I say nothing of God’s grace—that is above my comprehension—but, except for that, we need entertain no hope of the repentance and amendment of regular thieves and robbers.
They have perhaps their use—they can be made examples of to others, but seldom or never good examples to themselves.
“There are instances of reformation, I suppose,” said one of the company. “Once a thief, always a thief, is not a very humane doctrine.”
“There are instances, of course, but they form the exception to the rule,” observed Mr. Hilton. “But that the habitual criminal, as he is termed, will always exist, is, I fear, fated; but modern experience tells us that they may be diminished by simply drawing them when very young within the circle of civilisation, in place of the old way of keeping them out of it.”
“Some will never reform, do what you will,” remarked Peace, “and this is a very sad reflection.”
He could moralise with the best of them, and went on for the space of several minutes discoursing upon the question of the treatment of the criminal part of the community. He blamed the government more than the public, or, indeed, the felons, and talked so morally, and in such a proper manner, that his listeners were charmed with his discourse.
Then when the subject began to prove wearisome he played a fantasia on his violin, and made the little girl, his pupil, dance to the sound of the music.
His guests appeared to enjoy themselves—indeed they could hardly fail to do so for Peace, in addition to being an entertainer, played the part of a host in a highly satisfactory manner. Mr. Hilton was the first to leave. After his departure the publican said—
“Ah! a very nice chap, that friend of yours.”
“Yes, pretty well, for a detective.”