I can liken it to nothing but a sty too narrow for the swine that crowded it; so full of unclean beasts was it, so full of noise and pushing and quarrelling: so full of passions, jealousies, and suspicions ungoverned, was it. Or I would liken it to a chamber in hell when the sharp agony of physical suffering is for a while changed for the equal pains of such companionship and such discourse as those of the common side. I stood near the door as the turnkey had pushed me in, staring stupidly about. Some sat on the stone bench with tobacco-pipes and pots of beer: some played cards on the bench: some walked about: there were women visitors, but not one whose face showed shame or sorrow. To such people as these Newgate is like an occasional attack of sickness; a whipping is but one symptom of the disease: imprisonment is the natural cure of the disease; hanging is only the natural common and inevitable end when the disease is incurable, just as death in his bed happens to a man with fever. While I looked about me, a man stepped out of the crowd. 'Garnish!' he cried, holding out his hand. Then they all crowded round, crying 'Garnish! garnish!' I held up my hands: I assured them that I was penniless. The man who had first spoken waved back the others with his hand. 'Friend,' he said, 'if you have no money, off with your coat.' Then, I know not what happened, because I think I must have fallen into a kind of fit. When I recovered I was lying along the stone bench: my coat was gone: my waistcoat was gone; my shirt was in rags; my shoes--on which were silver buckles, were gone; and my stockings, which were of black silk. My head was in a woman's lap. 'Well done,' she said, 'I thought you'd come round. 'Twas the touching of the wound on your head. Brutes and beasts you are, all of you! all of you! One comfort is you'll all be hanged, and that very soon. It'll be a happy world without you.' 'Come, Nan,' one of the men said, 'you know it's the rule. If a gentleman won't pay his garnish he must give up his coat.' 'Give up his coat! You've stripped him to the skin. And him with an open wound in his head bleeding again like a pig!' The people melted away: they offered no further apology; but the coat and the rest of the things were not returned. My good Samaritan, to judge by her dress and appearance, was one of the commonest of common women--the wife or the mistress of a Gaol-bird; the companion of thieves; the accomplice of villains. Yet there was left on her still, whatever the habit of her life, this touch of human kindness that made her come to the assistance of a helpless stranger. No Christian could have done more. 'Forasmuch,' said Christ, 'as you did it unto one of these you did it unto Me.' When I read these words I think of this poor woman, and I pray for her.