The vicar of Wakefield: a tale. Supposed to be written by himself. ... [pt.2]

CHAP. VIII.

The same subject continued.

THE next morning I communicated to my wife and children the scheme I had planned of reforming the prisoners, which they received with universal disap|probation, alledging the impossibility and impropriety of it; adding, that my endea|vours would no way contribute to their a|mendment, but might probably disgrace my calling.

"Excuse me,"

returned I,

"these peo|ple, however fallen, are still men, and that is a very good title to my affections. Good council rejected returns to enrich

the giver's bosom; and though the in|struction I communicate may not mend them, yet it will assuredly mend myself. If these wretches, my children, were princes, there would be thousands ready to offer their ministry; but, in my opini|on, the heart that is buried in a dun|geon is as precious as that seated upon a throne. Yes, my treasures, if I can mend them I will; perhaps they will not all despise me. Perhaps I may catch up even one from the gulph, and that will be great gain; for is there up|on earth a gem so precious as the hu|man soul?"

Thus saying, I left them, and descended to the common prison, where I found the prisoners very merry, expecting my arrival; and each prepared with some gaol trick to play upon the doctor. Thus, as I was go|ing to begin, one turned my wig awry, as if by accident, and then asked my pardon.

A second, who stood at some distance, had a knack of spitting through his teeth, which fell in showers upon my book. A third would cry amen in such an affected tone as gave the rest great delight. A fourth had slily picked my pocket of my spectacles. But there was one whose trick gave more universal pleasure than all the rest; for observing the manner in which I had disposed my books on the table before me, he very dextrously displaced one of them, and put an obscene jest-book of his own in the place. However I took no no|tice of all that this mischievous groupe of little beings could do; but went on, per|fectly sensible that what was ridiculous in my attempt, would excite mirth only the first or second time, while what was serious would be permanent. My design succeed|ed, and in less than six days some were pe|nitent, and all attentive.

It was now that I applauded my perse|verance and address, at thus giving sensibi|lity to wretches divested of every moral feeling, and now began to think of doing them temporal services also, by rendering their situation somewhat more comfortable. Their time had hitherto been divided be|tween famine and excess, tumultous riot and bitter repining. Their only employ|ment was quarrelling among each other, playing cribbage, and cutting tobacco stop|pers. From this last mode of idle indus|try I took the hint of setting such as chose to work at cutting pegs for tobacconists and shoemakers, the proper wood being bought by a general subscription, and when manu|factured, sold by my appointment; so that each earned something every day: a trifle indeed, but sufficient to maintain him.

I did not stop here, but instituted fines or the punishment of immorality, and re|wards for peculiar industry. Thus in less

than a fortnight I had formed them into something social and humane, and had the pleasure of regarding myself as a legislator, who had brought men from their native fe|rocity into friendship and obedience.

And it were highly to be wished, that legislative power would thus direct the law rather to reformation than severity. That it would appear convinced that the work of eradicating crimes is not by making pu|nishments familiar, but formidable. In|stead of our present prisons, which find or make men guilty, which enclose wretches for the commission of one crime, and re|turn them, if returned alive, fitted for the perpetuation of thousands; it were to be wished we had, as in other parts of Europe, places of penitence and solitude, where the accused might be attended by such as could give them repentance if guilty, or new motives to virtue if innocent. And this, but not the increasing punishments, is the

way to mend a state: nor can I avoid even questioning the validity of that right which social combinations have assumed of capi|tally punishing offences of a slight nature. In cases of murder their right is obvious, as it is the duty of us all, from the law of self-defence, to cut off that man who has shewn a disregard for the life of another. Against such, all nature rises in arms; but it is not so against him who steals my pro|perty. Natural law gives me no right to take away his life, as by that the horse he steals is as much his property as mine. If then I have any right, it must be from a compact made between us, that he who de|prives the other of his horse shall die. But this is a false compact; because no man has a right to barter his life, no more than to take it away, as it is not his own. And next the compact is inadequate, and would be set aside even in a court of modern equity, as there is a great penalty for a very trifling convenience, since it is far better

that two men should live, than that one man should ride. But a compact that is false between two men, is equally so be|tween an hundred, or an hundred thou|sand; for as ten millions of circles can ne|ver make a square, so the united voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest founda|tion to falsehood. It is thus that reason speaks, and untutored nature says the same thing. Savages that are directed nearly by natural law alone are very tender of the lives of each other; they seldom shed blood but to retaliate former cruelty.

Our Saxon ancestors, fierce as they were in war, had but few executions in times of peace; and in all commencing govern|ments that have the print of nature still strong upon them, scarce any crime is held capital.

It is among the citizens of a resined community that penal laws, which are in

the hands of the rich, are laid upon the poor. Government, while it grows older, seems to acquire the moroseness of age; and as if our possessions were become dear|er in proportion as they increased, as if the more enormous our wealth, the more ex|tensive our fears, our possessions are paled up with new edicts every day, and hung round with gibbets to scare every in|vader.

Whether is it from the number of our penal laws, or the licentiousness of our peo|ple, that this country should shew more convicts in a year, than half the domini|ons of Europe united? Perhaps it is ow|ing to both; for they mutually produce each other. When by indiscriminate pe|nal laws a nation beholds the same punish|ment affixed to dissimilar degrees of guilt, from perceiving no distinction in the penal|ty, the people are led to lose all sense of dis|tinction in the crime, and this distinction is

the bulwark of all morality: thus the mul|titude of laws produce new vices, and new vices call for fresh restraints.

It were to be wished then that power, in|stead of contriving new laws to punish vice, instead of drawing hard the cords of soci|ety till a convulsion come to burst them, instead of cutting away wretches as useless, before we have tried their utility, instead of converting correction into vengeance, it were to be wished that we tried the restrictive arts of government, and made law the protector, but not the tyrant of the people. We should then find that creatures, whose souls are held as dross, only wanted the hand of a refiner; we should then find that wretches, now stuck up for long tortures, lest luxury should feel a momentary pang, might, if properly treated, serve to sinew the state in times of danger; that, as their faces are like ours, their hearts are so too; that few minds are so base as that perseverance

cannot amend; that a man may see his last crime without dying for it; and that very little blood will serve to cement our secu|rity.