAN. 231 
 
 Cameron was not removed from that place of 
 confinement during the whole period of her sen- 
 tence. Perth Prison was scarcely in existence 
 then, as the last stage of a female criminal's 
 career — the improvements which [have consti- 
 tuted that prison one of the finest buildings in 
 the United Kingdom had not been commenced, 
 I believe — and long - sentenced criminals were 
 passed over to the London prisons. 
 
 In all prisons, at that period, it is possible 
 that there was a dearth of space, and hence Jane 
 Cameron's long stay in the old battle-ground, on 
 which she had fought the Tempter once and 
 believed that she had beaten him, till the world 
 was faced again, and she gave way at the first 
 shock. 
 
 She did not play the hypocrite and profess 
 amendment : she listened to good advice, and 
 preserved a stoical demeanour; but there was 
 no power in chaplain. Scripture-reader, matron, 
 to touch her now. It was their duty to preach 
 and her duty to listen, and there the bargain 
 ended. She had hardened, and there was no 
 power to soften her.
 
 232 AN OLD FACE. 
 
 Kindness would have had its effect — not that 
 the officers were imkind ; far from it — but there 
 was no one to feel any particular interest in her 
 above that of the general body, or whose especial 
 task it became to study her strange character, or 
 endeavour to understand it. They were all too 
 busy in Glasgow Prison ; she received the usual 
 amount of attention, nothing more ; and there 
 was no one to whom she took a prisoner's fancy — 
 that strange fancy, which can be worked on for 
 much good. 
 
 She was an old prisoner now — hers was a 
 well-known face, and any signs of reformation 
 were not expected from her, A face that pe- 
 riodically appears there is the face of a "pro- 
 fessional," from whom nothing but obedience is 
 expected. There are a few set phrases about 
 sorrow at seeing that face again, and then the 
 prisoner proceeds with her duties, and no one 
 pays her any more attention than to see that she 
 is locked up, and does her work in a proper 
 manner. 
 
 Jane Cameron was a prisoner whose custody 
 involved no extra trouble upon her warders (I
 
 TIDY. 238 
 
 have already remarked that the officers are called 
 female warders, in lieu of matrons^ in the Scotch 
 prisons), and therefore a prisoner who worked 
 well. The monotony of her existence she fought 
 against ; she counted the days, even the hours of 
 her bondage, and felt that a certain amount of 
 weight was off her mind with every week which 
 dragged its slow length along. She registered the 
 week by little bits of tinsel on which shirt buttons 
 had been sewn, by the printed labels from cotton- 
 reels, and placed them under the prison window, 
 where they served for ornamentation of her cell, 
 and could be easily counted. Neglectful in her 
 home, she was scrupulously neat in her cell, which 
 was another seeming anomaly in her conduct 
 until she explained it. 
 
 " There was na keepin' a ' home ' in the Vennel 
 clean : I gave it up at ance, but a cell did luke 
 tidy, and was warth the trooble." 
 
 To her warder at Griasgow Prison she said once — 
 " Oh, for a place as big and clean as this for 
 fifteen-pence a week in Griasgie ! " 
 
 And again, which tells its own moral — 
 
 " If we all had a room to our ainsel' like this,
 
 234 A NEW COMPANION. 
 
 we should na get into half the trooble, and many 
 o' us would ne'er gae bad at a'." 
 
 She was proud of her cell, although she hated 
 it — although the filth and foul air of a room in the 
 Vennel would have been Paradise to her in com- 
 parison. The separate system was not invariably 
 carried out with her during the term of her im- 
 prisonment. The gaol became over-full again, and 
 finally another prisoner was placed in her cell — 
 one of the sly, bad sort, with whom notes could be 
 compared, and advice in matters nefarious given 
 and received. This prisoner was ten years the 
 senior of Jane, and serving out a less sentence for a 
 similar offence, which Jane Cameron, with abnor- 
 mal ideas of justice, thought one of the greatest 
 shames of which she had ever heard. 
 
 Jane had known her in Grlasofow — met her fre- 
 quently at all the usual haunts, but the woman had 
 looked upon Jane as too young for a companion, 
 and treated her always like a child. They had 
 not exchanged many words with each other before 
 prison life threw them together, and then their 
 friendship made rapid advances. 
 
 In the night-time they were accustomed to
 
 ANN EYAN. 235 
 
 whisper together the anecdotes of their past life, 
 their reminiscences of a criminal career. Jane's 
 experience staggered Miss Eyan, who had com- 
 menced late in life, her earlier years having been 
 spent as a domestic servant at an hotel in 
 Buchanan Street, where she was tempted to steal, 
 and where the life began which ends ever the 
 same way, with but few exceptions to the rule. 
 
 Ann Eyan's term of imprisonment expired 
 within a month of Jane's. It was agreed between 
 them that they should take a room together ; that 
 Jane, who departed first, should look out for her, 
 and that they would "pal in" and try for better luck 
 next time. Jane told her of Mary Loggie, whom she 
 knew by sight and name also, and how glad Mary 
 would be to join them, if she did not get into 
 trouble meanwhile. These two women speculated 
 on the brightness of their future, on their plans of 
 action — every night after they were supposed to be 
 asleep — on the hopes that lay in the future for them 
 both. Ann Eyan alluded more than once to Ame- 
 rica ; what an opening there was for people with 
 their wits about them across the Atlantic, and how 
 if they could save — that is, steal — enough money
 
 236 "down upon HER." 
 
 to pay their passages out, they would tui'n their 
 backs upon Griasgow, and go down the Clyde to 
 seek their fortune in the New World. They 
 talked so often of going to America, that it 
 became a settled project at last, and their specu- 
 lation took a wide range, and extended to their 
 plans of operation in New York, where they would 
 begin afresh ; and, if apprehended, why, sentence 
 would begin afresh too, and there would be no 
 years of imprisonment for " merely picking the 
 pocket of a man who was not wise enough to take 
 care of his money." 
 
 Jane Cameron was a woman who had the pri- 
 soner's usual grievance: she had not been sen- 
 tenced fairly, but had been treated with an extra 
 degree of harshness. Everybody had "been 
 down upon her." If it had been anybody else, 
 she would not have had half such a sentence; 
 but the bailie, the sheriff, the police — none of 
 them treated her fairly, she considered at that 
 time. It is always the misfortune of a prisoner 
 never to be sentenced by the particular magistrate 
 or judge for whom she has a preference, or, if tried 
 by her favourites, sentence is to be passed upon
 
 WRONaS ! 237 
 
 her at the very period when those favourites are 
 out of temper and in unmerciful moods. 
 
 These wolves of society have all their complaints 
 to make against the law ; they are never content 
 with the justice that has been meted out to them. 
 A catalogue of theii- grievances would form an 
 interesting volume. The world would be amazed 
 at the number of wrongs they who have warred 
 with it for life are ready to charge against it, and 
 what a stern belief they have in the truth of 
 their statements. In their own ideas they are an 
 injured and ill-used class, and hardly dealt with. 
 Society is much too severe upon them, and treats 
 them very unfairly, on the whole !
 
 238 
 
 CHAPTEK XXI. 
 
 A PRISON VISIT. 
 
 Jane Cameeon had been seven or eight months in 
 prison when she was surprised by the receipt of a 
 letter. She had learned to read a little by this 
 time, and to write after a certain fashion which 
 is peculiar to prisoners. Still she had not ad- 
 vanced so far in her education as to be able to 
 decipher the contents of an ill-written, ill-spelt 
 epistle. Her companion, who was a better 
 scholar than she, and had received a smattering 
 of decent education, with some difficulty made it 
 out for Jane. 
 
 " It's from your mother." ' 
 
 " My mither ! " 
 
 The letter had been opened, and, of course,
 
 A LETTER. 239 
 
 read by the authorities of the prison, then passed 
 through the trap in the door to Jane, with the 
 words, " Here's a letter for you, Cameron." 
 
 And the letter, which was quite an event in 
 this still life — this unnaturally still life of Jane 
 Cameron — what did it contain ? It was a strange 
 epistle, and puzzled Jane with its affection and 
 its religious element, until the thought sug- 
 gested itself that Mrs. Cameron had wiitten for 
 the authorities as well as for her daughter. 
 
 It began by hoping that her dear daughter was 
 well, as it left her at present, and by trusting that 
 she had awakened to the error of her ways, and 
 had had time given her to think of a better life. 
 It thanked Heaven that the writer was doinor 
 
 o 
 
 pretty well, and regretted her daughter's absence 
 very much, although she had no doubt that all 
 was for the best, and that the daughter was very 
 kindly treated. The mother wrote to say that 
 she was going abroad in a few weeks — that she 
 had saved money enough to buy a passage out for 
 America, and that she had heard from the rjood 
 gentleman who had been kind enough to write to 
 her and offer her the manas^ement of a little
 
 240 GOING ABROAD. 
 
 business, which he had started in New York. She 
 expressed a wish to see her daughter before she went 
 away, if Jane would ask permission of those au- 
 thorities who had been kind to her, and let her 
 know on what day she might be allowed to call 
 and see her at the prison. And she was her ever- 
 loving and affectionate mother, Jane Cameron. 
 
 This was the purport of the letter, the language 
 altered a little from the original text, and much 
 profanity in the mention of Scripture names 
 omitted. When Ann Eyan had mastered the 
 epistle, Jane stared vacantly at her, and finally 
 burst into a fit of laughter at the solemnity of 
 the maternal address. 
 
 " She's gane mad ! " 
 
 It was like madness at first sight, but the 
 " method " in it was apparent after a while. Jane 
 was touched then by her mother's wish to see her 
 before she went abroad ; strangely anxious to meet 
 that mother, and even thank her for this sudden 
 awakening of her interest. Jane Cameron's life 
 in prison had not been broken in upon by friendly 
 visits — gleams of light across the darkened way, 
 that are so dearly prized by those prisoners who
 
 AN EXPECTED YISIT. 241 
 
 have friends honest enough to gain an entry. 
 Jane seemed not to possess a friend in the world ; 
 Mary Loggie would have come had she not been 
 well known, and been debarred by her peculiar 
 profession, and there was no one else to take the 
 trouble to care about her. She was alone in the 
 world, and prison was a more monotonous sphere 
 to her than to the convicts by whom she was 
 surrounded. 
 
 But here was a break in her life, if they would 
 allow her mother to come in. Her mother bore 
 not the best of characters in the town, but she 
 had never been locked up in G-lasgow Prison, and 
 the law regarded her as an innocent woman. 
 Permission was granted to the dauojhter to see the 
 mother, and Jane Cameron was allowed to luvitc 
 her first letter to her mother, giving her all the 
 necessary information. 
 
 Jane Cameron was strangely excited about this 
 coming visit. Had Mrs. Cameron been always 
 the best and kindest of mothers, she could not 
 have felt a greater desire to see her. The day 
 appointed for the interview seemed as if it 
 would never come — it was like a holiday a long 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 way off to a school-girl. It was an odd sensation 
 to be waiting anxiously for the mother — to feel, 
 for the first time in her life, almost an affection 
 for her. She was grateful to her for writing, for 
 offering to pay her a visit, for affording her all 
 that pleasurable excitement which was new to her, 
 and made her confused and wandering. 
 
 Such was the influence of confinement upon Ca- 
 meron, that she, whose life had been the stormiest, 
 and who had mixed with the wildest and most 
 dissolute — who had been the most wild and disso- 
 lute of her sex herself — was now building on 
 a short interview with her mother behind an 
 iron grating. "I never could quite mak' it 
 oot what I wanted to see her for — why I should 
 care aboot seein' her. I think I must hae been 
 gangin' sillie as fast as I could gae." 
 
 The day of the interview came at last, and Jane 
 Cameron at a respectful distance, and with a 
 watchful auditor, was allowed to see Mrs. Cameron. 
 That lady must have been prospering lately, for 
 her appearance stupefied her daughter, she was so 
 well and brightly dressed. Mother and daughter 
 looked at each other, and were upon their guard
 
 OUTWARD BOUND. 243 
 
 concerning the past life — they spoke of the new 
 life for the former in New York, the city to which 
 Jane had thought of proceeding when there was 
 a chance of earning the passage-money. Mrs. 
 Cameron talked enigmatically about her business, 
 which, from a peculiar expression in her eyes, 
 Jane could read was akin to the old business 
 which had been carried on in the Vennel, &c. 
 
 "I'll write to Post Office, Griasgie, when I'm 
 settled," said the mother ; " if there's a chance for 
 ye, I'll tell ye o' it." 
 
 " Thankee," answered Jane. 
 
 " Me and the gude mon hae made up matters 
 again ; he finds he canna get on without me, and 
 sae he sends a freend to Griasgie to ask me to 
 come after him — a freend who was comin' this 
 wa' in a ship." 
 
 Jane wanted to learn her mother's New York 
 address, but the old lady avoided so leading a 
 question as long as possible; and then, when 
 pressed home, confessed to not knowing the 
 address yet awhile, which was without doubt a 
 falsehood. 
 
 r2
 
 244 DEPARTURE. 
 
 The twenty minutes, or the half hour — I am 
 not quite certain what is the length of time 
 allowed at Griasgow Prison — was up at last, and 
 Mrs. Cameron was informed of that fact. 
 
 " Well, gude bye, my dear. It's a lang journey 
 I'm ganging, and who knows whether I shall 
 e'er see ye agin ? If ye stap in Glasgie, tak' care 
 o' yersel'j Jennie." 
 
 Even with this depraved woman — the woman 
 who had never been kind to her — it was a cruel 
 parting. The circumstances around her at the 
 time made the parting hard, and, had the mother 
 been all that was good, amiable, and affectionate, 
 Jane Cameron could not have given way more, 
 or cried more bitterly. Mrs. Cameron was taken 
 aback by this burst of feeling ; she did not un- 
 derstand it, for she deserved it not, and she 
 remained staring at Jane, open-mouthed and 
 horror-stricken at this evidence of weakness in 
 her daughter, who had always been " such a 
 limb." 
 
 " What I cried for," was Jane's remark, " puz- 
 zled me afterwards as muckle as my mither." 
 In the night, when she thought it all over, and
 
 EESTLESS. 245 
 
 recalled the bewildered look on her mother's 
 countenance, she sat up in bed and laughed out- 
 right at the incident till she woke Ann Eyan, 
 who thought she had gone mad in the night. 
 
 Still the interview affected Cameron for a week 
 at least ; she could not forget it, or her mother's 
 desire to see her before she went away. It had 
 been a break in her prison thoughts, and it 
 rendered her for awhile restless and dissatisfied. 
 It was a task to settle down again, and she re- 
 gretted that she had not asked more than one pal 
 to write a letter about something, just to relieve 
 the feeling of loneliness which pressed upon her 
 prison hours. 
 
 The mother went away to New York; that part 
 of her story was removed from fiction at least. 
 From that time she passed away from the 
 daughter's sight completely. Jane never heard 
 from her again ; no letter was ever written to 
 Grlasgow that reached the hands of the daughter ; 
 whether she died on the passage out, or lives 
 still, or is immured in the New York prisons, 
 Jane has never had a possibility of ascertaining.
 
 246 A LAST PAETING. 
 
 It was their last parting on earth, and there 
 came a time when Jane Cameron felt grateful 
 that it had not been characterized by dark looks 
 or angry words. 
 
 " We parted freends, and I'm vera glad noo," 
 Jane said years afterwards.
 
 247 
 
 CHAPTEK XXII. 
 
 THE SECOND LETTEE. 
 
 Ann Etan was removed to another cell for reasons 
 which no one took the trouble to explain to Jane 
 Cameron, and the latter was left " in solitary " 
 once more. 
 
 This was a grave and a great loss to our heroine 
 — a change that was disheartening in the extreme. 
 The return to her own thoughts, her own com- 
 panionship, was horrible after this; she became 
 low-spirited, and even fretted after her " pal." 
 
 With all her hardness, stoicism, and dark 
 thoughts, Jane Cameron's mind must have been 
 naturally weak to have felt the loss of this new 
 companion so acutely. It was not that she en- 
 tertained an affection for Ann Eyan — for, when
 
 248 A MESSAGE. 
 
 they met afterwards in the Grlasgow streets, and 
 kept their promise of living together, they did 
 not agree very well, Eyan being conceited and opi- 
 nionated — but it was missing the face and voice 
 of a fellow-captive which rendered the place more 
 lonely and depressing. 
 
 She received a message from her once during 
 the time that they remained apart — a message 
 mysteriously flung through the open trap of her 
 door by a prisoner who had been taken from a 
 cell on special service, and found that oppor- 
 tunity to pass in the note that had been surrepti- 
 tiously written by Eyan. 
 
 The freemasonry amongst prisoners goes on 
 here as elsewhere whenever an occasion presents 
 itself, which is not often, where the system is 
 separate. 
 
 Jane read the letter and destroyed it. 
 
 " Don't forget to look out for us in the High 
 Street about September." 
 
 This was all that the message conveyed, and 
 Jane understood it, and was grateful to Eyan for 
 the trouble she had taken. 
 
 Cameron became so tired of her own society
 
 A SECOND LETTEE. 2^9 
 
 that she resolved to make an effort to reach the 
 infirmary, where company might be expected. 
 Bnt her health was well established, and, as it 
 was her first attempt at deception, she failed in 
 the effort, and was reprimanded by the doctor. 
 
 This angered her, and she felt for the first 
 time a strange temptation to break out — to 
 insult her officer, who was a quiet, taciturn girl, 
 to whom Jane Cameron had taken a dislike. But 
 she kept her temper during the whole of her 
 imprisonment at Glasgow. Once or twice it was 
 nearly overpowering her, but she had a terror of 
 the dark cell, and the bread-and-water diet 
 supplied to the refractory there, and it outlived 
 her Glasgow life at least. There came another 
 letter to break the monotony of her existence, 
 signed, *' Mary Canton," which perplexed her till 
 she read the whole of the epistle. 
 
 The letter was a strange missive, giving her 
 more surprising news than that which her mother 
 had startled her with, two or three months ago. 
 Mary Loggie was married, and, what was more, 
 married to a carpenter. There was no address 
 to the letter, for Mary had possibly wished to
 
 250 STARTLINa NEWS. 
 
 keep as mucli in the dark as possible, but it gave 
 the news plainly and truthfully, and Jane spelt 
 the letter over and over again, and wondered how it 
 had all come about, and for what reason a carpenter 
 had taken it into his head to marry Mary 
 Loggie. 
 
 Still there was the fact^ — Mary was married ! 
 She had written to her old companion in 
 evil, apprising her of the extraordinary news, 
 stating that she was proud of her husband, and 
 intended to make him a good wife, and never go 
 bad any more. She wrote to hope that Jane 
 Cameron would amend as she had done, and that 
 she would pardon her for saying that she gave 
 up all past acquaintances from that day forth. 
 She was very happy, and her husband was very 
 kind. 
 
 Jane did not know what to make of this story 
 during the remainder of her two years — minus 
 the time deducted from her sentence. For a 
 long while she did not believe it, and set it down 
 to a piece of jesting on Mary Loggie's part, " a 
 game " played off upon her and the prison author- 
 ities, who had read the letter before her.
 
 TEEASUEED EECOEDS. 251 
 
 Every day she read Mary's letter along with 
 her mother's ; that was part of her daily occupation. 
 A prisoner never tires of reading the letters that 
 have been sent her from the world without ; they 
 are records treasured with much care — very often 
 preserved during the whole term of sentence, and 
 carried out of prison as precious relics. I say 
 very often, for if the prisoner be a "refractory" — 
 a breaking-out woman — the letters are torn up 
 with the rest of destructible things, and are the 
 articles always mourned over when the sober hour 
 of reason returns. 
 
 *^ Oh ! my poor letters — what a fool I was to 
 go tearing thevi up ! " is the mournful cry over 
 the past fury which has deprived the prisoner of 
 one solace in captivity. 
 
 When she got away from prison, thought Jane, 
 she would find out all about it ; but the more she 
 reflected on the matter and studied it, the more 
 improbable it seemed that there could be anything 
 save a jest implied by Mary's missive. She 
 wished for liberty to solve the riddle — in her 
 prison cell, she gave it up. 
 
 And in that prison cell the hand-marks upon
 
 252 NEAKING FREEDOM. 
 
 the wall increased in number, the seasons went 
 their course — spring, summer, autumn, winter — 
 spring, and summer, and autumn again, and she 
 nearing freedom now, becoming strangely excited 
 about it, and wondering what G-lasgow streets 
 would be like, and who would be there to welcome 
 her back to them. 
 
 Oh I for the streets once more of dear auld 
 Griasgie !■ — the closes, wynds and vennels, the 
 dancing-school, the sing-song, the Salt-market, 
 the Bridge-gate on the Saturday night, and all 
 the restless life therein, from which she had been 
 immured. No better thoughts — no brighter 
 hopes than those ! The soul still in the darkness 
 - — and that darkness growing denser beyond the 
 prison cell, where she had heard Grod's Word, and 
 closed her heart against it.
 
 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MART LOGGIe's ROMANCE. 
 
 Back once more amongst the old companions. 
 Jane's first question was concerning Mary Loggie. 
 Had any one seen her lately? Had she been 
 playing a trick upon her ? Had any one heard 
 anything of a carpenter ? 
 
 There had been rumours flying about the closes 
 concerning Mary Loggie, and her withdrawal 
 from the old profession. No one had seen her 
 lately, and her sisters and brothers, who were still 
 in Griasgow, professed equal ignorance. Most of 
 the thieves had heard of her having married a 
 carpenter at the other end of the town ; but no 
 one believed that story. That was a "bit of 
 bounce " on Mary Loggie's part ; she had got
 
 254 BEGINNING AGAIN. 
 
 amongst a fresh lot across bridge — probably the 
 water-thieves — men who lurk about the river 
 in boats, or hang about the wharves, and see what 
 is to be picked up when sailors' backs are turned ; 
 or else Mary Loggie had talked over some drunken 
 fellow, and was keeping house for him for awhile, 
 until he tired of her, and kicked her into the street, 
 or she tired of him, and made off one fine night, 
 with the saleable contents of the establishment. 
 They should hear of her presently, and mean- 
 while they were not curious concerning her move- 
 ments ; she was a terrible liar at the best of 
 times. 
 
 Jane Cameron proceeded to business in a 
 cautious manner. Prison life was more objection- 
 able to her than to the majority of her contem- 
 poraries — she feared it more. She was losing a 
 chance, her '^ pals " told her ; but she had learned 
 caution in a hard school ; and the thief is always 
 careful for the first few weeks after a long 
 sentence. Jane Cameron was on her guard for 
 the first few months, and therefore lived hard. 
 
 Ann Ryan had come out of prison b}^ this time, 
 and had joined Jane and two others in a "house"
 
 RYAN. 255 
 
 in a close ; but Ann Eyan's " style " was some- 
 what objectionable, and they did not agree very 
 well. Ann Eyan, as already stated, was opinion- 
 ated, and was always proffering advice. 
 
 '^ She got the upper hand somehow," was Jane 
 Cameron's remark ; " try all we could, there was 
 na keeping her doon." 
 
 Ann Eyan had had a better education than 
 those she consorted with, and was proud of her 
 superiority. From all that I ever learned of 
 Cameron, this Eyan was a clever thief, of whom 
 the rest were jealous. 
 
 She was fond of disguises — shifting from silks 
 to rags, according to the locality which she 
 intended to patronize for the night, and seldom 
 returning home without some spoil unlawfully 
 acquired. 
 
 If she lured any one to the close, the drink was 
 brought out, the " sleepy stuff " was dropped into 
 the whiskey, the man was robbed, carried downa 
 stairs at a convenient hour, and left in the court, 
 or up the common stair of another close, and no 
 one heard any more of the result. 
 
 " He 'was sure to wake up dazed, and ne'er ken
 
 2o6 MART LOGGIE AGAIN. 
 
 where he had been taken to — it happens every 
 nicht in Grlasgie. Trooble did come out o' it no\Y 
 and then, not alwa'." 
 
 Trouble came out of it to Jane Cameron, as 
 will be presently seen — the greatest trouble of 
 her life, and yet the trouble that in its o^ti way, 
 and after some years, led to so much that gave a 
 turn to her character. 
 
 Jane Cameron had been out of prison three or 
 four months — it was the depth of winter, and she 
 was seventeen years of age, and looked five-and- 
 twenty — when one morning she met Mary Loggie 
 on Hutcheson's Bridge. Jane had strayed that 
 way in a listless fashion — she had had a headache 
 from deep drinking yesternight, and had ventured 
 forth in search of fresh air, when she came face to 
 face with the old friend. 
 
 The old friend was well but plainly dressed, and 
 there was so quiet and neiv a look upon her face, 
 that Jane did not recognize her until she had 
 passed her. When she had gone by, Jane felt a 
 little aggrieved at the " cut direct," and turned 
 and looked after her. Mary Loggie had increased 
 her pace, as though she had been afraid -of Jane
 
 " ALL TEUE, THEN ? " 257 
 
 following her ; but Cameron merely stood on the 
 pavement, and gazed at the receding figure of her 
 whom she had liked best in the world. At this 
 moment Mary Loggie looked over her shoulder, 
 paused, and then turned and came rapidly 
 back. 
 
 " Jennie ! " 
 
 "Mary!" 
 
 Jennie shook the outstretched hand of the past 
 friend, and continued to stare at the transfor- 
 mation before her — the Glasgow street-walker 
 and thief metamorphosed to the decently-clad, 
 quiet-looking woman. It was a mystery hard to 
 guess at, but Jane Cameron believed the story 
 that Mary Loggie had written to her then. 
 
 *' How ye're altered ! " she gasped. 
 
 " Ay. Coom this wa' ower the bridge, and let 
 me talk to ye a bit." 
 
 Jane crossed the bridge with Mary Loggie, and 
 the ci-devant pals turned to the left, towards the 
 Brpomielaw. 
 
 "It's a' true then, Mary?" 
 
 " That I'm married ? ay ! " 
 
 " How did ye manage it ? How was it that ye 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 CHANGE OF LIFE. 
 
 dropped into luck's way like that, and got a raal 
 honest man to marry ye ? " 
 
 " It was strange. I never deserved it, Jennie." 
 
 Somewhat exultingly, Mary Loggie told the 
 story — which, being a strange one, and illustrative 
 of a sudden turn from evil to good, may be worth 
 the dwelling upon in this place. 
 
 Whilst Jane Cameron was serving her time at 
 Grlasgow Prison, Mary Loggie had taken to cotton- 
 spinning again — hands had been wanted, the trade 
 of thieving had been slack, and Mary joined the 
 mill-hands. 
 
 Here she became acquainted with a poor little 
 factory girl — a delicate child, of ten or eleven 
 years of age. This child fainted away one day in 
 the mill, and, after recovering from her stupor, was 
 too ill to continue her work for the day. Feeling 
 still very faint, Mary accompanied the child to 
 her mother's house, whereat was lodging at that 
 period the carpenter who took a sudden fancy 
 to Mary. The carpenter was out of work and 
 at home, and a conversation ensued between 
 him and Mary before the latter went back to the 
 mill. He was a middle-aged Englishman, who
 
 ME. SIMMONS. 259 
 
 had recently crossed the Tweed in search of better 
 fortune, Mary ascertained ; and he had hoped, 
 in Grlasgow, to find some distant relatives, who, 
 however, had contrived to elude his search. 
 
 Mary was a native of Grlasgow, and might 
 recollect some one of the name — and Mary recol- 
 lected one or two people in the city who bore the 
 very name which he had been anxious to discover. 
 The next day he met her coming from the mill, and 
 told her that he had called to thank her for her in- 
 formation — that in G-orbals, whither Mary had sent 
 him, he had alighted upon one second cousin, who 
 was likely to find work for him in a week or two. 
 So the intimacy commenced, and Mr. Simmons, 
 the carpenter, began to cross Mary Loggie's 
 path with a suspicious frequency. Mary did not 
 understand it for a while ; he was a plain, matter- 
 of-fact man, who paid no compliments, and put 
 one or two awkward questions to Mary, that 
 were difficult to answer. One day he asked 
 her where she was living — how she managed to 
 live on the money earned at the cotton-mill. 
 Mary told him that she went shares in one room 
 down a close, and that she had no relations in 
 
 S 2
 
 200 MARY S CHANCE. 
 
 the world. When he informed her that he was a 
 widower, and had had one little child, who had 
 died before it was five years old, Mary began to 
 suspect that he had taken a fancy to her ; and 
 when he asked her one afternoon if she would go 
 to church with him next Sunday, she felt ready to 
 burst out crying, with a strange, new sense of 
 happiness. 
 
 It was all true ; a steady and industrious 
 man had taken to her, knowing nothing of her 
 guilty antecedents. There were no heroic quali- 
 ties in Mary Loggie — she was not courageous 
 enough to tell the truth, or afford even a glimpse 
 of the truth, when there was no longer any doubt 
 of Mr. Simmons's intentions. There was even a 
 concentrative selfishness in wishing to be his wife 
 at any hazard, and in chancing the denouement 
 which, whilst she remained in Glasgow, might 
 happen at any moment. Still she was an ignorant 
 girl, and the temptation was great. It was the 
 inducement of leading an honest life, becoming an 
 honest woman — and that was a new and strange 
 temptation, which was irresistible. She did not 
 think of blighting his life, only of changing her 
 own.
 
 MARRIAGE. 261 
 
 Let me add in her favour, that this man had 
 won her heart — that the honest middle-aged man 
 had flattered lier by his affection, and wrought a 
 revohition in every thought of hers. If she mar- 
 ried him, she felt certain that she could make 
 him happy, and settle down to his quiet home ; 
 and if he never found out the truth, she and he 
 would lead a very happy life together. 
 
 She w^as afraid to be seen at nio^ht in the Higrh 
 Street after that, lest he should meet her there 
 and see who were her associates. She gave up 
 stealing, and feigned illness, in order to keep 
 within doors — she took the first opportunity of 
 leaving the close in which she had been located, 
 and taking shelter with honest poverty by way of 
 a change. Every hour away from him was a sus- 
 pense ; every time she met him she expected that 
 he would tell her that he had discovered the truth, 
 and never wished to see her again. But he sus- 
 pected nothing ; he believed her story about being 
 alone in the world ; he took pity upon her deso- 
 lateness, and he asked her one day to be his wife. 
 
 Mary Loggie accepted him — married him, and 
 they took a room on the Gorbals side of Hutche-
 
 262 ONE FEAE. 
 
 son's Bridge, where they had lived ever since, and 
 where Mary Loggie would have been wholly 
 happy, had not the shadow of the one fear ever 
 beset her. 
 
 " I dinna cross the bridge mair aften than I 
 can help, Jane, for fear o' meetin the auld faces. 
 And I would gae twa miles oot o' my wa rather 
 than gae down High Street, " said INIary. 
 
 " Ye're sorry eco' to see me then, Mary ? " 
 
 '^ I'd rather see ye than any ane else. Ye will 
 na tell o' me ? " 
 
 « Na fa the wurld." 
 
 They remained talking together for some time, 
 and then Mary Loggie did a very foolish thing, 
 considering that she was afraid of the " auld ac- 
 quaintance" — of the byegones following her up 
 and denouncing her. She was proud of her new 
 position in life, and she had confidence in Jane 
 Cameron. Jane Cameron had been always her 
 friend, one in whom she could trust — she felt a 
 desire to take Jane home during her husband's 
 absence, and show her what a nice comfortable 
 room she had. 
 
 Just for once — if Jane would come, before they
 
 HOME TOGETHEK. 263 
 
 parted for ever ! Jane hesitated, more for INIary 
 Loggie's sake than her own ; but Mary pressed 
 the invitation upon her. There was nothing to 
 fear — her husband would not be home till one 
 o'clock ; so the friends turned back, crossed the 
 bridge, and went on to Mary Loggie's lodging.
 
 i64 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 mart's home. 
 
 Mes. Simmons, nee Loggie, rented apartments 
 in a small house at the back of Pelham Street. 
 She had put the Clyde between her and the old 
 haunts ; to live " over the water " was a,t least 
 some sort of security. 
 
 Mary, in her neatly-trimmed bonnet and decent 
 dress, was a strange contrast to the bare-headed, 
 loosely-clad companion at her side. Jane sug- 
 gested, as they walked along, that she was hardly 
 fit for her now, 
 
 " Hoot awa' — I'm na at hame wi' a bonnet on 
 yet, Jennie," she replied ; adding, " Here's the 
 hoose, and there's nane to meet us and speer 
 aboot ye."
 
 265 
 
 Mary opened the door with her key, and the 
 two old " pals " went upstairs to the room on the 
 first floor — a large room, forming " bedroom, 
 parlour and all '' — plainly furnished, but, in its 
 size and general appearance, a palace to the 
 astonished eyes of Cameron. 
 
 '' There, Jenny, is na that a bonnie hoose ?" 
 
 " It just be ! " replied Jane. 
 
 " Sit down and tak a good luke at it — luke at 
 the carpet, and the roses on the wall, lassie." 
 
 Jane sat down, rested her hands on her knees, 
 and looked round her very attentively. 
 
 " Faith, Mary, ye are a lucky girl," she gasped 
 at last. 
 
 " It's na like the Vennel." 
 
 '* Naethin' like it — naethin'. 
 
 Jane's description of this new " hoose," of her 
 feelings at the sight of it, of the envy that stole 
 into her heart and disturbed her equanimity, I 
 should have liked to set down in her own broad 
 Scotch accent — it affords an insight into that na- 
 tural character which adverse circumstances had 
 warped and distorted. 
 
 She felt as if she would have liked to have had
 
 266 CONGRATULATIONS. 
 
 a good cry at Mary's luck — then aggrieved that 
 Mary should have attained to such an eminence 
 above her, and been made an honest woman by 
 doing so little to deserve it. There was a lump 
 in her throat which she thought would suffo- 
 cate her, and her knees knocked together in a 
 strange manner that was altogether unaccount- 
 able. Here was the contrast between honesty 
 and vice, and she felt how far she had drifted 
 away from all that was good and praiseworthy, 
 and how past praying and hoping for she was ! 
 
 " I ne'er kenned how vera bad I was until 
 that day," she confessed ; " and what made me 
 feel sae savage for a week was, that Mary 
 Loggie had na deserved it." 
 
 Still Jane Cameron was not an envious girl, 
 and, the first pangs over, her evil temper sub- 
 sided, and she congratulated Mary, in her own 
 fashion, upon the rise in life for her. And 
 Mary, who had strangely altered for the better, 
 laughed and cried, told Jane of her fears lest 
 the truth should escape, and her husband turn 
 her out of doors, spoke of her love for this con- 
 fiding, hard-working, earnest man, whom she
 
 TIME FLIES. 267 
 
 was trying to deserve by a new and exemplary 
 life. 
 
 It was not a story of everyday occurrence — 
 the moral was at least a bad one for Jane 
 Cameron, who saw an old acquaintance raised 
 to the greatness of being a carpenter's wife 
 without an effort on her o^vn part. Eepentance 
 for the past came after the " good luck " — " any 
 ane might hae turned better in sic a hame," 
 added Cameron. 
 
 They spent a long while together ; it was to 
 be their last meeting, and Mary had a great 
 deal to tell her — of her fears in particular, lest 
 her sisters should call upon her and assert their 
 relationship, or her brothers should discover her 
 whereabouts. The time sped on without much 
 heed being taken; there was Mary's set of 
 best china tea-things to inspect, her Sunday 
 gown for " kirk," her shoes for Sunday, the real 
 bed which she had to lie on now. The bed 
 was not quite all their property yet — it was 
 being paid for in weekly instalments, but they 
 were getting on, and her " auld man, God bless 
 him ! " had been in full work for the last thirteen 
 weeks.
 
 268 MR. SIMMONS S EETUEN. 
 
 And, in the midst of Mary's display of house- 
 hold treasures to her enrapt observer, Mr. 
 Simmons came home ten minutes before his 
 time, and found a Grlasgie lassie sitting on the 
 edge of a chair, talking to his young wife. 
 
 "That's his step," Mary had said when his 
 feet were heard coming up the stairs. "My 
 Grod, Jennie, sit ye still, and say naethin, or 
 it's a' up wi' me ! " 
 
 Jane's last remnant of envy or discontent 
 vanished away, and fear for JMary was the sole 
 sensation remaining. She felt that she could 
 have done anything for Mary Loggie's sake — 
 told any falsehood to screen her from discovery, 
 and keep her from returning to that dark life 
 whence she had emerged. " But I felt it war 
 a narro squeak then, and my heart beat unco' 
 fast." 
 
 Mr. Simmons entered — a middle-aged man, 
 with a fierce expression of countenance, with 
 iron-grey whiskers, and eyes that were very 
 sharp and piercing — and looked hard at Jane 
 Cameron, who rose, and in her embarrassment 
 dropped a curtsey — the curtsey which she had 
 been accustomed to make in Glasgow Prison to
 
 269 
 
 the governor, chaplain, head warder, matron, 
 and all visitors. 
 
 The carpenter stared at Jane's respectful de- 
 meanour, and then turned to his wife, who was 
 standing by the mantel-piece looking as white 
 as a ghost. 
 
 " This is Jennie Smith, who used to work wi' 
 me at the cotton-mill, John," she said, sud- 
 denly dashing at an explanation ; " I met her 
 on the brig, and brought her hame to see my 
 new hoose." 
 
 " How do you do. Miss Smith? " he said, nodding 
 his head towards her ; "sit down, my lass — you're 
 welcome." 
 
 But Jane was only anxious to be gone before 
 he should " get her face by heart," before any 
 awkward questions should be asked, and one 
 lie lead to another, until the whole false fabrica- 
 tion tottered over together. She was more con- 
 fused than Mary, would have betrayed more to 
 a man inclined to be suspicious just then ; but Mr. 
 Simmons set it down to timidity and nervous- 
 ness, and laughed very heartily at Jane's anxiety 
 to depart. 
 
 " You need not be afraid of me, my girl," he
 
 270 EETREAT. 
 
 said, cheerfull}^ ; ^' I sha'n't eat you. Don't run 
 away — don't run away, just as if I'd frightened 
 you out of the house." 
 
 And so he had. Jane would listen to no 
 entreaties to remain, but gathered her shawl 
 around her, and made for the door and the stair- 
 case, without bidding even Mr. Simmons good 
 day. Mary followed her in the passage, and 
 caught our heroine by the arm; she was still 
 white as death, with the horror of the fear that 
 had beset her. 
 
 " Dinna coom again, Jennie — dinna ken me 
 any mair, or I shall gae mad. Dinna tell ane 
 that ye hae met me to-day." 
 
 She did not shut the door after Jane, but stood 
 watchino' her down the street — makincr sure that 
 every step took her farther and farther away from 
 the home where discovery was death. 
 
 This was iMary Simmons's first trial — there was 
 a second . and worse ordeal to pass, as our next 
 chapter will relate.
 
 271 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 THE END OF THE EOMANCE. 
 
 Mary Simmons must have experienced the feel- 
 ings of Damocles during her stay in Glasgow. 
 Large as the city was — boasting then its three or 
 four hundred thousand inhabitants — it was not 
 possible to thread the streets without occasionally 
 meeting some one who belonged to the life she 
 had abjured. Try how she might, and study 
 how she might, a face or two occasionally would 
 meet hers at which she recoiled, and the police 
 on duty in the streets knew her still, and looked 
 after her suspiciously, merely setting down her 
 new aspect in society to a disguise by which 
 society was to be more fully imposed on. 
 
 If her husband had left Grlasgow all would
 
 272 CLOSE TO THE TRrTH. 
 
 have been well, but he had found a means of 
 living there, and was therefore inclined to re.main. 
 When Cameron had turned back with her to the 
 Grorbals, Mary had told her how, on the preceding 
 Sunday, her husband and she had walked down 
 High Street, and how her heart had beaten 
 with every step which took her along the old 
 field of guilty action, and passed the entrances 
 to the closes, whereat so many of the old com- 
 panions were lingering. She passed through 
 unrecognized ; but it had been a terrible ordeal, 
 and sooner or later she felt something must occur 
 to dash down the screen between her and the 
 truth. She was not a strong-minded woman, 
 and had not the courage to confess all to her 
 husband — she hoped against hope, and kept to 
 her own side of the river as much as possible. 
 
 She had been close to the truth when 
 her husband had come home, and foimd Jane 
 Cameron there, but she hoped that she had 
 escaped the revelation for ever after that — she 
 was to see Jane Cameron no more, and her hus- 
 band had faith in her. 
 
 But Cameron's part in the story was not played 
 out yet, and there was another act to ensue.
 
 THE MEETINQ IN THE BEIDGE-GATE. L73 
 
 It is by the merest chance in the world that 
 this story of Mary Loggie's, stranger than fiction, 
 finds its way into print. Full of her own trials 
 and troubles, Cameron would have proceeded 
 steadily onwards with the recapitulation of her 
 own history, a,nd have left the characters whicli 
 flit across her story to sink away without an 
 explanation. 
 
 " And what became of Mary Loggie ? " 
 
 " Oh, she married ! " 
 
 Had not the answer aroused her auditor's 
 curiosity, the strange recital of a woman turned 
 suddenly from evil would not have been afforded, 
 and an interesting phase of human life been lost 
 in consequence. 
 
 Mary Loggie's romance ended in this fashion : — 
 One Saturday night, Mr. Simmons was walking 
 up the Bridge-gate, when he came face to face 
 with Jane Cameron. This was a month after the 
 meeting with her at his own room ; but his was 
 a retentive memory, and he recognized her at 
 once. 
 
 On her own ground, Jane Cameron objected to 
 the recognition, and felt embarrassed by it. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 Moreover, she was not alone, but in company 
 with Ann Eyan, who was dressed " Grlasgie fashin," 
 with a shawl over her head. About both girls 
 there was something suspicious that evening — 
 their hair was glossy with pomatum, their cheeks 
 had a tinge of artificial colouring, and there was 
 a boldness in their looks, telling unmistakably 
 of the cruel life of the streets. 
 
 Mr. Simmons stared at Jane, and then stopped, 
 saying— 
 
 " Jennie Smith ! " 
 
 Jane stammered out "Mr. Simmons," and 
 asked after Mary. 
 
 " She's quite well — where are you going so 
 late at night ? " 
 
 " Only a little way." 
 
 He looked from her to Ann Eyan, who, seeing 
 nothing unusual in this salutation, and accus- 
 tomed to all degrees of company, asked if he 
 would stand a wee drop of whiskey that cold 
 February night. Jane jerked her away by the 
 arm, but it was too late ; Mr. Simmons's eyes 
 distended at the remark, and at the impudent 
 look by which it had been accompanied — the
 
 PERPLEXED. 275 
 
 suspicion of the honesty of his companions settled 
 on his face at once. 
 
 "I never drink whiskey," he replied; "good 
 night ! " 
 
 " Oh ! gude nicht to ye fa a skinflint," cried 
 Ann Eyan, and appended to the remark a peal 
 of derisive laughter, till Cameron began shaking 
 her in the public streets. 
 
 " Ye're a fule, ye alwa' wa a fule," cried Jane ; 
 "let the mon be. He's na our sort — he's 
 naethin' to do wi' us." 
 
 Jane did not offer an explanation more explicit ; 
 for Mary's sake, that would not have been politic. 
 She dismissed the subject abruptly, and refused 
 to say one word more on the question, much to 
 Ann Eyan's dissatisfaction, whose curiosity had 
 been aroused by the eccentric behaviour of her 
 companion. 
 
 But Mr. Simmons's curiosity had been also 
 aroused by the demeanour of the two girls whom 
 he had accosted: one was his wife's friend, and 
 had been known to visit his house, and he was a 
 man who would keep his house pure. His sus- 
 picions lead been aroused, and, if Jane were a 
 t2
 
 276 QUESTIONS. 
 
 character unfit to associate with his wife, why, the 
 sooner he ascertained that fact for himself, the 
 better. He followed Cameron and Eyan on the 
 opposite side of the way, and in a very little 
 while had ascertained for himself the characters 
 of the two women whom he had set himself to 
 watch. 
 
 He saw them accost strangers in the street ; 
 meet disreputable men, who had ^' thief " stamped 
 upon their villanous countenances ; enter the 
 drinking-shops, and talk and laugh with all as- 
 sembled there : finally, he addressed a policeman, 
 and pointed out Cameron to him. 
 
 " Do you know that woman? " he asked. 
 
 " Ay, to be sure." 
 
 " What character does she bear about here ? " 
 
 " A bad ain — nane worse, I reckon." 
 
 " And her companion ? " 
 
 " About as bad— hae ye lost anythin' ? " 
 
 "No, no; but I wished to know her character." 
 
 " They're na been a lang weel out o' prison — 
 Cameron and Kyan." 
 
 " One's named Smith ? " 
 
 "Na!"
 
 EETUKN HOME. 277 
 
 " That one's named Smith," and Mr. Simmons 
 indicated Jane Cameron. 
 
 " That's Cameron — I hae seen her aboot these 
 seven years, I tell ye." 
 
 « Oh ! " 
 
 Mr. Simmons walked away, revolving in his 
 mind this new discovery. His wife had intro- 
 duced Jane by the name of Smith to him, and 
 here was a mystery that required clearing up. 
 For the first time a doubt of his wife shot through 
 his brain; he began to think of how he had 
 become acquainted with her, and what a little he 
 knew of all her antecedents. He was no model 
 character — fit for a novel, for instance — for he 
 was naturally a suspicious man, a man who 
 jumped readily at conclusions, shrewd and hard 
 in his way. 
 
 He went home, as Jane ascertained afterwards, 
 to cross-question his wife on the subject, and try 
 to elicit the reason for her attempt to deceive 
 him. 
 
 "I've met your friend Smith to-night," he 
 said. 
 
 "Smith! what Smith?"
 
 278 CROSS-EXAMINATION. 
 
 " Jane Smitla, who was here one morning when 
 I came home from work." 
 
 " Indeed ! " was all that jMary could reply. 
 " Her name is Smith, is it not ? " was the care- 
 less question. 
 
 Mary answered in the affirmative. 
 " And you worked at the cotton-mill together, 
 and you lived together in the closes ? " 
 
 Mary did not know what to answer, or what 
 Jane might have told him, if he had met her that 
 night. She turned red and white at the approach 
 of danger ; but she did her best to meet it. 
 '•' Yes, we lived thegither noo and then." 
 *^ She's a bad character." 
 
 " She was a gude lassie when I kenned her faist." 
 " She's been bad from a child ; she has been 
 watched as a bad character by the police. Mary, 
 you must have known this." 
 
 Mary denied it; it was her last hope to cling 
 to at this juncture, and she maintained her igno- 
 rance of the dark side to her old friend's character. 
 Simmons affected to believe it, and, for a day or 
 two, the storm which had been threatening 
 passed over. The husband went to work again.
 
 MR. SIMMONS FINDS OUT THE TEUTH. 279 
 
 and kept his doubts in the background for a 
 while; but he did not return home quite so 
 regularly, and he made the acquaintance of one 
 or two policemen, from whom he by degrees 
 learned the whole truth. Piece by piece he 
 gathered the whole history of Jane Cameron — 
 worse than that, the whole past history of Mary 
 Loggie — and then he sought Cameron again, 
 and asked her to come with him across the 
 bridge. 
 
 '^ What for?" 
 
 " I want you to see Mary — will you come ? " 
 
 " I dinna mind." 
 
 Jane saw that something had gone wrong, and 
 was a little curious, although timid. She had a 
 belief that Mr. Simmons had discovered all, and 
 she was anxious to see how Mary would stand 
 against the attack, and what would become of her 
 now all the truth had leaped to the light. So 
 she went home with Mary's husband to see the end 
 of it. 
 
 When they came in together, Mary dropped 
 down in a chair by the fireside and stared at 
 them — the " whole truth " susfo'ested itself to her
 
 2S0 UPBRAIDING. 
 
 at once. Her husband's past quietness, and even 
 coldness, was accounted for. 
 
 "I ne'er saw in a' my leef before sic a luke 
 as hers," commented Jane Cameron upon the 
 scene. 
 
 " This woman's name is Cameron — let her deny 
 it if she can now ? " he said, on entering. 
 
 " I dinna deny it," said Jane, defiantly. 
 
 " And she was a bad character when you knew 
 her, Mary, and you knew that too, and was a bad 
 one yourself. There, that's the truth, and you 
 can't say No to it." 
 
 Mary wrung her hands and looked piteously 
 towards her husband. There was no sympathy 
 with her alarm, and she turned on Jane like a 
 fury. "Ye hae doon this — ye hae told him a', 
 ye jealous, wicked woman — ye hae turned against 
 me, because ye could na bear me to live honest, or 
 be anythin but the thief I was before I married 
 him." 
 
 " I hae said naethin," screamed Jane, anxious 
 to put Mary on her guard against self-confession ; 
 " I ken naethin ; I hae ony come hither 'cause he 
 asked me, Mary."
 
 SENTENCE. 281 
 
 " But I know all. Don't let us have any lies," 
 said he, roughly. After a while he turned to his 
 wife, saying — 
 
 " Mary, I took you for an honest girl, and 
 married you. If I had known what you had 
 been all your life — a thief, and worse — I would 
 have blown my brains out first. You led me to 
 believe that you were a good girl, and made me 
 play the fool and marry you. You've disgraced 
 me, and — you must go ! " 
 
 " Oh ! John, John, dinna sae that ! " 
 
 Mary flung herself on her knees before him and 
 clasped his legs round with her arms. She begged 
 him to hear her — she prayed him to believe 
 that she loved him very dearly, and had been liv- 
 ing an upright life ever since she had known him. 
 She told her whole story between her choking 
 sobs, and called Grod to witness how she had lived 
 only for him, thought only of him, since their 
 marriage — how the secret of her guilty life had 
 preyed upon her, because she feared to tell him 
 the whole truth. 
 
 " You are in league with this girl still ? " said 
 Simmons, in reply to this.
 
 282 PLEADING. 
 
 Cameron took a fearful oath on the spot, that they 
 had only met once by chance on Hutcheson's Bridge, 
 and that Mary had made her promise never to see 
 her again. Cameron, in tears, too, moved by 
 this scene as she had never before been moved in 
 her life, pleaded for the old friend until he bade 
 her be silent — he did not want to hear her speak 
 again. 
 
 Mary Loggie continued to plead like one whose 
 life was at stake. She had had a glimpse of a 
 new existence, and fought hard not to be hurled 
 back to the old — she swore to be always true and 
 faithful to him, and keep away from such as Jane 
 for ever — she lay on the floor at last, and moaned 
 for mercy at his feet. The fate of Mary's future 
 trembled in the balance, but the man had a 
 generous heart, and was moved by his mfe's 
 pleading. He was a poor man, with not over- 
 refined feelings, and she had been a help — even a 
 comfort — to him. Before the discovery they had 
 lived very happily together, and it did seem hard 
 to cast her back to the streets, ^^^len he was 
 convinced that Mary had wished to keep away 
 from all who belonged to the past, he softened.
 
 PAEDON. 283 
 
 and at last he told her to get up and give over 
 crying — he would not say any more about it — he 
 tuould try her ! 
 
 " You can go as soon as you like," he said to 
 Cameron, and Jane went down stairs wondrously 
 relieved in mind to know that it had all ended 
 satisfactorily. 
 
 So the romance ended ; and it is to be trusted 
 that jNIary made Simmons a good wife. Jane 
 believed that she did — acting on her belief, I 
 think so too. Jane saw her again once or twice 
 in the Grlasgow streets, but Mary always turned 
 her head away when they met, and hurried past 
 for her life. 
 
 "I was too bad for her," said Jane, in this 
 place, " and I daresay her heart was gude eno' to 
 speak, if I had wished, which I didn't for her ain 
 sake. But mawbee it war a narrow escape for 
 puir Mary, Miss."
 
 ilSi 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 A thieves' hero. 
 
 jNIiRY LoaaiE's story brought no moral to Jane 
 Cameron. It did not appertain to her life, or in 
 any way affect it ; she could not profit, or see 
 her way to profit, by any phase which had been 
 represented therein. She saw that it was more 
 comfortable to be honest, but she was past making 
 a strenuous effort to keep in the right way ; it 
 was beyond her efforts, and there was no ioduce- 
 ment in her mind to persevere. With a little 
 sigh of regret that she had had no chance like 
 Mary's, she turned away to the darkness of her 
 own life, and went downwards — downwards by 
 that law of moral gravitation which sinks the 
 erring irredeemably. 
 
 To characters like Jane Cameron, there is seldom
 
 HABIT. 285 
 
 any turning back — they will acknowledge no 
 power to save them. " You should have taught 
 me better when I was young — you should have 
 seen after me when I was a child, you good 
 people ! " sneers the criminal, to whom it is more 
 easy to continue in the old life than to make an 
 effort for a better one. Crime has not the strength 
 for self-denial ; and habit renders the crime easy, 
 and cases the conscience in mail. Jane Cameron 
 continued the old life, then ; she never gave a thought 
 to an existence that might be purer — the evil of her 
 ways was not apparent — it was simply a business 
 which she was following — a business that kept 
 her from starving, or working laboriously for a 
 living. She and her contemporaries were forced 
 to do a little work by way of precautionary 
 measures — needle- work sufficient to mark one 
 particular finger, or even shoemaking to harden 
 the hands. The detectives had an unpleasant 
 habit of stopping doubtful characters at times 
 and shaking hands with them, and if the hands 
 were soft and lady-like, why, they were thieves' 
 hands, and there was an amount of extra vigilance 
 bestowed upon them in consequence. 
 
 It was the beginning of March when the
 
 286 BLACK BARNEY. 
 
 knavish fraternity of Grlasgow was thrown into 
 a ferment by the sudden arrival of a hero — a 
 Liverpool man, who had considered it advisable to 
 absent himself from that quarter for a little 
 while. 
 
 This man, whom I will call Black Barney — it is 
 his thieves' cognomen, "with a difference" — was a 
 man well known to thieves and police. London, 
 which alone establishes a thief's reputation, as 
 it establishes an actor or author's, had " made " 
 this man in his peculiar rank of life ; he had 
 committed more desperate robberies without de- 
 tection than any one of his time or age, perhaps. 
 For this he was reverenced by those who made 
 theft their profession ; he was their model character, 
 at whose style they aimed, and whose eccentricities 
 they copied ; he was the thief " who could do no 
 wrong ! " 
 
 The police were well acquainted mth this man ; 
 knew him for the desperate scamp that he was, 
 but were not so thoroughly versed in all his deeds 
 and misdeeds. Eobberies with which he was not 
 suspected to be connected were often of his 
 perpetration, and this made him a celebrity
 
 A HERO ! 287 
 
 amongst those who esteem a man highly who does 
 a thing " on the quiet." 
 
 He was the thieves' modern Jack Sheppard : he 
 had earned thousands of pounds -in his day ; he 
 was clever as a burglar, and he was inimitable 
 as a garotter. He had broken out of gaol twice, 
 and this feat of prison-breaking was the nimbus 
 of glory round his head. A man who could escape 
 the hold of the law which had " lagged " him, 
 was a man one did not meet every day. 
 
 Thieves over-estimate their heroes. " He was 
 a beautiful scholar, and could pass for a gentle- 
 man an3rwhere," it was reported and generally 
 believed. I have seen a letter of this Crichton's, 
 wherein every word over one syllable was 
 mis-spelt, and I have no doubt his gentle- 
 manly airs were of that demonstrative character 
 which sets the mimic a long way apart from the 
 model. 
 
 Still, to thieves he was a hero, and with thieves 
 we have only to do yet awhile. When he arrived 
 in Glasgow there was a little friendly gathering 
 in his honour — a " free-and-easy," where he took 
 the chair, and where much whiskey was drunk.
 
 288 ADMIKATION. 
 
 and all his old friends and co-mates gathered 
 around him. The police looked in during the 
 evening, not to mar the general hilarity, but to 
 take a glance at the surface of things, and ex- 
 change friendly nods with '^ the hero." 
 
 " What ! Barney, have you given us a call, then ? " 
 
 " Just for a day or two." 
 
 " Keep yourself quiet, Barney." 
 
 " All right. Only here for my health's sake." 
 
 The police were invited to drink, and treated 
 with much courtesy, but the assembly breathed 
 freer when the door closed on them, and the 
 meeting put on its natural dress again. 
 
 Jane Cameron saw Black Barney for the first 
 time at the free-and-easy to which I allude. 
 She had heard of his acquirements — listened to 
 all the exaggerated statements of his cleverness 
 which had floated about, and looked upon him, 
 from her humble position, as the author of "Lines 
 to my Dog " in the poet's corner of a country 
 newspaper may look upon Charles Dickens, when- 
 ever he gets a sight of that gentleman. 
 
 Had she maintained this respect and distant 
 admiration for Black Barney, it might have
 
 PAYING ATTENTIONS. 2 St 9 
 
 been all the better for her, or at least this story — 
 if it had been ever written at all — would have had 
 a different ending; but Black Barney was a ladies' 
 man, and inclined to pay the fair sex attention. 
 Before the evening was over, a dance had even 
 been struck up, and Barney, who added dancing 
 to his other and varied accomplishments, selected 
 Jane Cameron more than once for his partner, to 
 the mortification of Ann Eyan and other young 
 ladies who were inclined to set their caps at him. 
 Barney was a man of sudden fancies, even 
 eccentric tastes. Though there were many prettier 
 girls in the room, he devoted himself to Jane 
 Cameron, till some jokes, more forcible than select, 
 at his preference, showered upon him from all 
 sides. Still Barney loved a jest, and was not to 
 be laughed out of his preference, and Jane was 
 elated at her victory, and took no heed of in- 
 vidious comments. 
 
 The "lion" of the night was a low-browed, 
 villanous fellow, short, thick-set, and with one 
 shoulder higher than the other, but he was the 
 clever thief who had made money, and been more 
 than commonly successful ; and we are valued 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 A MATCH. 
 
 according to our success rather than our merit, a 
 writer of old days has observed very satirically, 
 but very truthfully. 
 
 Therefore Jane Cameron may be said to have 
 fallen in love with this successful scoundrel. He 
 singled her out and flattered her, and Jane's head 
 was turned on the instant. She felt that she 
 could go through fire and water, even die for 
 him, if need were. If she were lucky enough to 
 secure him for a companion, she would consider 
 herself the happiest woman in the world — happier 
 than even Mary Loggie, who had so fine a home 
 of her own ! She did her best to captivate this 
 hero — she was a quick-witted girl, with a certain 
 amount of humour — she had a good voice, she 
 could dance well — she was young and rather 
 pretty, and the "lion," Barney, was smitten by the 
 Scotch lassie. 
 
 Matches between thieves are soon struck up, 
 and generally known. Barney's choice was 
 avowed, and Barney's choice respected from that 
 time forth. 
 
 Jane knew nothing of Black Barney's character 
 or antecedents — did not care for them. It
 
 CONTENT WITH THE PRESENT. 291 
 
 was very likely that lie would soon tire of her, 
 and go off to Liverpool or London without her, 
 but there would be time enough to fret about 
 that when the hour came ! The present, the 
 awfully-guilty present, was sufficient for her. One 
 who lives like Cameron can never look forward 
 to the future, where the reaction comes, and 
 where sin is not masked by vain imaginations. 
 Crime never reflects on the Afterwards. 
 
 n 2
 
 21)2 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 IN LUCK S WAY. 
 
 Black Barney and Jane Cameron rented a room 
 together in the Tontine Close — an infamous 
 haunt, at that time bearing as bad a name in 
 Grlasgow as the New Vennel. Black Barney, 
 although he had informed the police that he had 
 come to Grlasgow for his health's sake, had really 
 arrived to try his fortunes for a while in the 
 Scotch city. He had become too well known in 
 his old quarters, and his peculiar " style " had at- 
 tracted too much attention to render Liverpool 
 safe any longer. 
 
 Once before he had found Glasgow worth visit- 
 ing, and the thought had suggested itself that it was 
 a good time of the year for business — the nights
 
 NEW LESSONS. 293 
 
 still being long, and the place always full of 
 '' company." He had a love for shipping-towns 
 and cities ; for those who had come long journeys, 
 and many of whom carried their fortunes in their 
 pocket-books. At Liverpool, Southampton, Ports- 
 mouth, even G-ravesend, he had always met with 
 plenty of people who had money to lose. He 
 came to Grlasgow in search of fresh fortune ; his 
 money had nearly run out, and one of the luck- 
 iest men in the profession had not more than a 
 sovereign left from all the cash unlawfully ac- 
 quired in the course of his life ! 
 
 He was a great spendthrift as well as a great 
 thief, and hence his popularity amongst the class 
 he always " stood treat to." He had lived like 
 a gentleman whilst the money lasted — he had no 
 idea of putting by for the rainy day, which he 
 was sanguine enough to believe would never fall 
 to his share. He was a crafty man, and cer- 
 tainly ingenious. When he had taken Cameron 
 "under his protection," he initiated her into 
 ways and styles of thieving that were new to her, 
 and which, with a little practice, were readily 
 acquired. He taught her to pick pockets with a
 
 294 A NARROW ESCAPE. 
 
 rapidity of which she had had no previous concep- 
 tioD, and he showed her a new system of snatching 
 at a watch and severing it from the chain which 
 had never failed yet in its results. Jane was an 
 apt pupil, and Black Barney was a flatterer, 
 who gave her more praise than she deserved. 
 This was a habit of Barney's, as it led to strenu- 
 ous efforts to deserve praise on the part of his 
 pupils. 
 
 Jane did her best, and became more daring, 
 until a narrow escape taught her the old lesson of 
 prudence. She had been detected and chased down 
 the Old Wynd by the robbed one, but, managing to 
 elude her pursuer, she resolved on greater caution 
 in future. She thought with a shudder of the 
 police cell, the sheriff court, and then prison again ; 
 of losing the adorable Barney, and hearing in 
 prison, perhaps, that he had taken up mth some- 
 body else ! 
 
 Caution in all respects, or the days of freedom 
 would soon be over with her. Barney and she 
 used to talk of prison a great deal ; he looked 
 upon gaol in a very different light to Cameron, 
 and feigned to care nothing for it.
 
 A thief's advice. 295 
 
 " If I had a run of ill luck, I wouldn't mind 
 gaol a ha'porth," he said ; " it's when one's in full 
 swing that it's a nuisance to be brought up with 
 a jerk." He was full of reminiscences. He related 
 anecdotes of his criminal career, in which Came- 
 ron placed credence and re-related, but they are 
 almost- too fabulous for public acceptation. They 
 are exaggerated statements — some of them not 
 excluding even the members of the police force 
 from charges not worth repeating here. Black 
 Barney was vain of his exploits, and dazzled all 
 auditors by his recapitulations of them. But 
 Black Barney loved not truth, or was more clever 
 than I give him credit for being in these pages. 
 
 His general advice to Jane may be worth 
 recording, and may help to put the world upon 
 its guard. It is a thief s advice, and by thieves 
 practised, and those who would "take care of 
 their pockets " may profit by being wary under 
 similar circumstances : — 
 
 " Kead the nev^rspaper attentively ; or, if you 
 cannot read, let others do so for you. Attend 
 every grand concert, play, ball, or assembly, or 
 wait about the doors of such places till the
 
 296 ADVICE. 
 
 company come out. Frequent the precincts of 
 the chief hotels wherever you are, and study your 
 characters as they issue forth ; try the club-houses, 
 and, whenever you see a public dinner advertised, 
 haunt that place where the dinner has been given, 
 and follo'w him who walks home unsteadily, 
 Kailway carriages are good places, but omnibuses 
 are better. There's a good chance in a fit in a 
 street, and in crowded shops of a Saturday night 
 you are sure to get something, although nothing 
 of any very great amount. In the winter-time, 
 watch the suburban districts, more especially 
 about Christmas-time, when there is considerable 
 party-giving. You may pick up a swell returning 
 home late, or, if the plate's not fetched -home 
 from the house — there is a great deal of silver 
 lent on hire — there's a chance of getting a haul 
 by breaking in the following night, when the 
 good people have retired early to bed to make up 
 for the previous night's dissipation. Attend all 
 public spectacles and public rejoicings — never 
 leave the outside of a theatre till the last man 
 has come forth and the doors are closed. Music 
 halls are worth watching also, but swells are not
 
 ALWAYS WATCHING. 297 
 
 picked up very frequently. Prize fights are 
 considered safe ; and horse races of all kinds turn 
 in the gold watches and breast-pins. People are 
 off their guard in church, but unfortunately carry 
 very little money there. Empty carriages waiting 
 in line to take up from the opera are worth 
 studying — generally something inside, but a diffi- 
 culty in getting it away, unless one is particularly 
 agile. Outside west-end print and picture shops 
 a first-rate chance, and at railway stations gene- 
 rally something to be made, until the police are 
 familiar with your appearance and order you off 
 the premises. Watch outside banking-houses; 
 difficult work, owing to the detectives ; but, if not 
 known, worth the trial." 
 
 Such was the substance of Barney's advice. 
 These are the general rules, or rather an abstract 
 of them, by which thieves are governed. The 
 streets swarm with thieves, and they are always 
 on the watch — they must watch to live. There 
 is scarcely a reader of this book, perhaps, 
 who has not been watched and followed in his 
 time — a marked man, to be pounced upon at 
 the first opportunity ; and, if he has not been
 
 298 EAILWAY STATIONS. 
 
 robbed, it is owing to his own precaution, or to a 
 chance incident, which has rendered an attack too 
 full of risk to be ventured upon. 
 
 Barney's advice concerning railway stations was 
 followed just at this juncture; he was partial to 
 those termini where travellers arrive in a confused 
 state and are generally well provided with money ; 
 he thought something might be made at the 
 Grlasgow terminus, and he set himself to study 
 the matter. The chief terminus was in Bu- 
 chanan Street, adjacent to Greorge Square, and 
 therefore not handy to the closes and courts, 
 where one might quickly disappear. There is 
 always danger at a railway terminus when situated 
 in a respectable neighbourhood — Euston Square 
 neighbourhood is not considered so " lucky " as 
 the Eastern Counties, for instance. 
 
 Black Barney, towards the end of March, hit 
 upon a scheme which he had heretofore practised 
 with success. As it led to a change of scene and 
 life for Cameron, it may be necessary to more 
 closely allude to it. 
 
 Barney's character was so well known on the 
 "Thieves' Exchange," that at a fair per-centage
 
 A NOTEL SENSATION. 299 
 
 he could always contrive to borrow a little 
 money, or a decent suit of clothes from the 
 receivers. To the receivers he applied, then, and 
 equipped himself and Cameron in the most quiet 
 but the best apparel the proprietor could produce 
 upon an emergency. 
 
 Barney and Jane then walked out of Griasgow 
 by a circuitous route, and made for the first 
 railway station from the city, where there were no 
 police about to recognize them and interfere with 
 their projects. From here to Carlisle by a slow 
 train went Barney and Jane, At Carlisle they were 
 unknown, and experienced the novel sensation 
 of being taken for respectable people. By way 
 of keeping up appearances, they stayed one night 
 at a quiet inn in the neighbourhood, and remained 
 perfectly honest, enjoying themselves in a homely 
 fashion, and paying their bill with scrupulous 
 exactitude the next evening, when it became time 
 to go down to the station and wait for the express 
 train. 
 
 They were anxious to catch the express in 
 particular — rich people travelled by express to 
 the North, and they might be fortunate to meet
 
 300 A PLOT. 
 
 with one who would be unsuspicious of his fellow- 
 men. In due course the express arrived : there 
 was a stoppage of some minutes, during w^hich 
 Black Barney's quick eyes " took stock " of every 
 first-class compartment, and with business-like 
 celerity fixed at last upon one, which a stout 
 old gentleman was re-entering with some diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 Barney and Jane followed — Barney taking up 
 his position opposite the traveller, folding his 
 arms and closing his eyes immediately as though 
 weary with travelling. The old gentleman 
 glanced from him to Jane, in a half-critical, half- 
 dreamy manner — the usual mode of receiving 
 fresh arrivals — then unsuspiciously opened a book 
 and began reading by the light of the lamp in 
 the roof. Cameron sat quiet and composed 
 on the gentleman's side of the carriage — and 
 both waited their time, and were not outwardly 
 excited by the chances there might be of securing 
 something feloniously. 
 
 Barney had made his choice with grave delibe- 
 ration, and had not entered the carriage till the 
 last moment. Jane had even suggested another
 
 ON THE WATCH. 301 
 
 compartment to him, and he had answered, *^No 
 go, commercial " — which I append here for the 
 satisfaction of commercial gentlemen, who are 
 ranked by no mean authority as being difficult to 
 steal from, and at least not worth the risk whilst 
 travelling. " A commercial gent never has 
 more than a couple of pounds in his pocket," Jane 
 Cameron was informed. If this be correct 
 as a rule, the commercial world travels in a 
 careful and praiseworthy manner. 
 
 The train started from Carlisle, and the birds 
 of prey watched their purposed victim, and were 
 thankful that no further arrivals were likely to 
 disturb the plans they had in view. They watched 
 their victim and bided their time — it had been 
 arranged between them that nothing should be 
 done till the train was close to Glasgow. 
 
 " If it's a bad spec, Jennie," he had advised, 
 " we must separate at the terminus, and each 
 work for ourselves on any one who comes handy. 
 We shall get a ticker, at all events. Go out of 
 the station as soon as possible, and then home. 
 Don't wait for me — don't look about for me." 
 
 All the way to Glasgow on the watch, silent
 
 302 ROBBERY. 
 
 and furtive. The old gentleman closed his book 
 and went off to sleep, and Jennie looked across to 
 Barney, who shook his head. It would have been 
 possible to have secured his watch, but he must 
 have missed it before reaching Grlasgow, and very 
 naturally have suspected, possibly charged, the 
 occupants of his carriage with the theft. Close 
 upon Glasgow tickets were collected, and the old 
 gentleman took his ticket from a purse which he 
 drew from his trousers' pocket and then returned. 
 Jennie and Barney exchanged glances again. 
 
 The train rattled under Griasgow terminus at last, 
 and all was confusion and bustle on the instant, 
 Barney and Jane retaining their seats in the car- 
 riage and allowing the old gentleman to depart in 
 advance of them. As he stood up and was lean- 
 ing forward to alight, Barney very politely offered 
 him one hand, and went rapidly to work with the 
 other — in an instant, and as if by magic, gold watch 
 and chain, and the little pocket-book in which 
 the railway ticket had been kept, were passed to 
 Cameron. Barney leaped quickly after his victim 
 and went rapidly out of the terminus. Jane 
 went in the opposite direction with the booty. The
 
 A PRIZE. 303 
 
 old gentleman^ still unconscious of his loss, pro- 
 ceeded with the guard in the direction of the 
 luggage-van. 
 
 In the room at the Tontine Close, Jane found 
 Black Barney anxiously awaiting her. 
 
 " You haven't opened the purse — ^you haven't 
 touched the things ? " he cried, eagerly. 
 
 "Do ye think I'd do sic a thing?" 
 
 " Some would — ^but you wouldn't, Jennie. It 
 wouldn't be like you," he affirmed. 
 
 "I should think not," asserted Jennie, proudly. 
 
 " As if I would hae ta'en a mite o' siller frae 
 Mm ! " added Jennie, while relating this anecdote. 
 
 The purse, watch and chain were laid upon the 
 table, the bolt was drawn, Barney took up his 
 coat and hung it over the door to keep the 
 light from shining through the crevices and balk 
 glances that might be curious, and then he and 
 Jane sat down with the candle between them, and 
 the booty before them. 
 
 " Something tells me we've been a lucky journey, 
 Jennie," he said, chuckling ; " let the purse bide 
 till the last." 
 
 He took up the watch, opened the case and
 
 304 EXULTATIONS. 
 
 examined the works, weighed the chain in his 
 hands, criticized the seal ; finally, and when Ca- 
 meron's patience was almost exhausted, thrust it 
 to the depths of his pocket and took up the purse. 
 
 " Now then." 
 
 The two robbers' heads touched, Cameron held 
 her breath with surprise ; the opening of purses is 
 an exciting event in the life of one who lives by- 
 stealing them. 
 
 « It's heavy." 
 
 Then the pockets were opened and the booty 
 estimated. Black Barney became excited, jumped 
 up and danced about the room, swore and blas- 
 phemed, and blessed his stars all in one breath. 
 
 " We are in luck's way, Jane, by . Hurrah ! 
 
 this is first-rate, my lass. Bless everybody — 
 bless Grlasgow ! " 
 
 " How much, Barney ? " 
 
 " A hundred pounds odd^eighty-five in flim- 
 sies — we'll have a ' fling ' now, my girl." 
 
 " Hadn't we better change the notes, and pawn 
 the watch at once ? " 
 
 This was the common practice ; but Barney was 
 not of the common order of thieves, it appeared. 
 He spurned such suggestions.
 
 THOUGHTS OF A CHANGE. 305- 
 
 " No, we'll go to London and get rid of them 
 — there are better places in town, and we shall be 
 found out here, if we try to sell or pawn anything. 
 We'll change our clothes, and go third class to 
 London by the 'parliamentary.' Keep quiet about 
 this." 
 
 They had friends who looked in upon them in 
 the Tontine Close, late as the hour was ; but Barney 
 made no mention of his success, and for once was 
 not in a boastful mood. When he felt more safe, 
 and the money was all spent, he would brag of this 
 new crow's feather in his cap. 
 
 The same night also Barney paid his debts, 
 returned the clothes he had borrowed, and then 
 Jane and he sat up and talked over the holi- 
 day they intended to give themselves until the 
 money was spent. Jane had never had a " first- 
 rate holiday," where thieving was wholly given 
 up for pleasure, and one could live an honest 
 lady in a place where nobody knew anything. 
 
 Barney and she started in humble guise, adopt- 
 ing the precaution of walking to Grarnkirk station 
 in lieu of starting from Glasgow terminus, where 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 BARNEY AND JANE LEAVE GLASGOW. 
 
 the police might be suspicious of thieves leaving 
 suddenly for London. 
 
 "I did na feel safe with sae muckle money 
 until we were aff," commented Cameron, "and 
 then my speerits rose with Barney's. Ah ! it was 
 a grand holiday while it lasted — -the ony ane I 
 had. Well,", with a sigh that was not all peni- 
 tence theD, I fear, " I ivas ^appy, just for a 
 weel!"
 
 307 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIir. 
 
 thieves' holiday. 
 
 The reader may be curious to know how a thief's 
 holiday is spent ; or rather, how this holiday was 
 spent in particular. For thieves have various 
 ways of enjoying the proceeds of '' a good find," 
 and are not all so high in their notions as Black 
 Barney. To hang about the streets, smoke, drink, 
 and pay for the smoke and drink of others, is real 
 enjoyment to ninety out of a hundred ; the one- 
 tenth remaining are of the Barney class, who seek 
 change of air and scene, and plunge into every 
 gaiety whilst the money lasts that has been un- 
 lawfully acquired. I follow this holiday somewhat 
 minutely, because it illustrates a new feature, 
 
 X 2
 
 .308 CHANGE OF COSTUME. 
 
 which was ever a bright reminiscence in Cameron's 
 career; and for the second reason, that it ended in 
 a burlesque fashion, at which Cameron, by the 
 way, never saw anything to laugh. 
 
 They proceeded slowly to London, and for the 
 first time in her life Jane saw the great city. 
 ^* It's like Griasgie, Barney," she said. 
 " Not a bit — G-lasgow's nothing to it." 
 Jane and he went at once to Westminster, where 
 a gentleman was found who transacted some 
 business in a very quick manner, and with a very 
 few words. The watch, chain, and bank notes 
 passed from the thief s to the receiver's hands. 
 Barney knew the price of these valuables to a 
 farthing, and the purchaser agreed with his valua- 
 tion ; there was no haggling — and the bullion — 
 ^'the real thing" — was passed over to Barney, w^ho 
 filled his pockets, bade the gentleman good day, 
 and departed. Thence to a wardrobe-keeper's, 
 also known to Barney, who appeared familiar 
 with everybody in London, where Jane and he 
 dressed themselves up to their heart's desire — 
 Jane in silk and a velvet mantle — Barney in 
 black, with a silk velvet waistcoat. Further dress
 
 "SINKING THE SHOP." 309 
 
 purchases were consigned to the depths of a 
 portmanteau, for which Barney made a bid, and 
 which bid was accepted; and then a cab was 
 called, and away they went again to an hotel in 
 Leicester Square. 
 
 They abandoned every thought of their profes- 
 sion from that time forth — life was made for enjoy- 
 ment, Barney thought, and why should they be 
 continually picking and stealing? They dined 
 sumptuously, " with sherry- wine for dinner, alwa," 
 and went off to the play in the evening — to the 
 pit of the play, where they sat like other folk, 
 and enjoyed the performance. The next day they 
 went to Eichmond, the next to Grreenwich, the 
 third to Gravesend, returning home always in 
 time for the play in the evening. They made no 
 acquaintances ; Barney shunned all old faces ; 
 he crossed the roads rapidly whenever he de- 
 tected at a distance any representatives of the 
 gangs with which he had been associated ; he 
 wished to " sink the shop," and enjoy the holiday 
 in his own quiet fashion, and like a gentleman. 
 After the plays, they had supper and grog in their 
 own room, drinking deeply, and retiring far from
 
 310 BRIGHTON. 
 
 sober to rest — in the morning, they went oiBf in 
 search of pleasure again. 
 
 Barney counted his money every morning 
 before starting. " Only three pounds out of the 
 lot gone yet, Jennie," he would say ; then " only 
 five — seven," and so on. And they had a 
 hundred pounds to spend altogether — a hundred 
 pounds, which Barney always carried about with 
 him. 
 
 Barney and Cameron stayed in London about a 
 fortnight, and then set forth to Brighton, where 
 they took the sea air, and enjoyed themselves — 
 patronizing the fly-men to a great extent, and 
 supporting all the amusements that were to be 
 found in the town. Brighton becoming dull, they 
 went back to London, where there were more of 
 the amusements, of which they never tired ; but 
 it is a singular fact to relate, that, mixing amongst 
 crowds of all descriptions, and often seeing the 
 chances presented to possess themselves of some- 
 thing, this strange couple never attempted to 
 steal during their holiday. 
 
 Jane was even more anxious than Barney to 
 keep honest. It was her first holiday, and
 
 MARGATE. 311 
 
 Barney's fourth. She had never "lived like a 
 lady " before, and the contrast to life in a close 
 must have been bewildering and entrancing. It 
 left an impression on Cameron's mind that was 
 never obliterated. Possibly she never repented 
 that " change." Sorry as she was in the future for 
 all the ills she had committed, she always spoke 
 enthusiastically of that one era in her life — a 
 life spent in sin with her companion — but still a 
 life so different to anything that had been in 
 the present, or remained in store for her in the 
 future. 
 
 By the middle of June, Barney, counting his 
 money one morning, discovered that he was fifty 
 pounds less in pocket than when he had started 
 from Grlasgow. 
 
 " We'll go do\\Ti to the sea-side again," he said, 
 " and get rid of the rest of it. When we're run 
 down to the last five pounds, well try our hands 
 at something, and make a bolt for Grlasgow. That 
 Grlasgow's a lucky place, girl." 
 
 They proceeded to Margate on the following 
 day, and took private rooms at a second-class 
 inn there. The company began to fill in that
 
 312 A LOSS. 
 
 little town, and Barney and his companion to 
 enjoy the change of air. There were raffle-tables 
 then — there may be now — at the bazaars in the 
 main street ; and here Barney was accustomed to 
 take his place in the evening-, and raffle away for 
 two, three, and five pound prizes. It was mere 
 reckless waste of money and love of gambling, 
 for, had he won an ornament of the value of five 
 pounds, he would not have known what to do with 
 it. But the rattle of the dice-box had its attrac- 
 tions, and at the end of the first week he found 
 ^an important deficit in the exchequer. 
 
 " This won't do, Jennie, we're going it too fast 
 now," he said. But in the evening of the day 
 on which that moral reflection was made he was 
 lured again to the bazaar, where he raffled for 
 an hour. At the end of that hour he came to 
 Cameron, looking hot and fierce. Cameron had 
 strolled away to the extremity of the room, where 
 there was music. 
 
 " Jennie," he said in a hoarse whisper, " have 
 you been playing a trick with me now ? " 
 
 " A trick ? — no. What do ye mean ? " 
 
 *^ Just this," with a half groan of rage and vex-
 
 END OF THE HOLIDAY. 313 
 
 ation of spirit ; " some d d thief has been and 
 
 picked my pocket ! " 
 
 This was a favourite prison anecdote of Jane 
 Cameron's at Millbank and Brixton prisons — it was 
 something for others to laugh at then, but it was 
 a death-blow to her and her holiday at that time.
 
 314 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 LONDON TO GLASGOW. 
 
 Black Baeney and Jane Cameron went out of 
 the bazaar to liold council together over the sad 
 event which had befallen them. It was an irre- 
 mediable calamity; there was no hope — com- 
 plaining to the police would be impolitic — and 
 there was not even a faint chance of knowing 
 the offender, and claiming the money back on 
 the strength of being a member of the fraternity. 
 
 " If ye had na carried a' the gowd, Barney," 
 complained Cameron. 
 
 '^ Ah I if I hadn't done this, and I hadn't done 
 that — that's alius the way with you women," 
 retorted he : " what have you done with that 
 sovereign I gave you ? "
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 315 
 
 *^ It's in my pocket still." 
 
 '' That'll carry us to London." 
 
 '* But the inn bill for last week ? " 
 
 " We must ' bilk ' that," was the ungraceful 
 reply. 
 
 They went home in low spirits — Barney was 
 not alone depressed, but in a very bad humour 
 to boot. His vanity was piqued — he, the prince 
 of thieves, had had his pocket picked of thirty 
 or forty pounds, and was left a beggar in a 
 strange land ! How they would all laugh at him, 
 if the story ever got wind amongst his fellows ! 
 
 " Don't say anything about this," said Barney ; 
 "it's as well to make believe that we've spent 
 it. We don't want to be made fun of, you under- 
 stand." 
 
 Jane made the desired promise, and then 
 Barney ordered whiskey and water, and cursed 
 the spoiler of his pleasure, the robber of his 
 hard-earned money, over his grog. 
 
 Late at night he prowled about the passages 
 of the inn in hopes of a windfall, but everyone 
 had locked his door. He went down stairs into 
 the bar, in the hope of "doing the lob," that
 
 316 ARRIVAL IN LONDON. 
 
 is, robbing the till, but the landlord had carried 
 it up to bed with him, as a less sagacious man 
 than Black Barney might have anticipated. He 
 came upstairs, sat by the side of the bed wherein 
 Jane was, and began to swear again. 
 
 "We ne'er slept a wink — he swore and I 
 cried till it cam daylight, and all the whiskey 
 was gane," remarked Jane. 
 
 In the morning Barney ordered a substantial 
 breakfast of rumpsteaks and mushrooms — gave 
 directions about his dinner at six — he was going 
 to Eamsgate, and should not be back till that 
 hour, he said — and then Jane and he put on 
 their best clothes, and went out of the inn 
 never to return. They j)acked away the few 
 things that were handy in their pockets, left 
 the portmanteau and their worst dresses in the 
 bed-room, and walked to the railway station, 
 where they took tickets to London, paying for 
 them out of the last sovereign they possessed 
 in the world. 
 
 Arrived in London, Barney woke up to busi- 
 ness at once. He mixed with the crowd stream-
 
 Cameron's wish. 317 
 
 ing out of the railway carriages, and tried one 
 or two pockets, which were empty as his own — 
 pocket-handkerchiefs and such trifles Barney 
 had always had a soul above — and he emerged 
 out of the South-Eastern Terminus still a penni- 
 less man. The police looked at him as he came 
 forth into the London streets — one even nodded 
 towards him, and said, " Ah ! Barney," in a 
 friendly way, which Barney did not cordially 
 respond to. They went over London Bridge, 
 towards the east end of London, Barney leading 
 the way, with his hands in his empty pockets. 
 
 " Where are we ganging, Barney ? " 
 
 " You'll see presently." 
 
 " Oh ! I wish I war in Glasgie agin." 
 
 " I daresay you do. That's not likely, just at 
 present.' 
 
 " Will naebody lend us the money, Barney ? " 
 
 "I'm not going to Grlasgow yet awhile. If 
 you're in a hurry, you can go without me." 
 
 Jane was silent after this ; she had learned 
 to love this man very passionately, and she 
 feared losing him. If he were to turn her off
 
 318 WHITECHAPEL. 
 
 in the London streets, what would become of her, 
 she thought — she who had been of the " streets 
 — streety" alLiier life? 
 
 Black Barney repaired to a noted thieves' 
 house of call, that was in existence then in Gates 
 Street, Whitechapel, where he was well received 
 by the members at home at the time. 
 
 They were glad to see the old face; they 
 shook him by the hands, and wished long life to 
 him ; they gave Jenny a hearty welcome ; they 
 brought forth beer, gin and pipes ; they sent 
 the news forth that Black Barney had " turned 
 up " in Gates Street, and, before the night was 
 fairly in, a goodly muster of London thieves 
 had assembled to do honour to the arrival. 
 
 Barney took the compliments bestowed upon 
 him in a royal manner, said nothing about being 
 short of money — a bad confession to make in 
 thieves' society, even if you happen to be a thief 
 yourself — and told a great many falsehoods con- 
 cerning his latest experience, to account for being 
 so well dressed. 
 
 In this house a week or two were passed, and 
 Jane Cameron was taken into the crowded East
 
 A LONGING FOE GLASGOW. 319 
 
 End thoroughfares, shown the shortest routes 
 to Gates Street, and left by Barney to do the 
 best for herself and him that CiiCumstances 
 would allow. A new face always succeeds for a 
 time ; and the face of Cameron was totally un- 
 known to the London police. For the fortnight 
 she shifted from place to place — from Bishopsgate 
 Street to Eatcliffe Highway, thence to Shoreditch, 
 thence to the Minories, Fenchurch Street, &c., 
 proving herself a pickpocket who had acquired 
 no mean skill, by practice of long and sinful 
 years. Jane became a favourite at Gates Street, 
 for she earned money, and, although it was a 
 little at a time, yet the amount began to in- 
 crease, and Barney to assume a more amiable 
 demeanour in consequence. 
 
 " Well, Jennie, how do you like London ? " 
 He was informed that she did not like it at 
 all — ^that she was anxious, very anxious, to get 
 back to the Glasgow streets. No matter that 
 her next sentence would go hard with her, and 
 that she might begin, almost with impunity, a 
 new life here, she pined for Grlasgow; and 
 Barney, who had his superstitions, and who had
 
 3-20 HOME ! 
 
 been peculiarly "unlucky " in London, imagined 
 that his fortunes lay in the North, where so 
 good ^* a haul " had once been made. 
 
 They counted their earnings, and found that 
 there was money to take them to Griasgow, and 
 they resolved to depart the following day, pre- 
 viously changing their "best things" for some- 
 thing less conspicuous, and more suitable for 
 third-class travelling. Then they went away 
 to their old haunts, their old life, and arrived in 
 Glasgow without accident. 
 
 Here commenced anew the old guilty life — 
 if anything, a worse life than the old — for with 
 every year of crime's progress the soul hardens 
 more and more, until a something is produced 
 which is scarcely akin to humanity. Here, in 
 these busy streets of the old cit}^, flowed on the 
 dark current which had known no turning to the 
 light — flowed on to the end, which came sud- 
 denly and abruptly in the midst of crime, and 
 checked in mid career this sinner, whose life 
 we are attempting. The time went on till 
 the dark nights, for which thieves pray, began 
 to lengthen more and more. Jane still lived
 
 " KNOWN." 321 
 
 in guilty compamonship with this man, who, 
 whatever his faults, and however brutal he 
 may have been, was at least kind, in his 
 way, to her. 
 
 " He scarcely e'er gied me a wry word," 
 said Jane, when alluding to him ; " and yet he 
 were an awfu' mon when his blude was oop." 
 
 Barney and Jane did not meet with a run 
 of ill luck to counterbalance the good which 
 they had had ; their fortunes were varied, and, 
 if they did not steal any more bank-notes, still 
 they did not fall into absolute indigence. They 
 rented a small room in one of the closes, 
 and gathered around them a host of thieves 
 and bad characters. Theirs became a close 
 which required extra surveillance, more robberies 
 occurring in its neighbourhood than were jus- 
 tified by — statistics. They fenced off the police 
 raids as well as possible; they were silent, 
 crafty, and on guard, and only a few of the 
 most imprudent met with the punishment which 
 the aggregate merited. They were all " known," 
 which was bad for trade; but they "thrived 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 322 THE WORST ESTATE. 
 
 pretty well, considering/' and the blackest sheep 
 were still at liberty, despite official vigilance. 
 
 Organized plans of robbery were concocted 
 in this close, and carried out with impunity — 
 above the topmost story was a large loft in 
 the roof, where stolen goods were hidden, or 
 passed through a trap on to the tiles, and 
 crossing the mndows to the opposite side of 
 the close was a drying-pole of extra thickness, 
 which on more than one occasion a thief hard 
 pressed had made use of, and climbed along 
 into the opposite lodging-house. 
 
 It was a quiet house, where little drinking 
 went on, unless strangers had been lured thither, 
 and then drinking became business at once — 
 it was a den of thieves of the vilest and worst 
 description — if the question had lain between 
 the sacrifice of human life or detection, human 
 life would have been coolly set aside. 
 
 Jane Cameron may be said to have been 
 wholly bad at this time — to have forgotten all 
 and everything but her own passions, in her 
 greed of other men's goods. She was eighteen 
 years of age or thereabouts, but her face
 
 barney's warning. 323 
 
 had become lined, and her eyes sunken — the 
 love of drink, which she had inherited from 
 her mother, was growing upon her. After mid- 
 night she began drinking hard, when there was 
 money to spare. 
 
 *'When you get into trouble again, it'll be 
 the drink, mind," warned Barney ; " there's 
 no keeping you straight now ; " keeping straight 
 being, in Black Barney's vocabulary, the art of 
 depredation in a cool and scientific manner, 
 with no disagreeable appendices. 
 
 This life, then, till the winter nights drew in 
 more and more. 
 
 Here let us pause, before we attempt the 
 description of the final act, which incurred a 
 long sentence upon Jane Cameron — the final 
 act of robbery, and one which shut her for 
 many years from the troubled world in which 
 she had played her part so long. After that 
 deed to. which we advert, Jane Cameron never 
 stole again; her life assumed a different phase, 
 and years of prison existence worked that 
 amount of good in her, which months had 
 failed in.
 
 324 A HALTING-STAGE. 
 
 It was a slow and laborious process of 
 regeneration — it was never, perhaps, that ab- 
 solute, unselfish, eager repentance which cha- 
 racterizes one out of a thousand — out of more 
 than a thousand — but it was at least a falter- 
 ing, upward step to the bright land whereon 
 the heaven was shining, and for that reason I 
 have attempted it. At this halting-stage be- 
 tween two lives, it is a sad landscape to look 
 back upon — there is no more sorrowful vista 
 than that which, commencing from a neglected 
 childhood, follows on to the night, to which comes 
 so seldom a morning. 
 
 No such life, I take it, can be devoid of in- 
 terest to right-thinking and earnest men. The 
 watchmen with bell and lantern, who tread 
 those paths, and cry, " Go back, go back ! " I 
 trust may not despair at the nature of their task, 
 but keep ever energetic in Grod's work. If 
 there be many^ failures — if, alas ! there must be 
 many failures — God be thanked that at least 
 there comes a glorious victory over Satan at 
 times, and the news of the conquest stirs the 
 blood, and strengthens the heart and the will.
 
 GOOD WOKK. 325 
 
 But I say again here, if that noble army of 
 volunteers would cry " Go back ! " at an earlier 
 date — would stand, as a rule, not so far down 
 the dark road, the good to follow would be im- 
 measurably greater. With more volunteers to 
 the work, with a whole army to scour our 
 streets, and attack our worst habitations, what 
 grand results might not ensue ? To cry to the 
 fever which is lurking in all ill-kept dwellings, 
 " Go back, we will not have you, if cleanliness 
 and order can keep you away" — to Poverty, 
 " Stand back ! this poor woman and poor man 
 must not starve, or be tempted by the example 
 of successful crime ; " to say to Ignorance, " Go 
 back for ever, and shame not those who have 
 had the power to alter this, and yet have made 
 no effort ; " to say, above all, to Sin, " Back, 
 thou shadow of human life, we fight you with 
 God's Word, and the example of good men and 
 women." 
 
 If all who have the power — and all who read 
 this possess some little power to do good — 
 would think of the poor, the poor man's dwell- 
 ing-place, and, above all, the poor man's children,
 
 326 A QUESTION. 
 
 now and then, the leisure-hours of the fortunate 
 few might be the first step towards the salvation 
 of the many, who, helpless and forgotten, pass 
 unheeded over the brink. From the abyss wails 
 the voice of the lost — shall we stand on the 
 vantage-ground, and say, "We could have 
 helped them with our money, with our friend- 
 ship, with our prayers together, in their homes 
 (remember that before the home is decent and 
 poverty's wolf is away, prayer is of little avail), 
 but we let them pass beyond all help, and turned 
 our backs upon them ! " 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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