(A continuation of the CRIMINAL, from [page 351].)
Within the gloomy walls of a prison, far excluded from the glance of man, was immured, him that once had basked in the sunshine of prosperity, him that had been the darling pride of a doating father, and him, reader, that was the next heir to a peerage. But he had woefully broken through the laws of his country; Despair, that haggard fiend, had sent him, like the beast of prey, to obtain assistance unlawfully; and wholly guided by her dictates, he had unknowingly murdered his parent.———
——Spare your anathemas, ye advocates for monarchy, ye who think sanguinary laws are as necessary as the glittering baubles of a crown; who imagine the life of the offender is requisite to expiate his crime—and consider whether solitary imprisonment is not far more just. Common humanity would urge you to reply in the affirmative. Then throw aside the tyranny of custom, and for once let your bosoms swell with philanthropy.
Him, who is the subject of this tale, lived in an age when no breast was actuated by these considerations, when man paid the most implicit obedience to the gilded trappings of royalty, when no such thing as civil or religious liberty existed.
No ray of light found entrance into his dismal cell: the wisdom of the contriver had situated it many yards beneath the surface of the earth. In one corner there had originally been placed a bundle of straw, which had served the purpose of a bed to many whom fate had singled out to pay with their lives the forfeit of their crimes; but nought now remained save here and there a scattering one. On his legs were bound enormous shackles, under the weight of which a Sampson would have groaned: nor were his hands exempt from the galling fetters—and as for his body, it was nearly cased in iron.—Unhappy victim of despotic cruelty!—
In this dungeon, until he had the “inestimable privilege of a trial by jury,” he was doomed to receive an earnest of what he was to expect. With a soul undaunted he patiently bore it all. Now and then his wife and helpless children would call for a tear of pity, which was all he could bestow. He would reflect on the crime he had committed; and discovered to what lengths misery would lead a man—to the commission of what in his cooler moments he would spurn from him with horror.
L. B.
NEW-YORK.