It was in the winter of 1862 that robberies with violence--garrote robberies, as they were called--suddenly increased to such an alarming extent, and were accompanied with such hideous details of brutality, that general consternation prevailed. The streets of London were less safe, said the leading journal, than a capital in the throes of revolution and under no government at all. No man could walk abroad, even in crowded thoroughfares, without feeling that he carried both his life and his money in his hand. Both might be wrested from him by an insidious malefactor before the victim was even conscious of his danger. On all sides instances of these treacherous assaults multiplied; and though varying somewhat in their method of execution, each and every one of them belonged unmistakably to the same class of crime. One day it was reported that a young lady of fifteen had been attacked in Westbourne Crescent in the afternoon. She was half throttled, and a pistol held to her head, while they rifled her pockets, and tried to tear off her necklace, and the pendants from her ears. Her head was to have been shorn, too, of its magnificent hair, which, as one of the ruffians cried, would certainly fetch a goodish sum; but just then the sound of approaching wheels frightened these human vultures from their helpless quarry. Next, a poor old woman, a feeble tottering creature advanced in years, was knocked down and wantonly maltreated for the half-dozen coppers she carried in her pocket. These attacks were made at all hours and in all neighbourhoods. Daylight was no protection, nor were the crowds in a thoroughfare. One gentleman was felled to the ground in the afternoon near Paternoster Row, another in Holborn, a third in Cockspur Street. Later on, at night, the dangers, of course, multiplied a hundredfold. Poor musicians, tramping home after performing in some theatrical orchestra, were knocked down and robbed of their instruments as well as their cash. It was a service of danger to take the money at the door of any entertainment. A gang of garroters, for instance, had their eye on Michael Murray in the early part of the night as he stood at the door of the Teetotal Hall in Chelsea, and as soon as he left for home, they followed with stealthy step till they overtook him in Sloane Square, and knocked him down, having first throttled and rifled him. If you stood still in the street, and refused to give a drink to any man who accosted you, he would probably then and there give you a hug. Those who took a delight in attending public executions did so at their own peril. A Mr. Bush, who was standing in front of the Old Bailey when Cooper was hanged, was hustled by several men, who first forced his hands up over his head, then unbuttoned his coat and stole his watch.