After accepting an invitation to lecture before the Lyceum at New Bedford, Mr. Sumner, learning that colored persons were denied membership and equal opportunities with white persons, refused to lecture, as appears in the following Letter, which was published in the papers of the time.Shortly afterwards the obnoxious rule was rescinded, and Mr. Sumner lectured.
After accepting an invitation to lecture before the Lyceum at New Bedford, Mr. Sumner, learning that colored persons were denied membership and equal opportunities with white persons, refused to lecture, as appears in the following Letter, which was published in the papers of the time.
Shortly afterwards the obnoxious rule was rescinded, and Mr. Sumner lectured.
Boston, November 29, 1845.My Dear Sir,—I have received your favor of November 24, asking me to appoint an evening in February or March to lecture before the New Bedford Lyceum, in pursuance of my promise.On receiving the invitation of your Lyceum, I felt flattered, and, in undertaking to deliver a lecture at some time, to be appointed afterwards, I promised myself peculiar pleasure in an occasion of visiting a town which I had never seen, but whose refined hospitality and liberal spirit, as described to me, awakened my warmest interest.Since then I have read in the public prints a protest, purporting to be by gentlemen well known to me by reputation, who are members of the Lyceum, and some of them part of its government, from which it appears that in former years tickets of admission were freely sold to colored persons, as to white persons, and that noobjection was made to them as members, but that at the present time tickets are refused to colored persons, and membership is also refused practically, though, by special vote recently adopted, they are allowed to attend the lectures without expense, provided they will sit in the north gallery.From these facts it appears that the New Bedford Lyceum has undertaken within its jurisdiction to establish a distinction ofCastenot recognized before.One of the cardinal truths of religion and freedom is theEquality and Brotherhood of Man. In the sight of God and of all just institutions the white man can claim no precedence or exclusive privilege from his color. It is the accident of an accident that places a human soul beneath the dark shelter of an African countenance, rather than beneath our colder complexion. Nor can I conceive any application of the divine injunction, Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, more pertinent than to the man who founds a discrimination between his fellow-men on difference of skin.It is well known that the prejudice of color, which is akin to the stern and selfish spirit that holds a fellow-man in slavery, is peculiar to our country. It does not exist in other civilized countries. In France colored youths at college have gained the highest honors, and been welcomed as if they were white. At the Law School there I have sat with them on the same benches. In Italy I have seen an Abyssinian mingling with monks, and there was no apparent suspicion on either side of anything open to question. All this was Christian: so it seemed to me.In lecturing before a Lyceum which has introduced the prejudice of color among its laws, and thus formally reversed an injunction of highest morals and politics, I might seem to sanction what is most alien to my soul, and join in disobedience to that command which teaches that the children of earth are all of one blood. I cannot do this.I beg, therefore, to be excused at present from appointing a day to lecture before your Lyceum; and I pray you to lay this letter before the Lyceum, that the ground may be understood on which I deem it my duty to decline the honor of appearing before them.I hope you will pardon the frankness of this communication, and believe me, my dear Sir,Very faithfully yours,CHARLES SUMNER.To the Chairman of the Committee}of the New Bedford Lyceum.}
Boston, November 29, 1845.
My Dear Sir,—I have received your favor of November 24, asking me to appoint an evening in February or March to lecture before the New Bedford Lyceum, in pursuance of my promise.
On receiving the invitation of your Lyceum, I felt flattered, and, in undertaking to deliver a lecture at some time, to be appointed afterwards, I promised myself peculiar pleasure in an occasion of visiting a town which I had never seen, but whose refined hospitality and liberal spirit, as described to me, awakened my warmest interest.
Since then I have read in the public prints a protest, purporting to be by gentlemen well known to me by reputation, who are members of the Lyceum, and some of them part of its government, from which it appears that in former years tickets of admission were freely sold to colored persons, as to white persons, and that noobjection was made to them as members, but that at the present time tickets are refused to colored persons, and membership is also refused practically, though, by special vote recently adopted, they are allowed to attend the lectures without expense, provided they will sit in the north gallery.
From these facts it appears that the New Bedford Lyceum has undertaken within its jurisdiction to establish a distinction ofCastenot recognized before.
One of the cardinal truths of religion and freedom is theEquality and Brotherhood of Man. In the sight of God and of all just institutions the white man can claim no precedence or exclusive privilege from his color. It is the accident of an accident that places a human soul beneath the dark shelter of an African countenance, rather than beneath our colder complexion. Nor can I conceive any application of the divine injunction, Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, more pertinent than to the man who founds a discrimination between his fellow-men on difference of skin.
It is well known that the prejudice of color, which is akin to the stern and selfish spirit that holds a fellow-man in slavery, is peculiar to our country. It does not exist in other civilized countries. In France colored youths at college have gained the highest honors, and been welcomed as if they were white. At the Law School there I have sat with them on the same benches. In Italy I have seen an Abyssinian mingling with monks, and there was no apparent suspicion on either side of anything open to question. All this was Christian: so it seemed to me.
In lecturing before a Lyceum which has introduced the prejudice of color among its laws, and thus formally reversed an injunction of highest morals and politics, I might seem to sanction what is most alien to my soul, and join in disobedience to that command which teaches that the children of earth are all of one blood. I cannot do this.
I beg, therefore, to be excused at present from appointing a day to lecture before your Lyceum; and I pray you to lay this letter before the Lyceum, that the ground may be understood on which I deem it my duty to decline the honor of appearing before them.
I hope you will pardon the frankness of this communication, and believe me, my dear Sir,
Very faithfully yours,
CHARLES SUMNER.
To the Chairman of the Committee}
of the New Bedford Lyceum.}
Article from the Christian Examiner, January, 1846.
It is with a feeling of deference that we welcome Miss Dix's "Remarks on Prisons and Prison Discipline." Her peculiar labors for humanity, and her renunciation of the refined repose which has such attractions for her sex, to go about doing good, enduring the hardships of travel, the vicissitudes of the changing season, and, more trying still, the coldness of the world, awaken towards her a sense of gratitude, and invest her name with an interest which must attach to anything from her pen.
The chosen and almost exclusive sphere of woman is home, in the warmth of the family hearth. Rarely is she able to mingle with effect in the active labors which influence mankind. With incredulity we admire the feminine expounder of the Roman law, illustrating by her lectures the Universities of Padua and Bologna,—and the charities of St. Elizabeth of Hungary are legendary in the dim distance; though, in our own day, the classical productions of the widow of Wyttenbach, crowned Doctor of Philosophy by the University of Marburg, and most especially the beautiful labors of Mrs. Fry, recently closed by death, are examples of the sway exerted by the gentler sex beyond the charmed circle of domestic life. Among these Miss Dix will receive a place which her modesty would forbid her to claim. Her name will be enrolled among benefactors. It will be pronounced with gratitude, when heroes in the strifes of politics and of war are disregarded or forgotten.
"Can we forget the generous fewWho, touched with human woe, redressive soughtInto the horrors of the gloomy jail,Unpitied and unheard, where misery moans,Where sickness pines?"
"Can we forget the generous fewWho, touched with human woe, redressive soughtInto the horrors of the gloomy jail,Unpitied and unheard, where misery moans,Where sickness pines?"
"Can we forget the generous fewWho, touched with human woe, redressive soughtInto the horrors of the gloomy jail,Unpitied and unheard, where misery moans,Where sickness pines?"
"Can we forget the generous few
Who, touched with human woe, redressive sought
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail,
Unpitied and unheard, where misery moans,
Where sickness pines?"
Miss Dix's labors embrace penitentiaries, jails, alms-houses, poor-houses, and asylums for the insane, throughout the Northern and Middle States,—all of which she has visited, turning a face of gentleness towards crime, comforting the unfortunate, softening a hard lot, sweetening a bitter cup, while she obtained information oftheir condition calculated to awaken the attention of the public. This labor of love she has pursued earnestly, devotedly, sparing neither time nor strength, neglecting no person, abject or lowly, frequenting the cells of all, and by word and deed seeking to strengthen their hearts. The melody of her voice still sounds in our ears, as, standing in the long corridor of the Philadelphia Penitentiary, she read a Psalm of consolation; nor will that scene be effaced quickly from the memory of any then present. Her Memorials, addressed to the Legislatures of different States, have divulged a mass of facts, derived from personal and most minute observation, particularly with regard to the treatment of the insane, which must arouse the sensibilities of a humane people. In herself alone she is a whole Prison Discipline Society. To her various efforts may be applied, without exaggeration, those magical words in which Burke commemorated the kindred charity of Howard, when he says that he travelled, "not to survey the sumptuousness of palaces or the stateliness of temples, not to make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur nor to form a scale of the curiosity of modern art, not to collect medals or collate manuscripts, but to dive into the depths of dungeons, to plunge into the infection of hospitals, to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain, to take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt, to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit the forsaken, and to compare and collate the distresses of all men."
Her "Remarks" contain general results on different points connected with the discipline of prisons: as, the duration of sentences; pardons and the pardoningpower; diet of prisoners; water; clothing; ventilation; heat; health; visitors' fees; dimensions of lodging-cells in the State penitentiaries; moral, religious, and general instruction in prisons; reformation of prisoners; penitentiary systems of the United States; and houses of refuge for juvenile offenders. It would be interesting and instructive to examine the conclusions on all these important topics having the sanction of her disinterested experience; but our limits restrict us, on the present occasion, to a single topic.
We are disposed to take advantage of the interest Miss Dix's publication may excite, and also of her name, which is an authority, to say a few words on a question much agitated, and already the subject of many books,—the comparative merits of what are called the Pennsylvania and Auburn Penitentiary Systems. This question is, perhaps, the most important of all that grow out of Prisons; for it affects, in a measure, all others. It involves both the construction of the prison, and its administration.
The subject of Prison Discipline, and particularly the question between the two systems, has of late years occupied the attention of jurists and philanthropists in no ordinary degree. The discussion has been conducted in all the languages of Europe, to such an extent that the titles alone of the works would occupy considerable space in a volume of Bibliography. We have before us, for instance, a list of no less than eleven in Italian. But we must go back to the last century, if we would trace the origin of the controversy.
To Howard, a man of true greatness, whose name will stand high on the roll of the world's benefactors, belongs the signal honor of first awakening the sympathies of the English people in this work of benevolence. By his travels and labors he became familiar with the actual character of prisons, and was enabled to spread before the public an accumulation of details which fill the reader with horror and disgust. The condition of prisons at that time in England was appalling. Of course there was no system; nor was there any civilization in the treatment of prisoners. Everything was bad. As there was no care, so there was no cleanliness, on which so much depends, and there was no classification or separation of any kind. All commingled, so that the uncleanness of one befouled all, and the wickedness of one contaminated all. While this continued, all hope of reform was vain. Therefore, with especial warmth, Howard pleaded for theseparationof prisoners, especially at night, "wishing to have so many small rooms or cabins that each criminal may sleep alone,"[121]and called attention to the fact he had observed in Holland, that "in most of the prisons for criminals there are so many rooms that each prisoner is kept separate."[122]
The importance of the principle of separation was first recognized at Rome, as long ago as 1703, by Clement XI., in the foundation of the Hospital of St. Michael, or the House of Refuge, where a separate dormitory was provided for each prisoner. Over the portal of this asylum, in letters of gold, were inscribed the words of wisdom which Howard adopted as the motto of his labors, and which indicate the spirit that should preside over the administration of all prisons:Parum est improbos coercere pœna, nisi probos efficias disciplina,—It is of small consequence to coerce the wicked by punishment, unless you make them good by discipline. The first and most important step in this discipline is to remove prisoners from all evil influence,—which can be done only by separation from each other, and by filling their time with labor.
In furtherance of this principle, and that he might reduce it to practice, Howard, in conjunction with Sir William Blackstone, as early as 1779, drew an Act of Parliament, the preamble to the fifth section of which is an enunciation of the cardinal truth at the foundation of all effective prison discipline.
"Whereas," says the Act, "if many offenders, convicted of crimes for which transportation hath been usually inflicted,were ordered to solitary imprisonment, accompanied by well-regulated labor and religious instruction, it might be the means, under Providence, not only of deterring others from the commission of the like crimes,but also of reforming the individuals," etc. Noble words! Here, for the first time in English legislation, the reformation of the prisoner is proposed as a distinct object. This Act, though passed, was unfortunately never carried into execution, through the perverseness, it is said, of one of the persons associated with Howard as commissioner for erecting a suitable prison.
As early as 1790 a law was passed in Pennsylvania, which is of importance in the history of this subject, showing appreciation of the principle of seclusion with labor. In the preamble it is declared, that previous laws for the punishment of criminals had failed of success, "from thecommunicationwith each other not being sufficiently restrained within the places of confinement, and it is hopedthat the addition of unremitted solitude to laborious employment, as far as it canbe effected, will contribute as much to reform as to deter", and the Act further provides, that certain persons shall be "kept separate and apart from each other, as much as the convenience of the building will admit." The principle of separation, when first announced by Howard, and practically attempted in Pennsylvania, was imperfectly understood. It was easy to see the importance of separation; but how should it be applied? In Pennsylvania it was attempted at first with such rigor as to justify its designation as theSolitary System. But as the new penitentiary in Philadelphia was about to be occupied, a law was passed providing that after July 1st, 1829, convicts should, "instead of the penitentiary punishments heretofore prescribed, be sentenced to suffer punishment byseparateor solitary confinement atlabor"; and there is further provision for "visits to the prisoners." Here were the two elements,—first, of labor, and, secondly, of visits. In pursuance of this Act, that penitentiary was organized at Philadelphia which afforded the first example on an extended scale of the absolute separation of convicts from each other, combined with labor. And this penitentiary has given its name to the class of prisons founded on this principle.
It should be borne in mind that this system is distinguishable from one ofsolitaryconfinement with labor,—much more from one of mere solitary confinement without labor. An intemperate opponent, too rash or prejudiced to recognize all the truth, has often characterized the present Pennsylvania system as theSolitary System, and by this term not unfrequently aroused a feeling against it which must disappear before a candid inquiry. It is easy to condemn any system of absolute solitude without solace of labor or society. The examples of history rise in judgment against such. Who can forget the Bastile? We have the testimony of Lafayette, whose own further experience at Olmütz should not be neglected, as to its effect. "I repaired to the scene," he says, "on the second day of the demolition, and found that all the prisoners had been deranged by their solitary confinement, except one. He had been a prisoner twenty-five years, and was led forth during the height of the tumultuous riot of the people, whilst engaged in tearing down the building. He looked around with amazement, for he had seen nobody for that space of time, and before night he was so much affected that he became a confirmed maniac." But the Bastile is not the only prison whose stones, could they speak, would tell this fearful tale; nor is Lafayette the only reporter.
Names often have the importance of things; and it cannot be doubted that the ignorant or dishonest application of the termsolitaryto the Pennsylvania system is a strong reason for the opposition it has encountered.
TheSeparate Systemhas but one essential condition,—the absolute separation of prisoners from intercourse of any kind with each other. On this may be engrafted labor, instruction, and even constant society with officers of the prison, or with virtuous persons. In fact, these have become, in greater or less degree, component parts of the system. In constant employment the prisoner finds peace, and in the society with which he is indulged innocent relaxation and healthy influence. This is the Pennsylvania system.
There is another and rival system, first established in theMaison de Forceat Ghent, but borrowing its namefrom the Auburn Penitentiary of New York, where it was first introduced in 1816, by a remarkable disciplinarian, Elam Lynds. Here the prisoners are separated only at night, each sleeping in a small cell or dormitory by himself. During the day they labor together in shops, or in the open air, according to the nature of the work,—being prohibited from speaking to each other, under pain of punishment. From the latter feature this is often called theSilent System. As its chief peculiarity, in contradistinction to theSeparate System, is the working of prisoners in assemblies, where all see and are seen, it may be more properly designated theCongregate System.
Such, in brief, are these two systems, which, it will be observed, both aim at the same object,the separation of prisoners so that they can have no intercourse with each other. In the one this end is attained by their physical separation from each other both night and day; in the other, by such separation at night, with untiring watch by day to prevent intercourse. Of course, separation by the Congregate system is less complete than by the other. Conversation by words may be restrained; though it is now admitted that no guardian can be sufficiently watchful to intercept on all occasions those winged messengers. The extensive unspoken, unwritten language of signs, the expression of the countenance, the movements of the body, may telegraph from convict to convict thoughts of stubbornness, hatred, or revenge.
If separation be desirable, should it not be complete? Should not the conducting wires be broken, so that no electrical spark may propagate its disturbing force? But the very pains taken in the Congregate system to insure silence by day and separation by night answerthis question. Thus, by strange inconsistency, the advocates of theCongregatesystem seek to enforceseparation. Wedded to an imperfect practice, they recognize the correct principle.
Before proceeding farther with this comparison it is proper to glance at the real objects of prison discipline, that we may be better enabled to determine which system is best calculated to answer these objects.
Three things are proposed by every enlightened system: first, to deter others from crime; secondly, to prevent the offender from preying again upon society; thirdly, discipline and care, so far as possible to promote reformation. There are grounds for belief that the first two purposes are best attained by the Separate system; but without considering these particularly, let us pass to the question, Which is best calculated to perform that truly heavenly function of reforming the offender?
Is not the answer prompt and decisive in favor of that system which most completely protects the prisoner from the pernicious influence of brethren in guilt? It is a venerable proverb, that a man is known by the company he keeps; and this is a homely expression of the truth, that the character of a man is naturally in harmony with those about him. If the society about him is virtuous, his own virtues will be confirmed and expanded; on the other hand, if it be wicked, then will the demon of his nature be aroused. Bad qualities, as well as good, are quickened and strengthened under the influence of society. Every association of prisoners must pervert, in greater or less degree, but can never reform, those of whom it is composed. The obdurate offender, perpetually brooding on evil, even though he utter no audible word, will impart to the congregationsomething of his own hardness of heart. Are we not told by the poet, that sheep and swine take contagion from one of their number, and even a grape is spoiled by another grape?
"Dedit hanc contagio labem,Et dabit in plures; sicut grex totus in agrisUnius scabie cadit, et porrigine porci,Uvaque conspecta livorem ducit ab uva."[123]
"Dedit hanc contagio labem,Et dabit in plures; sicut grex totus in agrisUnius scabie cadit, et porrigine porci,Uvaque conspecta livorem ducit ab uva."[123]
"Dedit hanc contagio labem,Et dabit in plures; sicut grex totus in agrisUnius scabie cadit, et porrigine porci,Uvaque conspecta livorem ducit ab uva."[123]
"Dedit hanc contagio labem,
Et dabit in plures; sicut grex totus in agris
Unius scabie cadit, et porrigine porci,
Uvaque conspecta livorem ducit ab uva."[123]
From the inherent nature of things, this contagion must be propagated by the Congregate system, while the Separate system does all that man can do to restrain it. By the latter, as successfully administered, the prisoner is, in the first place, withdrawn, so far as possible by human means, from all bad influences, while, in the second place, he is brought under the operation of good influences. The mind is naturally diverted from thick-coming schemes of crime, and turned to thoughts of virtue. What in it is bad, if not entirely subdued, is weakened by inactivity, while the good is prompted to constant exercise.
It cannot be questioned, then, on grounds of reason, independent of experience, that the Separate system is better calculated to promote that great object of Prison Discipline, the reformation of the offender. With this recommendation alone it would be entitled to the regard of all who feel that the return of a single sinner is blessed.
But a further object is secured. As the prisoners never see one another, they leave the penitentiary, at the expiration of their punishment, literally unknowing and unknown. In illustration of this fact, the delightful incident is mentioned, that the keeper of the Philadelphia Penitentiary once recognized three persons at thesame place, engaged in honest labor, who had been in his custody as convicts, though neither knew the career of the other two. Discharged prisoners are thus enabled to slide back into the community, without the chilling fear of untimely recognition by those with whom they congregated in the penitentiary. They cannot escape the memory of the punishment they have endured; but the brand is not upon the forehead. They are encouraged to honest exertion by the hope of retrieving, on a distant spot and under a new name, the fair character they have lost; while, on the other hand, if evil-minded, they have no associations of the prison to renew, or to stimulate to conspiracy against society.
A system of Prison Discipline with these benign features must long ago have commended itself to general acceptance, if it had not been opposed with exceptional ardor on grounds which, though in reality little tenable, are calculated to exercise influence over the ignorance and prejudice of men.
The first objection is, that it is productive of insanity, from an unnatural deprivation of society. However just this may be when directed against the Solitary system, it is inapplicable to what is called the Separate system, which does not exclude the idea of society, and, as practically administered at Philadelphia and elsewhere, supplies both society and labor in ample measure. If the prisoner is not indulged with society enough, it is a fault in the administration of the system, and not in the system itself. In the publications of the Boston Prison Discipline Society, elaborate tables have been arranged showing a tendency to insanity in the Penitentiary at Philadelphia; but careful and candid inquiry will demonstrate that these are founded in misapprehension,and will exonerate that institution from such imputation. The highest authorities in medicine have distinctly declared, that the Separate system, if properly administered, with labor and conversation, does not affect the reason. The names of Esquirol and Louis give to this opinion the strongest sanction of science throughout the civilized world. The same conclusion was affirmed with precision and fervor by Lélut, in an elaborate memoir before the Institute of France, and also by the Scientific Congress assembled at Padua in 1843, and at Lucca in 1844.
The second objection charges the Separate system with being unfavorable to health, as compared with the Congregate system. In reply we merely say, that the great names in medicine to which we have already referred expressly deny that it has any influence in shortening life; while a statistical comparison of several penitentiaries conducted on the Congregate system with the Philadelphia Penitentiary attests the superiority of the latter in this respect.
The third and last objection is founded on the increased expense of the Separate system. The Congregate system is recommended by suggestions of economy and clamors of cupidity. It is said to be put into operation at less cost, and afterwards to support itself, and even to bring profit to the State. We are sorry to believe that this consideration has had an extensive influence. It is humiliating to suppose that Government would hesitate to adopt a system founded on enlightened humanity because another might be had for less money,—counting the unworthy gain or the petty economy as of higher consequence than the reformation of an offender. Such a course were unworthyof our civilization. The State has sacred duties to the unfortunate men it takes into its custody. It must see not only that they receive no harm, but that they enjoy all means of improvement consistent with their condition,—that, while their bodies are clothed and fed, their souls are not left naked and hungry. It assumes the place of parent, and owes a parent's care and kindness; or rather, when we consider that the State itself is child of the people, may we not say that it should emulate that famous Roman charity, so often illustrated by Art, which descended into the darkness of a dungeon, to afford an exuberant, health-giving bosom to the exhausted being from whom it drew its own life.
Notwithstanding the uncompromising hostility the Separate system has encountered, it wins constant favor. Many prisons are built on this plan, and experience comes to confirm the suggestions of humanity and science. The Penitentiary at Philadelphia, which first proved its superiority, was followed in 1833 by one at Pittsburg and by a County Prison at Alleghany, and in 1841 by another County Prison, on the same system, at Harrisburg. In 1834 New Jersey followed the example of her neighbor State, and established a penitentiary on this system at Trenton.
Commissions from foreign governments, after visiting the different prisons of the United States, have all reportedemphaticallyin favor of the Separate system: as, that of Beaumont and De Tocqueville to the French Government, in 1831; of Mr. Crawford to the English, in 1834; of Dr. Julius to the Prussian, in 1836, after a most careful perambulation of all the prisons of the country; of Demetz and Blouet to the French, in 1837,—being the second Commission from the same Government; and of Neilson and Mondelet to the Canadian Government, in 1836.
In accordance with these recommendations, numerous prisons have been built or are now building in Europe. In England a model prison has been constructed at Pentonville, which is perhaps the best prison in the world. In the late Report of the Surveyor-General of Prisons, laid on the table of Parliament during its last session, it was expressly declared, from the experience gained in the Pentonville prison, "that the separation of one prisoner from another is indispensable as the basis of any sound system." As long ago as 1843, no less than seventeen prisons on this principle were built or building in different counties of England, and several in Scotland. In France the whole subject has undergone most thorough discussion by the press, and also in debate by the Chamber of Deputies. Among the works now before us is a volume of more than six hundred pages, filled by a report of this debate, with notes, which ended in the passage of a law during the last summer appropriating ninety millions of francs for the building of thirty prisons on the Separate system. Such is the testimony of France and England.
Similar testimony comes from other quarters: from Prussia, where five prisons on this system have been built; from Denmark, where ten are now building; from Sweden, where eight are building under the auspices of the monarch, who, when Prince Oscar, wrote ably in advocacy of the Separate system; from Norway, where one is now building in the neighborhood of Christiania; from Poland, where one has long been in existence, and three others are nearly completed; fromHungary, where a project has been submitted to the Diet for the erection of ten on the Separate system; from Holland, where one is about to be erected on the plan of Pentonville; from Belgium, which has yielded to the Separate system, and has even engrafted it upon the famousMaison de Forceat Ghent, the model of our Auburn Prison; from the Duchy of Nassau; from the Grand Duchy of Baden; from Frankfort-on-the-Main; from Hamburg; from Geneva, in Switzerland: in all of which prisons on this system are built or are building. From poor, distracted Spain proceeds the same testimony.
To this array of authorities and examples may be added two names of commanding weight in all matters of Prison Discipline,—Edward Livingston and Miss Dix. The first, whose high fortune it was to refine jurisprudence by his philanthropy, as he had illumined it by his genius and strengthened it by his learning, in his Introductory Report to the Code of Prison Discipline, as long ago as 1827, urged with classical eloquence a system of "seclusion, accompanied by moral, religious, and scientific instruction, and useful manual labor." Miss Dix, after attentive survey of different systems throughout our country, fervently enforces, as well in the publication now before us as in her Memorials, the merits of the Separate system, and of its administration in Pennsylvania.
It might be said that the voices of civilized nations, by a rare harmony, concurred in sanctioning the Separate system, if the Boston Prison Discipline Society had not raised a persistent note of discord, which has gone on with a most unmusicalcrescendo. As the solitary champion of an imperfect system which the world isrenouncing, it has contended with earnestness, which has often become prejudice, and with insensibility to accumulating facts, which was injustice. With frankness, as with sorrow, we allude to the sinister influence it has exercised over this question, particularly throughout the Northern States. But the truth which has been proclaimed abroad need not be delicately minced at home. We do not join with the recent English writer, who, among many harsher suggestions, speaks of the "misrepresentation," the "trickery," the "imposture"[124]of the Society or its agent,—nor with Moreau-Christophe, who says, "La Société des Prisons à Boston a juré haine à mort au système de Philadelphie";[125]for we know well the honesty and sincere interest in the welfare of prisoners which animate its Secretary, and we feel persuaded that he will gladly abandon the deadly war which he wages against the Separate system, when he sees it as it is now regarded by the science and humanity of the civilized world. But we feel that his exertions, which in some departments of Prison Discipline have been productive of incalculable good, for which his memory will be blessed, on this important question have done harm. In his Reports he has never failed to present all the evil of the Separate system, particularly as administered in Philadelphia, sometimes even drawing upon his imagination for facts, while he has carefully withheld the testimony in its favor. This beneficent system and its meritorious supporters are held up to obloquy, and the wide circle that confided implicitly in his Reports are consigned to darkness with regard to its true character and its general reception abroad.
One of the most strenuous advocates of the Separate system at the present moment, whose work of elaborate argument and detail now lies before us, is Suringar, called sometimes the Howard of Holland, who had signalized himself by previous opposition to it. He says, "I am now completely emancipated from my former error. This error I do not blush to confess openly. The same change has been wrought in the opinions of Julius in Prussia, of Crawford in England, of Bérenger and Demetz in France, and of all men of good faith, who are moved, in their researches, only by the suggestions of conscience, unswayed by prejudice or pride of opinion." Perhaps in these changes of opinion the Secretary of the Boston Prison Discipline Society may find an example which he will not be unwilling to follow; and it may be for us to welcome him as a cordial fellow-laborer in the conscientious support of what he has for a long period most conscientiously attacked.
From this rapid survey it will be seen that our convictions and sympathies are with the Separate system. Nothing in Prison Discipline seems clearer than the general duty of removing prisoners from the corrupting influence of association, even though silent. But we are not insensible to the encouragement and succor which prisoners might derive from companionship with those struggling like themselves. It was a wise remark of the English Professor, that "students are the best professors to each other"; and the experience of Mrs. Farnham, the matron of the female convicts at Sing-Sing, shows that this same principle is not without its effect even among classes of convicts. Perhaps the Separate system might be modified, so as to admit instruction and labor together, in a small class, selected after aprobationary period of separation, as specially worthy of this indulgence and confidence. Such a modification was contemplated and recommended by Mr. Livingston, and would seem to find favor with Von Raumer in his recent work on America. This privilege can be imparted to those only who have shown themselves so exemplary that their society seems to be uncontaminating. But it remains to be seen whether there is any subtile alchemy by which their purity may be determined, so as to justify a departure from the general rule of separation.
Finally, we would commend this subject to the attention of all. In the language of Sir Michael Foster, a judge of eminence in the last century, "No rank or condition of life, no uprightness of heart, no prudence or circumspection of conduct, should teach any man to conclude that he may not one day be deeply interested in these researches." There are considerations of self-interest which may move those who do not incline to labor for others, unless with ultimate advantage to themselves. But all of true benevolence, and justly appreciating the duties of the State, will join in effort for the poor prisoner, deriving from his inferior condition new motives to action, that it may be true of the State, as of law, that the very least feels its care, as the greatest is not exempt from its power. In the progress of an enlightened Prison Discipline, it may be hoped that our penitentiaries will become in reality, if not in name, Houses of Reformation, and that convicts will be treated with scrupulous regard for their well-being, physical, moral, and intellectual, to the end, that, when they are allowed to mingle again with society, they may feel sympathy with virtue and detestation of vice, and, when wiser, may be better men.
In the promotion of this cause, the city of Boston at this moment occupies a position of signal advantage. It has determined to erect a new county jail, and the plans are still under consideration. It is easy to perceive that the plan it adopts and the system of discipline it recognizes will become an example. No narrow prejudice and no unworthy economy should prevent the example from being such as becomes a city of the wealth, refinement, and humanity of Boston. It is a common boast, that her schools and various institutions of beneficence are the best in the world. The prison about to be erected should share this boast.Let it be the best in the world.Let it be the model prison, not only to our own country, but to other countries. The rule of separation, considered of such importance among the ripe convicts of the penitentiary, is of greater necessity still in a prison which will receive before trial both innocent and guilty. From the first moment he is touched by the hand of the law, the prisoner should be cut off from all association, by word or sight, with fellow-prisoners. The State, as his temporary guardian, mindful of his weakness, owes him this protection and this means of reformation.
Theabsolute separationof prisoners, so that they can neither see, hear, nor touch each other, is the pole-star of Prison Discipline. It is the Alpha, or beginning, as the reformation of the offender is the Omega, or the end. It is this principle, when properly administered, which irradiates with heavenly light even the darkness of the dungeon, driving far away the intrusive legion of unclean thoughts, and introducing in their vacant place the purity of religion, the teachings of virtue, the solace of society, and the comfort of hope. In this spirit letus build our prisons. The jail will no longer be a charnel-house of living men; the cell will cease to be the tomb where is buried what is more precious than the body,—a human soul. From their iron gates let us erase that doom of despair,
"All hope abandon, ye who enter in,"
and inscribe words of gentleness, encouragement, love.
Lecture before the Boston Lyceum, delivered in the Federal Street Theatre, February 18, 1846.
"Ihave lost a day," was the exclamation of the virtuous Roman Emperor,—"for on this day I have done no good thing." The Arch of Titus still stands midway between the Forum and the Colosseum, and the curious traveller discerns the golden candlesticks of conquered Judæa sculptured on its marble sides; but this monument of triumph, and the memory it perpetuates of the veteran legions of Rome and the twenty cohorts of allies before whose swords the sacred city yielded its life in terrible fire and blood, give not to the conqueror such true glory as springs from these words,—destined to endure long after the arch has crumbled to dust, and when the triumph it seeks to perpetuate has passed from the minds of men. That day was not lost. On no day wast thou so great or beneficent as when thou gavest this eternal lesson to man. Across the ages it still reaches innumerable hearts, even as it penetrated the friendly bosoms that throbbed beneath its first utterance. The child learns it, and receives a new impulse to labor and goodness. There are few, whether old or young, who do not recognize it as more than a victory.
If I undertake to dwell on the suggestions of this theme, it is because it seems to me especially appropriate to the young, at whose request I have the honor of appearing before you. My subject is the Value of Time, and the way in which it may be best employed. I shall attempt nothing elaborate, but simply gather together illustrations and examples, which, though trite and familiar, will at least be practical.
The value of time is one of our earliest lessons, taught at the mother's knee, even with the alphabet,—"Sis a sluggard,"—confirmed by the maxims of Poor Richard, printed at the end of almanacs, and stamped on handkerchiefs,—further enforced by the examples of the copy-book, as the young fingers first learn to join words together by the magical art of writing. Fable comes in aid of precept, and the venerable figure of Time is depicted to the receptive, almost believing, imagination of childhood, as winged, and also bald on the top and back of the head, with a single tuft of hair on the forehead, signifying that whoso would detain it must seize it by the forelock. With such lessons and pictures the child is trained. Moralist, preacher, and poet also enforce these teachings; and the improvement of time, the importance of industry, and the excellence of labor become commonplaces of exhortation.
The value of time has passed into a proverb,—"Time is money." It is so because its employment brings money. But it is more. It is knowledge. Still more, it is virtue. Nor is it creditable to the character of the world that the proverb has taken this material and mercenary complexion, as if money were the highestgood and the strongest recommendation. Time is more than money. It brings what money cannot purchase. It has in its lap all the learning of the Past, the spoils of Antiquity, the priceless treasures of knowledge. Who would barter these for gold or silver? But knowledge is a means only, and not an end. It is valuable because it promotes the welfare, the development, and the progress of man. And the highest value of time is not even in knowledge, but in the opportunity of doing good.
Time is opportunity. Little or much, it may be the occasion of usefulness. It is the point desired by the philosopher where to plant the lever that shall move the world. It is the napkin in which are wrapped, not only the talent of silver, but the treasures of knowledge and the fruits of virtue. Saving time, we save all these. Employing time to the best advantage, we exercise a true thrift. Here is a wise parsimony; here is a sacred avarice. To each of us the passing day is of the same dimensions, nor can any one by taking thought add a moment to its hours. But though unable to extend their duration, he may swell them with works.
It is customary to say, "Take care of the small sums, and the large will take care of themselves." With equal wisdom and more necessity may it be said, "Watch the minutes, and the hours and days will be safe." The moments are precious; they are gold filings, to be carefully preserved and melted into the rich ingot.
Time is the measure of life on earth. Its enjoyment is life itself. Its divisions, its days, its hours, its minutes, are fractions of this heavenly gift. Every moment that flies over our heads takes from the future and gives to the irrevocable past, shortening by so much the measureof our days, abridging by so much the means of usefulness committed to our hands. Before the voice which now addresses you shall die away in the air, another hour will have passed, and we shall all have advanced by another stage towards the final goal on earth. Waste or sacrifice of time is, then, waste or sacrifice of life itself: it is partial suicide.
The moments lost in listlessness or squandered in unprofitable dissipation, gathered into aggregates, are hours, days, weeks, months, years. The daily sacrifice of a single hour during a year comes at its end to thirty-six working days, allowing ten hours to the day,—an amount of time, if devoted exclusively to one object, ample for the acquisition of important knowledge, and for the accomplishment of inconceivable good. Imagine, if you please, a solid month dedicated, without interruption, to a single purpose,—to the study of a new language, an untried science, an unexplored field of history, a fresh department of philosophy, or to some new sphere of action, some labor of humanity, some godlike charity,—and what visions must not rise of untold accumulations of knowledge, of unnumbered deeds of goodness! Who of us does not each day, in manifold ways, sacrifice these precious moments, these golden hours?
There is a legend of Mohammed which teaches how much may be crowded into a moment. It is said that he was suddenly taken up by an angel, and borne beyond the naming bounds of space, where he beheld the wonders of Heaven and Hell, the bliss of the faithful and the torments of the damned in measureless variety, and was then returned to the spot of earth from which he had been lifted,—all in so short a time that the water had not entirely run out of the pitcher whichhe let fall from his hands when he was borne upwards. But actual life furnishes illustrations of greater point. It is related of a celebrated French jurist, one of the ornaments of the magistracy, that he composed a learned and important work in the quarter hours that draggled between dinner ordered and dinner served. Napoleon directed one of his generals to move on a battery of the enemy, although reinforcements were in sight, saying, "It will take them fifteen minutes to reach the point; I have always observed that thesefifteen minutesdecide great battles." In the currents of common life they are often as decisive as in the heady fight.
It would be easy, from literary and political history, from the lives of all who have excelled in any way, to accumulate illustrations of the power of industry. Among those who have achieved what the world calls greatness, the list might be extended from Julius Cæsar to Napoleon, whose feats of labor are among the marvels of history. Nor should we forget Alfred, the father of English civilization, whose better fame testifies also to the wise employment of time. Our own country, this very town, furnishes a renowned example in Benjamin Franklin. Here I pronounce a name which has its own familiar echoes. His early studies, when a printer's boy,—his singular experience of life in its extremes,—sounding in childhood all the humilities, as in maturer years he reached all that was exalted in place,—the truant boy become a teacher to the nations, and pouring light upon the highest schools of science and philosophy, touching the throne with hands once blackened by types and ink,—all this must be present to you. His first and constant talisman was industry. The autobiography in which he has recorded his progress in knowledge is a remarkable composition, where the style flows like a brook of transparent water, without a ripple on its smooth surface. Perhaps no single book has had greater influence in quickening labor and the rigid economy of time, overcoming all obstacles, among those whose early life has been chilled by penury or darkened by neglect. But we must qualify our praise. It cannot fail to be regretted that the lessons taught by Franklin are so little spiritual in their character,—that they are so material, so mundane, so full of pounds, shillings, and pence. "The Almighty Dollar," now ruling here with sovereign sway and masterdom, was placed on the throne by Poor Richard. When shall it be dethroned? When shall the thoughts, the aspirations, the politics of the land be lifted from the mere greed of gain, with an appetite that grows by what it feeds on, into the serene region of inflexible justice and universal benevolence? Could we imagine the thrift, the worldly wisdom, the practical sense, the inventive genius of Franklin, softened, exalted, illumined, inspired by the imagination, the grace, the sensibility, the heavenly spirit of Channing, we should behold a character under whose influence our country would advance at once in all spiritual as well as material prosperity,—where money should not be the "main chance," but truth, justice, righteousness, drawing in their train all the goods of earth, and reflecting all the blessings of heaven. Then would time be the best ally of man, and no day would pass without some good thing done.
Among the contemporaries of Franklin in England, unlike in the patrician circumstances of his birth, education, and life, most unlike in his topics of thought and study, but resembling him in the diligence and constancy of labor marking his career, was Edward Gibbon, author of the History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. He also has left behind an autobiography,—in style and tone how unlike the simple narrative of Franklin!—where in living colors are depicted the labors and delights of a scholar's life. This book has always seemed to me, more than any other in the English language, calculated to enkindle the love of learning, and to train the student for its pursuit. Here he will find an example and guide in the various fields of scholarship, who will challenge his admiration in proportion as he shares the same generous aspiration. The autobiographies of Gibbon and Franklin are complements of each other. They teach the same lesson of labor and study in different spheres of life and to different classes of minds. Both have rare excellence as compositions, and constitute important contributions to that literature which illustrates the employment of time.
There is another character, of our own age, whose example is, perhaps, more direct and practical, especially as described by himself: I mean William Cobbett. To appreciate this example, you must know something of his long life, from early and inauspicious youth to venerable years, filled always with labors various, incessant, and Herculean, under which his elastic nature seemed to rise with renewed strength. He died in 1835, supposed to be seventy-three years of age, although the exact date of his birth was never known, and such was the position he had acquired that he was characterized at that time, even by hostile pens, as one of the most remarkable men whom England, fertile in intellectual excellence, ever produced. The lapse of little more than ten years has begun to obscure his memory. It will be for posterity to determine whether he has connected his name with those great causes of human improvement which send their influence to future ages, and are destined to be the only consideration on which fame hereafter will be awarded or preserved. But the memory of his labors, and the voice of encouragement to the poor and lowly which sounds throughout his writings, must always be refreshing to those whose hopes of future usefulness are clouded by discouragement and poverty. There can be none so humble as not to derive succor from his example. He was conscious even to vanity of his own large powers, and at the close of his long career surveyed his succession of labors—the hundred volumes from his sleepless pen, and the wide influence they had exercised—with the self-gratulation of the miser in counting his stores of gold and silver.
The son of a poor farmer, at the age of twenty he ran away from the paternal acres, and became for a short time copying-clerk to a lawyer, but, tiring soon of these duties, he enlisted in the army and found himself private in a regiment at Chatham, which was ordered to America. His merit soon raised him to the rank of corporal, and then of sergeant-major. At this time he saw his future wife and the mother of his children. The circumstances of this meeting, as described by himself in his own peculiar style, belong to this picture, while they illustrate the subject. "When I first saw my wife," he writes, "she was thirteen years old, and I was within a month of twenty-one. She was the daughter of a sergeant-major of artillery, and I was the sergeant-major of a regiment of foot, both stationed in forts near the city of St. John, in the province of New Brunswick. I sat in the same room with her for about an hour, in company with others, and I made up my mind that she was the very girl for me. That I thought her beautiful is certain, for that I had always said should be an indispensable qualification; but I saw in her what I deemed marks of that sobriety of conduct of which I have said so much, and which has been by far the greatest blessing of my life. It was now dead of winter, and of course the snow several feet deep on the ground, and the weather piercing cold. It was my habit, when I had done my morning's writing, to go out at break of day to take a walk on a hill at the foot of which our barracks lay. In about three mornings after I had first seen her, I had, by an invitation to breakfast with me, got up two young men to join me in my walk, and our road lay by the house of her father and mother. It was hardly light, but she was out on the snow, scrubbing out a washing-tub. 'That's the girl for me!' said I, when we had got out of her hearing."[126]To her he plighted faith. After eight years of service in the army, and his return to England, he obtained his discharge and married her.
In 1792 Cobbett came to the United States, living in Philadelphia, where he was bookseller, publisher, author, and libeller by profession. As "Peter Porcupine" he is well known. He shot his sharp and malicious quills at the most estimable characters,—Franklin, Jefferson, Gallatin, Priestley, and even the sacred name of Washington. A heavy judgment for libel hanging suspended over him, he fled from America, and from the justice he had aroused, to commence in England afresh career of unquestioned talents, unaccountable inconsistency, and inexhaustible malignity.
On his arrival in England Cobbett attached himself warmly to the interests of Mr. Pitt, in whose behalf he wielded for a while his untiring pen. At the same time he commenced business as bookseller, in which he soon failed. In politics he showed himself more Tory than the most Tory. Mr. Windham, in the House of Commons, made the remarkable declaration, that "he merited a statue of gold."[127]His Letters on the Treaty of Amiens produced a sensation throughout Europe.[128]The celebrated Swiss historian, Von Müller, pronounced them more eloquent than anything since Demosthenes. How transitory is fame! These Letters, once so much admired, which, with profane force, helped to burst open the Temple of Janus, happily closed by peace, are now forgotten. I do not know that they are to be found in any library in this part of the country.
It was at this period that he commenced his "Weekly Political Register," which for more than thirty years was the vehicle of his opinions and feelings. But the pungent Toryism with which he began his career was changed into a more pungent Liberalism; from the oil of Conservatism he passed to the vinegar of Dissent. He saw all things in a new light, and with unsparing criticism pursued the men he had recently extolled. His Ishmael pen was turned against every man. He wrote with the hardihood of a pirate and the ardor of a patriot. At length he was convicted of libel, and sentenced to pay a fine of a thousand pounds and to beimprisoned for two years. This severe incarceration he never forgave or forgot. With thoughts of vengeance he emerged from his prison to unaccustomed popularity. His "Register," into which, as into a seething caldron, he weekly poured the venom of his pen, reached the unprecedented circulation of one hundred thousand, an audience greater than was ever before addressed by saint or sinner. The soul swells in the contemplation of the good that might have been wrought by a spirit elevated to the high purpose, having access to so many human hearts. His pen waxing in inveteracy, and himself becoming daily more obnoxious to the Government, in 1817, by timely flight, he withdrew from the threatening storm, and sought shelter in the United States, where he lingered, principally on Long Island, till 1819, when he wandered back to England, there to renew his strifes and ruffle again the waters of political controversy. As late as 1831, he was, for the eighth time in his life, brought into court on a charge of libel. The veteran libeller, then seventy years of age, defended himself in a speech which occupied six hours. The jury did not agree,—six being for conviction and six for acquittal.
At the general election for the Reform Parliament in 1832, Cobbett was chosen member for the borough of Oldham, which seat he held until June 18, 1835, when his long, active, and disturbed career was closed by death, leaving her whom he had loved at the wash-tub, amid the snows of New Brunswick, his honored widow.
His character was unique. He was the most emphatic of writers, perhaps the most voluminous. He was foremost in the crew of haters; he was the paragonof turncoats. Sentiments uttered at one period were denied at another. At one time he wrote of Paine as follows: "He has done all the mischief he can in the world, and whether his carcass is at last to be suffered to rot on the earth or to be dried in the air is of very little consequence. Whenever or wherever he breathes his last, he will excite neither sorrow nor compassion; no friendly hand will close his eyes."[129]Later in life, on his second visit to America, he exhumed the bones of the man he had thus reviled, and bore them in idolatrous custody to the land of his birth.
Besides his multitudinous political writings, which in number remind us of the cloud of "locusts warping on the eastern wind," he produced several works of great and deserved popularity,—a Grammar of the French Language, written while he rocked the cradle of his first child,—a Grammar of the English Language,—a little volume, "Advice to Young Men,"—and a series of sketches entitled "Rural Rides," in which he gave unmixed pleasure to friend and foe.
I have dwelt thus long upon the life and character of Cobbett, as a proper introduction to the picture of his marvellous industry, which I am able to present in his own language. The labor which he accomplished testifies; but in his writings he often refers to it with peculiar pride. He tells us how he learned grammar. Writing a fair hand, he was employed as copyist by the commandant of the garrison where he first enlisted. In his autobiography he says: "Being totally ignorant of the rules of grammar, I necessarily made many mistakes. TheColonel saw my deficiency, and strongly recommended study. I procured me a Lowth's Grammar, and applied myself to the study of it with unceasing assiduity. The pains I took cannot be described. I wrote the whole Grammar out two or three times; I got it by heart; I repeated it every morning and every evening; and when on guard, I imposed on myself the task of saying it all over once, every time I was posted sentinel."[130]Would that all posted as sentinels were as well employed as saying over to themselves the English grammar! If every common soldier could do this, there would be little fear of war. The evil spirits were supposed to be driven away by an Ave Maria or a word of prayer. The grammar would be as potent. "Terrible as an army with grammars" would be more than "Terrible as an army with banners."
In his "Advice to Young Men" Cobbett says: "For my part, I can truly say that I owe more of my great labors to my strict adherence to the precepts that I have here given you than to all the natural abilities with which I have been endowed; for these, whatever may have been their amount, would have been of comparatively little use, even aided by great sobriety and abstinence, if I had not in early life contracted the blessed habit of husbanding well my time. To this, more than to any other thing, I owed my very extraordinary promotion in the army. I wasalways ready. If I had to mount guard at ten, I was ready at nine; never did any man or any thing wait one moment for me.... My custom was this: to get up in summer at daylight, and in winter at four o'clock; shave, dress, even to the putting of my sword-belt over my shoulder, and having my sword lying on the table before me, ready to hang by my side. Then I ate a bit of cheese or pork and bread. Then I prepared my report, which was filled up as fast as the companies brought me in the materials. After this I had an hour or two to read before the time came for any duty out of doors."[131]
At a later period of life, when his condition was entirely changed, and his name as a writer was in all men's mouths, he thus describes his habits. "I hardly ever eat more than twice a day,—when at home, never,—and I never, if I can well avoid it, eat any meat later than one or two o'clock in the day. I drink a little tea or milk-and-water at the usual tea-time (about seven o'clock). I go to bed at eight, if I can. I write or read from about four to about eight, and then, hungry as a hunter, I go to breakfast."[132]
In another place he recounts with especial satisfaction a conversation at which he was present, one of the parties to which was Sir John Sinclair, the famous agriculturist and correspondent of Washington. "I once heard Sir John Sinclair," he says, "ask Mr. Cochrane Johnstone whether he meant to have a son of his, then a little boy, taught Latin. 'No,' said Mr. Johnstone, 'but I mean to do something a great deal better for him.' 'What is that?' said Sir John. 'Why,' said the other, 'teach him to shave with cold water and without a glass.'"[133]
With this pertinacious devotion to labor, and this unparalleled sense of the value of time, Cobbett surrendered himself to the blandishments of domestic life. The hundred-armed giant of the press, he always had anarm for his child. "For my own part," he says, "how many days, how many months, all put together, have I spent with babies in my arms! My time, when at home, and when babies were going on, was chiefly divided between the pen and the baby. I have fed them and put them to sleep hundreds of times, though there were servants to whom the task might have been transferred. Yet I have not been effeminate; I have not been idle; I have not been a waster of time." "Many a score of papers have I written amidst the noise of children, and in my whole life never bade them be still. When they grew up to be big enough to gallop about the house, I have, in wet weather, when they could not go out, written the whole day amidst noise that would have made some authors half mad. It never annoyed me at all."[134]
These passages are like windows in his life, through which we discern his character, where the domestic affections seem to vie with the sense of time.
No person can become familiar with the career of Cobbett without recognizing regular habits of industry as the potent means of producing important results. Did the hour permit, it would be pleasant and instructive to review the career of another distinguished character, whose writings have added much to the happiness of his age, and whose rare feats of labor illustrate the same truth: I mean the author of "Waverley." There are points of comparison or contrast between Cobbett and Scott which might be presented at length. They were strictly contemporaries, spanning with their lives almost the same long tract of time. They were the most voluminous authors of their age, perhaps the most voluminous couple of any age. Since the days of Ariosto no writers had been read by so many persons as was the fortune of each. The marvellous fecundity of Scott was more than matched by the prolific energy of Cobbett. The fame of the Scotsman was equalled by the notoriety of the Englishman. If one awakened our delight, we could not withhold from the other our astonishment. With Scott life was a gala and a festival, with beauty, wit, and bravery. With Cobbett it was a stern reality, perpetually crying out, like the witch in Macbeth, "I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do." And yet Scott was hardly less careful of time than his indefatigable contemporary. His life is a lesson of industry, and the student may derive instruction from his example. Both sought in early rising the propitious hours of labor; but the morning brought its rich incense to the one, and its vigor to the other. They departed this life within a short period of each other, casting and leaving behind their voluminous folds of authorship. The future historian will note and study these; but the world, which has already dismissed Cobbett from its presence, will hardly cherish with enduring affection the writings of Scott. He lived in the Past, and, with ill-directed genius, sought to gild the force, the injustice, the inhumanity of the early ages. Cobbett lived intensely in the Present, and drew his inspiration from its short-lived controversies. For neither had Hope scattered from her "pictured urn" the delights of an unborn period, when the dignity of Humanity shall stand confessed. A greater fame than is awarded to either will be his who hereafter, with the imagination of the one and the energy of the other, without the spirit of Hate that animated Cobbett, without the spirit of Caste thatprevailed in Scott, regarding life neither as a festival nor as a battle, forgetting Cavalier and Roundhead alike, and remembering only Universal Man, shall dedicate the labors of a long life, not to the Past, not to the Present only, but also to the Future, striving to bring its blessings nearer to all.
Such are some of the examples by which we learn the constant lesson of the value of time. For them genius did much, but industry went hand in hand with this celestial guide.
Here the student may ask by what rule time is to be arranged and apportioned so as to accomplish the greatest results. If we interrogate the lives of our masters in this regard, we shall find no uniform rule as to the employment of the day, or even the hours of repose. The great lawyer, Lord Coke, whose rare learning and professional fame cannot render us insensible to his brutality of character, has preserved for the benefit of the young student some Latin verses setting forth the proper division of the day, allowing six hours for sleep, six for the law, four for prayers, two for meals, while all the rest, being six hours more, is to be lavished on the sacred muses.[135]These directions are imperfectly reproduced in two English rhymes:—