It is said that every man has his niche. Of course there is a niche for every man, and among others one for croakers, and it is very desirable that they should never be seen out of it. We presume we have none of this sort among us, inasmuch as they would instinctively shun the council-chamber of those who look with a hopeful eye upon any and every legitimate project for human improvement. It is excusable in doting age to dwell with a sort of childish satisfaction on the scenes and associations of youth, but no man who is living in good earnest, can fail to be impressed and excited by the vast advance which has been made within an age or two in the condition of the human race.
If there were nothing else to look at but the single institution known as the Pennsylvania Hospital for the Insane, with all its wonderful agencies and appointments for ministering to the relief of the direst of all the ills that flesh is heir to, we should exclaim with gratitude to the Author of all good—How marvellous the change! It seems but yesterday that Pinel, with an intrepidity seldom equalled, ordered the restraints to be removed from fifty-three confirmed lunatics who had been bound in chains and fetters—some for half a lifetime—and proved, to the amazement of their incredulous keepers, that kindness and confidence would assuage a calamity which restraint and violence only serve to aggravate. It was a signal triumph of humanity over ignorance and selfishness, and opened the way for a series of efforts, the benign results of which have scarcely a parallel in the annals of benevolence.
If we imagine, for a moment, thousands of men and women, some confined like wild beasts in dens or cages, enduring the most cruel tortures at the hands of their nearest earthly friends, and doomed, for the remnant of their lives, to hopeless and unmitigated suffering; others wandering about half clothed and loathsome in their persons, exposed by night and by day to burning heat or the pitiless storm, teazed and pelted by the thoughtless and cruel, and shunned, from fear, by the considerate and humane; and others, still, the subjects of constant anxiety and commiseration to loving friends, who sought in vain for some alleviation of their grievous burden,—we have a picture of what was.
Then, if we turn our eyes to any of the noble institutions which, in these latter times, have been founded and furnished for the reception and treatment of these unhappy beings, and consider how large a proportion of them are entirely relieved of their malady and restored to sound health, and to the ordinary duties and enjoyments of life; and to how large an extent the sufferings of others are alleviated, and their comforts and enjoyments multiplied, we have a picture of what now is, and surely no one can suppress an exclamation of gratitude and wonder at the contrast. This item of human ills once looked upon as so terrific, has been divested of its most appalling features, and reduced, like other diseases, to the control of medical skill, and let the Giver of all good be praised for it.
A sketch, not unlike this in its general features, may be given of the change in the treatment of public offenders. The man is now living in Philadelphia who could describe to us a spectacle which his own eyes might have beheld, in what was then nearly the centre of the population of our beautiful city. It was a prison-house at the corner of Market and Third streets, where all grades of offenders, without distinction of sex, color or age, might be seen mingling together, day and night, as one common herd of vagabonds and outcasts! The most flagrant and thrice convicted offender is here associated with one who is presumed to be innocent, because not proved to be guilty; the old and practised thief with the novice in dishonesty—the forger and counterfeiter with the poor but honest debtor—while, at short intervals, there creep into this motley crowd, “the disgusting objects of popular contempt besmeared with filth from the pillory—the victim of the whipping post, with blood streaming from his lacerated body, the half naked vagrant and the loathsome drunkard.”
If we survey the exterior, the scene is not less offensive. The miserable tenants are thrusting poles through the windows with bags or baskets suspended at the end, to catch the eye and the gifts of passers, while shouts of mirth or passion, mingled with profane and brutal execrations assail their ears.
It was to such a sink of corruption and iniquity that the attention of benevolent men was turned, and it was to alleviate miseries such as these, that they associated together, some seventy years ago, under the title which they still hold, and which is seen on each number of this Journal. And what has been accomplished by that and kindred agencies?
The eye of a stranger who passes along Coates’ street towards the Schuylkill, is arrested by an imposing structure, giving the impression of strength, permanence and security. But no sound meets his ear, nor is any sign of its use at all visible. Let him enter and survey the interior. In a spacious area he sees long corridors radiating from a common centre, divided into apartments of suitable size, clean and wholesome, and provided with light and air and furniture needful for the tenant. In these corridors are confined at constant and useful labor, three or four hundred men, but it is as quiet as a well regulated workshop, each is unknown to the other, but all known to the officers and authorized visitors. Their food, lodging and attendance in sickness and in health, are good and sufficient. Their understandings are cultivated, and the voice of kindness and sympathy is heard by many there, who have seldom heard it elsewhere all their lives long.
Who does not exclaim, at the sight of such a contrast. How wonderful the transformation, and all too, within the memory of living men!
But let us brace up our nerves and protect our senses while we return for a moment to the prison-scenes of a former day. It is the Lord’s day. The streets of the city are thronged with people wending their way to the various places of public worship, but who thinks or cares for the “gaol-birds?” Shut out from the light and air of heaven, polluted in body and mind, and given over to work all manner of wickedness greedily, the day which brings repose to the care-worn, and peace to the troubled in heart, is fraught with no good to them.