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A Sorry spectacle.

--The company of human beings which may be seen almost any morning making its way from the police station at the Old Market to the tribunal of his Honor the Mayor, presents to every sensitive mind a sad and mournful aspect. We doubt whether such a procession ought to be permitted to pass uncovered through our streets.--There would be an appropriateness in shutting them up in a large box on wheels, or a hearse, and thus conducting them along unknown, people might think the dead were going to their long home; and they would not be much mistaken, for many of these are indeed morally dead.

‘"Lost to virtue lost to manly thought."’

We see in these mournful processions the remains of female beauty, the relice of female virtue, the fragments of genius, and talent, and energy, and hope, with the bloated, bruised bodies which were once instinct with life and all that made life beautiful. It may be, some are not dead, but only sick temporarily. It might reclaim them to hide them from the idle gaze of the streets, and to warm into life by a little considerate kindness the latent sparks of self-respect. It surely hardens them to expose them in their shame.

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