Nor does the public danger arising from such a career as that of Peace end there.
His evil example, in spite of its fatal ending, is calculated to debauch the wild imagination of foolish lads, and every atom of sympathy wasted upon him, every misguided attempt to cast the glamour of romance around his sordid, rapacious, and beastly life, is as a hand held out from the darkness to help the saplings of crime up the steps of the gallows.
Our sympathies are not for such as he.
We are sorry for the respectable man whom he sent suddenly out of the world, the man whom he sought to rob of his honour, and did rob of his life, with as little compunction as he was wont to display in robbing his neighbours of their goods and chattels.
We wonder how sane men can feel, much less express, sympathy for the midnight burglar. A man leads an honest, laborious, and thrifty life, and after many years of self-denial surrounds himself with home luxuries, such as plate, jewellery, clocks, and what not.
Suddenly a thief comes in the dark, and in a moment casts the shadow of irreparable loss over the decent citizen’s existence.
Admit that the robber does display a certain sort of brute courage; so does the fox when he steals the poultry; so does the tiger that lies crouching in the jungle and waits for the unsuspecting traveller.
But the farmer traps the fox, and the hunter shoots the tiger, and perhaps praises their courage—over their carcases.
Peace, as we have already demonstrated during the progress of this work, was a very fair musician, a clever carver and gilder, and a man of good natural ability in many ways.
He was very proud of his proficiency in those arts, which he displayed even in prison, once carving the wood pulpit for the prison chaplain.