siderable the offence, is by the judge sentenced to death. And this step, as Mr. Wakefield observes, though strictly in compliance with the law, is a solemn mockery of truth;' for, including the cases of murder, which are never pardoned, the 'judge, the audience, the prisoner, and the public, are fully convinced, that the sentence passed will not be executed in more than one case out of eight.' For, as is shown in a table copied from an official report, out of 451 persons, who were condemned in the course of three years, only 55 were executed.

Now, were there no other objection to this 'strange work' of condemnation, it would to us be sufficient, that it makes null and void, and brings into absolute contempt, nay, the most audacious defiance, one of the most solemn of all earthly procedures. What is more tremendous than the sentence, condemning a fellow-mortal and a fellow-sinner to a speedy and dreadful death? closing for ever his probation, and driving him to the bar of eternal justice to answer for offences, which, even by this awful earthly retribution, may have been unexpiated! Yet in proportion to this fearful solemnity, which even no stranger can contemplate without being moved, is its absolute futility, and worse than futility, when it is known beforehand, that, in the vast majority of cases, it is a mere fiction of law, a form of words, passed indiscriminately upon hardened robbers, who deserve any punishment short of death, and upon boys and children, who scarcely know what is meant by crime.

We now pass with our author to the cells of Newgate, whither are ordered those few unfortunate individuals who are probably to suffer the sentence, which has been pronounced on many, and who are thus separated from the mass of their fellow-criminals. And here the evils of the whole system are equally apparent in another form. In proportion to the previous confidence of pardon, or mitigation of penalty, and to the numbers who actually escape, is the excess of compassion for those who are left for death. 'Before sentence, says Mr. Wakefield, a prisoner has only to observe the regulations of the jail in order to remain neglected and unnoticed. Once ordered to the cells, friends of

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of mercy, and orders it only to be 'recorded' against others, whom it is his intention to save.

all classes suddenly rise up; his fellow-prisoners, the turnkeys, the chaplain, the keepers, and the sheriffs, all seem interested in his fate. He can make no reasonable request, that is not at once granted' and 'a stranger to the scene would be astonished to observe the peculiar tenderness, I was going to add respect, which persons under sentence of death receive from all the officers of the prison.' From this, however, must be excepted, the case of murderers who, for the few hours that are left them after condemnation, are immured in a solitary cell, set apart for the purpose, unattended, except possibly by the chaplain; and are led forth to death in the most summary manner, without being allowed the benefit or solace of religious services. All others are treated as if they were unfortunate victims of the injustice of the laws. Their crimes, however aggravated, are overlooked; and from pity to them as sufferers, the transition is easy, as we have seen in many instances towards malefactors in this country, to respect for them as martyrs. The remarks of the writer upon this point deserve attention.

Having observed, that in the treatment of other prisoners, even before trial, when they are presumed to be innocent, he had never observed any thing like commiseration from persons in authority over them; that at the best, they are neglected, except for their safe custody; but that the same men, once capitally convicted, are treated as brothers or children in distress; he asks,

'Who shall define any limit to the evils, which arise from a universal feeling amongst the criminal classes, that to be condemned to the greatest punishment is to be taken out of the class of criminals, and to obtain, instead of the dislike usually awarded to known criminals, greater tenderness and respect than are often bestowed upon strangers of unquestioned virtue? If any one would thoroughly comprehend the description which I am endeavouring to give of the treatment of convicts under sentence of death, let him spend an hour in the cells of Newgate on the day after the sentences of death have been passed at the Old Bailey, and he will there see a number of the worst criminals (not murderers) attended by the keeper of the prison, the chaplain, and perhaps the sheriffs, and receiving from all these words of condolence, offers of service, professions of interest, delivered in a tone and manner so friendly and sympathizing, that were he to fall upon the same scene without any previous knowledge of its true character, he

might suppose that he witnessed the sad and affectionate intercourse of parents with their children in distress. There may be readers who will blame these officers of justice, for so commiserating the state of men in the course of suffering a merited punishment for the good of society. I pretend not to defend them otherwise than by saying, that they cannot help what they do. A late sheriff, who, before the trial of a man for uttering forged notes, had spoken rather harshly of the prisoner's crime, when informed of the same prisoner's danger, could not help letting tears run down his face, nor hinder his voice from faultering, and his whole frame being agitated, whilst he expressed his anxious wish to do every thing in his power for saving the convict's life.'-pp. 98–100.

And, finally, in reply to his own question, "Why is the capital convict, he whose crime is most grave and is proven, so favorably distinguished?" He answers,

'Because the punishment of death shocks every mind to which it is vividly presented, and overturns the most settled notions of right and wrong.'

There is, however, a remaining hope to the condemned, which lies in appeal to the King in Council. This constitutes a peculiarity, it would at first view seem an advantage, in favor of the convicts tried in London and Middlesex. For whereas in the country, or the Provincial Assizes, the judge, who tries the prisoner (except in extraordinary cases, as where circumstances arise after the trial to produce distrust of the evidence), ultimately decides his fate, in London every case of capital conviction is, without exception, reported by the Recorder to the King's Council, where it undergoes a new examination; and even after the decision of the Council, is once more submitted to the king in person, or, more properly, to the Secretary of State for the Home Department, who is charged with these affairs, and who has unquestionably the principal influence in directing the exercise of the royal prerogative of mercy. It was to this tribunal, that the appeal was addressed with so much earnestness, by Dr. Johnson and others, in the instance of the unfortunate Dodd. But the utter failure of this, and of many other more recent applications, shows, that the advantage in favor of the prisoner is rather apparent than real. From various causes, partly from the pressure of other, and to him more important business, embracing the whole government

VOL. XII. N. S. VOL. VII. NO. I.

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of the kingdom, the Secretary may not even read the petitions in the prisoner's favor. We believe it was afterwards discovered, that even Dr. Johnson's eloquent letter for Dodd never reached the Secretary's hands. In addition to such chances, flying rumors, injurious to the prisoner, representing him as an old offender, or as having committed the crime in question under circumstances of peculiar atrocity; the known facility with which affidavits are obtained, stating facts in mitigation; the frequent perjuries which have been committed for this purpose; and the strong necessity, sometimes felt by government, as in the instance of Dodd, of making an example, all operate to the disadvantage of the criminal; and constitute together, as Wakefield shows with much detail of evidence, an extreme difficulty in reversing a decision of the Council, or of saving a person, convicted of a crime which is usually punished by death. So great is this difficulty, we are told, that it is not uncommon to hear sneers at those who have so much courage and humanity as to undertake it.

'On the other hand,' says the writer, there can be no doubt, that false statements, favorable to the accused, are sometimes imposed on the Secretary of State for truth; and that lives are saved improperly; that is to say, on the ground of false evidence." And in corroboration of this, he mentions the surprise, often felt not only by himself, but 'by the officers of the prison, whenever a final decision of the Council was made known in Newgate, at the selection of the Council, for death on the one hand, and for reprieve or commutation on the other. On every occasion, it appeared to him that many persons had been spared, not any of whom were less guilty than persons either then condemned, or who had been executed shortly before.' In truth, it is easy to perceive, that before a tribunal so constituted, at a distance from the prisoner and from all means of personal investigation, occupied moreover with other business, a perfectly right decision must be exceedingly difficult.

After the Recorder has made his report, and the final decision is passed by the Council, it is immediately made known by the Recorder in person to the officers of Newgate; and it is then the duty of the Ordinary, or of him who performs the usual religious services of the prison, to tell each convict under sentence of death what the Council has

decided for him. The scenes which follow are in themselves of so awful an interest, and are so much better described by the writer, as an eye-witness, than they can possibly be drawn by another, that we shall quote almost entirely the brief chapter, which he entitles 'The Recorder's Report.' This officer, we may premise, whose title is The Recorder of London,' is appointed by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen ; and, being the mouth of the city, it is his duty to pronounce and record the sentences of the courts therein,' &c.

'The hour at which the Recorder's Report will reach Newgate is generally known beforehand by the capital convicts and their friends outside the walls. But this is not always the case. On one occasion, in 1829, the Council having been held at Windsor, the Recorder did not deliver the decision of the Council until the day after that on which it took place. The prisoners and their friends, therefore, were kept in a state of the most violent suspense for many hours, during which they counted the moments, -the prisoners in their cells, as usual, and their friends in the street in front of Newgate, where they passed the night. I have heard the protracted agony of both classes described, by those who witnessed it, in terms so strong that I am unwilling to repeat them. More or less an agony of suspense is excited amongst the prisoners and their friends by the approach of every Recorder's Report; a mode of punishing which has been represented as well calculated to strike terror into the criminal classes of the metropolis, but which, I believe, produces a contrary effect, by hardening the character of those who are subjected to it. I have been assured, that, on the occasion just mentioned, the crowd of men and women who passed the night in front of Newgate, began, as soon as the hour was past when they had expected the Report, to utter imprecations against the Recorder, the Secretary of State, the Council, and the King; and that they never ceased cursing until the passion of anger so excited was exchanged for joy in some and grief in others; and I myself heard more than one, of those whose lives were spared by that decision of the Council, afterwards express a wish to murder the Recorder for having kept them so long in suspense. The fact is, that they had, together with their relatives and friends, been kept in suspense for six weeks. The extremity of mixed hope and fear, induced by the Recorder's delay on this occasion, only urged them to express the feelings of exasperation which, more or less, are produced by the infliction of suspense on every body of capital convicts. A fact will be stated presently, which shows that the presumed

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