CHAPTER VI.

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.

In the account given of the transmission of convicts to New South Wales, I have endeavoured, “nothing extenuating, nor setting down aught in malice,” to describe the true state of morality in that country. A wish to avoid prolixity prevented the mention of some few particulars, which from the weight that attaches to their consideration, as affecting the security and reformation of the prisoners, seem to be not destitute of interest, and may without impropriety, it is hoped, be briefly mentioned here. In these remarks I shall simply state circumstances as they came under my notice in their practical effects, leaving the question of remedy exclusively in the hands of those who best can obviate the existing inconveniences, and remedy the mischievous results arising from the present mode of transportation.

In the first instance, then, I would respectfully direct attention, immediate and effective, to the present plan of fitting up prisons on board of convict ships. The manner in which those places are erected for the detention of male prisoners is less objectionable in regard to security than those for females. In the one case, the protection of the persons in authority over the confined appears principally designed, as opposed to any violence meditated on the part of the male prisoners, as also for the security of the ship. But in the other, these circumstances, if they are at all allowed to occupy consideration, appear of but little moment, because it seems to be an opinion commonly received, _that improper intercourse between the female convicts and the sailors must continue as a matter of course, and that all endeavours to prevent it will be fruitless, and therefore any precaution in fitting up a prison for females, with that view, is superfluous_. As far as it regards the safety of the ship and stores, that may perhaps be the case, as from women, merely, no such danger need be apprehended; and this notion has probably led to the present specious manner of construction, in which the semblance of confinement only appears to be consulted.

The present alarming increase of crime renders every precaution for the safe lodgement of male convicts both wise and salutary, particularly so long as no pains are taken to subdue their predilection for plunder and profligacy, by informing their minds with moral truths, and showing them the just and happier resources of honest life. With regard to this class of prisoners, however, there is little to recommend by way of strengthening the rigour of the system of confinement, as sufficient care is taken in that respect, that as little chance as possible is allowed of their resorting to violence with any hope of success, even were they so disposed: when in addition to the fetters and the strong prevention of their prison, the military guard placed over them is a balance more than sufficiently countervailing to any such design.

The situation of a female convict prison claims attention in a peculiar degree, if the main purpose of reformation, the object originally in the contemplation of their sentence, be kept in view. Revolting in the extreme to every feeling of propriety, is the idea of abandoning these miserable women to indiscriminate intercourse, among the crews of those ships in which they are ordered to be conveyed to their place of banishment. They are humanely removed from their former mischievous connexions; but who would say that this is a mode in which they can be reclaimed? Prostitution has been the bane of many of them; will they thus become less impure?

By the very unaccountable neglect of moral instruction heretofore prevailing, independently of other causes, every sailor, nay the officers on board, could take advantage of the defenceless state of the female convicts; and so grossly did these excesses increase by indulgence, that the commonness of the practice flung a familiarity over the evil, concealing its disgusting odiousness, and making it looked upon as an affair of course, of ordinary, of necessary occurrence! The Government, being made acquainted with its existence, have interfered and forbidden the abuse. Has that been sufficient to root it out, or even put a stop to its abominable recurrence? It is seriously to be feared that it exists in full vigour, and that, generally speaking, so far from being circumscribed, it is unlimited.

Under a system of organized depravity and abandonment, which is too disgusting to be depicted, can any one be surprised,—can anyone expect otherwise,—than that the female convicts should arrive in the colony contaminated and hardened in turpitude and profligacy to the last degree,—so absolutely vitiated as scarcely to retain the consciousness of a single virtuous thought? Suppose a simple country girl were one of these, convicted of her first offence; it surely is not unreasonable to imagine, that, if sheltered from such iniquitous association, decently treated, and rather encouraged by mild remonstrance, and timely humane counsel, aided too by good example, she might be reclaimed from error, and again become a useful member of society. But, in a school so destructive of moral feeling, as that which a convict ship has hitherto been permitted to present, will any such salutary result in her favour be expected? Can any thing less than miracle save her from hopeless ruin? The hope of moral reformation is quite idle, so long as such detestable doings exist; nor will it ever be made a consideration in the necessity of their removal, whether they owe existence to connivance or laxity of discipline. If, then, the reformation of female convicts be still made a portion of the public concern, some arrangements different from those hitherto employed, or some more efficient application of such as at present so miserably obtain, are indispensably necessary: if otherwise, too much has already been done, and useless restraints have been imposed.

The state of the prison in female convict ships should be such that no ingenuity, or any effort short of open violence, could be sufficient to command a communication with the prisoners. In this case, the construction of the prison ought to be as firm at least as that for males; nor should the minuteness of accommodation in the interior, concerning personal comfort, cleanliness, and decent reserve, be overlooked. It is essentially necessary that a small apartment be fitted up securely, for the seclusion of any female whose profligate or refractory disposition may render solitary confinement necessary. This place should be thoroughly ventilated, and kept clean, but every thing carefully excluded except the absolute necessaries of life; which, during confinement, ought to consist of bread and water only. There may be some few in every ship, too hardened in iniquity, to be influenced by kind treatment and moral admonition, who would be intimidated by the fear of punishment like this. The want of such a place in every female convict ship is felt and acknowledged by all persons conversant in such affairs. The only objection to the general adoption of this measure is, that it would deprive the prisoners of part of that space which is at present sufficiently limited. But room may be allowed for it without inconvenience, by making the number to be transmitted less by six or eight than the usual complement: the advantages would then be found greatly to outweigh the difference in expense, which at most could be but a trifle. The locks, moreover, should be of a durable and well contrived description; neither liable to be picked, like the common clumsy things now in use, nor spoiled by the effects of moisture; and two or three spare sets, at least, should be supplied, to replace such as may be injured on the voyage.

It will be seen, on reference to the journal, that the system of moral restraint and instruction adopted, and the vigilance with which it was enforced, prevented the sailors from making any aggression until the voyage was more than half over; and that they were invited then only by the weak state of the prison; presenting scarcely any opposition to those who might wish to gain admission. It will also appear that some of the sailors were removed from the ship at Hobart Town, Van Diemen’s Land, for disorderly behaviour towards the prisoners: these men were afterwards sent up to Sydney, as prisoners, in another ship, but on their arrival there were set at liberty, without a single question being asked them, or the slightest investigation instituted. I confess I was desirous that the affair should have been inquired into at the time, when the allegations might have been confirmed or disproved by the testimony of those who had been eye witnesses of the transactions for which those men had been arrested; and satisfactory evidence of the circumstances of the whole voyage would then have been obtained, those who were most competent to give information being on the spot. This is the more to be regretted, because the practicability of moral reformation in those ships would have been proved beyond the possibility of cavil, _if the prisons be properly secured, and the Surgeon Superintendent supported in the discharge of his duty, and in his endeavours to accomplish an object of such desirable and paramount importance_.

It is not from the impregnable structure of the prison in a convict ship, that the great object of transportation is alone to be sought. The arm of the law, which deprives the convict of the power of committing mischief by sanctioning the coercive bolt or massy bar, can be as effectual in restraining the licentious seaman from transgressing the bounds of duty, and committing acts of violence towards the persons confined; such are powers of ordinary and every day efficacy. Will they, in the silent hour of night, in the lowering retreat of meditated guilt, reach the mind in its secret recesses, and confine its aberrations from rectitude? No: recourse must be had to means much more potent,—boundless as created space, which will embrace all the deviations of the soul, and, with a shepherd’s care, prevent its dangerous wanderings. Religious influence, the enlivening, all-pervading force of conscience must be called up to aid in checking criminal intention, to recall grave recollections of the past, and turn the soul to chastening, penitent reflection. Vain are all endeavours to amend, unless error be struck at by a fundamental, unshowy energy, to clear away effectually the noisome weeds that choke the paths of virtue.

Impressed with this conviction, I endeavoured to establish a moral and religious system of management on board the ships intrusted to my care; and as nothing of the kind was before in use[31], I feel ambitious to witness the general adoption of that, or any improvement upon it which will have the same humane purpose in view. Many well disposed and charitable persons, I know, have expressed their apprehension that permanent good from such a system cannot be established within the short period in which a voyage is performed from England to the colony: and that even could it be effected, the impression would be speedily effaced by the corrupting association with those less under the influence of reformation there. It must be allowed that the objection may have some weight, but I hope not so as to discourage the laudable attempt; for, were the good resulting even partial, operating to the reformation of a few only, yet how gratifying must it be in such a case! When, however, a better supported, more extensive trial is given to the system, I trust it will appear that the harvest will be bountiful, and will well repay the toil of cultivation.

The following facts may aid in giving incitement to future exertions of the same kind. In my recent visit to New South Wales, I availed myself of every means to ascertain how the prisoners who went out with me in the Neptune had behaved since their arrival, and I could hear of nine only, out of one hundred and seventy, who had been called before the magistrates to answer for ill conduct, during a period of two years and a half. Several of the number were recommended to situations of service immediately on their landing, and I did not learn that any of them had merited turning away. One individual came upwards of forty miles to see me, and brought a very satisfactory testimonial from his master, which I laid before the Governor, and requested that some indulgence might be given him; with which His Excellency most obligingly and readily complied. So far it is gratifying to know that the attempt at reformation, however feeble, has not been entirely without success.

On the subject of employment for prisoners during the voyage, much might be said; but its necessity and advantages are too numerous, and would render observation tedious, however appropriate. If employment be found useful in the Hulks, why should not its benefits be also tried on board of convict ships? Convicts will certainly be better fitted for industrious occupations in the colony, having been so employed upon their passage thither; and as they are sent to that country not to be maintained in idleness, why not inure them to habits of application previously? In the colony they have inducements to work,—food and an annual stipend; let them on board ship be so employed, as that a portion of what they earn may revert to themselves, and they will work cheerfully. Prisoners engaged at work are as much under the power of restraint as ever; they will, it is presumed, be much more orderly; nor can any reasonable fear be entertained of their contemplating mischief, when steadily occupied with what they must be convinced is intended to benefit themselves, especially if, at the same time, the effects of a moral and religious system operate upon their minds.

Of the same nature is the establishment of a school, not alone for children belonging to convicts, but for the instruction of junior offenders; for it will be found in almost every case of this description, that early depravity and ignorance are concomitants. The generality of young culprits derive their hardening career in crime, almost entirely from the want of religious instruction: it must therefore be not only wise and humane, but also a pleasure demanded by prudence and sound policy, to furnish them with the means of gaining moral instruction from its source, by teaching them to read that best of books, the Bible. Neither should those children be left without regular employment: they also will long enjoy the blessings thus arising from habits of industry.

Every one who has an interest in the welfare of the colony, as well as the friends of humanity, must feel some degree of anxiety on the subject of convict management, previously to their entering on those duties which are prescribed by their sentence. With regard to males, less concern is usually entertained, from their capability of sustaining severity of punishment, if necessary, in a higher degree; but as to females, corrective applications of that nature cannot be resorted to, to produce reformation of life. In proportion, then, as the difficulty of applying penal treatment exists, the more is prevention requisite to preclude its necessity: but unfortunately this is too little regarded; and to this circumstance may be, in a great measure, attributed that deplorable state of habitual dissoluteness, aggravated by heinous indulgence in open violation of decency, which prevails in the voyage to New South Wales.

The evil consequences to the colony, from this abuse, are innumerable. The continual disturbance of social connexions, and disregard of moral obligation, are not its only bad effects; the great hope of colonization is defeated: population is undoubtedly checked in its advance by such pernicious practices. This fact is proved by the concurrent testimony of all nations, and various arguments have been urged in illustration: but the correctness of the opinion needs very little to maintain its accuracy; the position may indeed be pronounced incontrovertible. In reply to this it may be said, that population in New South Wales has increased in a ratio greatly beyond that of any other country. The extraordinary salubrity of the climate, and other circumstances, may have contributed in a great degree to that remarkable increase, which appears unquestionably without parallel even in the periods of American colonization; but, were female virtue better protected, and cherished with becoming care, there can be not a shadow of doubt, that the population would be much greater than it is even now.

But the state of morals in the colony is not such as to encourage a hope that this respect for the sex is likely to be a prevailing sentiment, at least for some time to come; and, until that change shall have arrived, it is feared that few of the corrupt females who are transported thither will become reformed there: indeed it is hardly to be expected that they should, unless their minds have been fortified by salutary management previously to their arrival, as afterwards there is not a moment allowed them for reflection. The same violent passions which raged uncontrolled before and during the voyage, so far from subsiding, are worked up to excess by wretches of the very worst description, many unhappily of their own sex, who beset them with temptation to their utter ruin.

From the best information I was able to obtain, it appears that the proportion of males to that of females is somewhat above _six_ to _one_. It will be asked, perhaps, Why is not marriage encouraged, and how happens it that any woman can remain single for any time, the proportion being so small? Marriages certainly do take place to the utmost extent of propriety; and investigation of the circumstances in many cases, if deemed necessary, would, it is apprehended, painfully prove that those limits are frequently exceeded. Marriages are continually taking place between men and women whose wives and husbands are living in England; some, it is asserted on good authority, in the colony under fictitious names. But although this breach of law is punishable at home by transportation, little inquiry or complaint is made concerning it in the colony, and punishment is seldom inflicted for its commission, owing probably to its being rarely brought under judicial cognizance by those concerned.

Marriage occurs also very often for the purpose of getting a woman out of the Factory; that is, letting her loose on society, without the least intention of the parties living together, save for a few days to cover appearances. It is known to happen sometimes, that such connexions are formed by making a contract beforehand, that the woman, wife so called, should appropriate a certain quantum of the wages of sin for the support of the man who thus espouses her! In this state the degraded victim of sensuality is often transferred from one master to another, bandied about in this shocking and unnatural way, until the mere figure is all that remains of the human being. Should intemperance, which is always observable in such cases, and excessive extravagance, impair or totally destroy the scanty means of the _protector_ for the time being, the female so engaged looks without concern on the misfortune of which she, perhaps, has been the principal cause, and if another paramour offer, she attaches herself to him with indifference, and so the career of guilt meets with but little interruption.

In several conversations on this disgraceful subject with some well informed men, whose judgement in other matters is deserving of respect, I was assured that no remedy of immediate efficacy could be applied to these evils; that time alone could weaken their malignancy, and that they would wear out of themselves! This shocking conclusion, almost amounting to despair of their eradication, was made by men who daily witnessed these vile practices, and lamented their enormity and prevalence, fully sensible of their miserable consequences.—But the performance of these odious tragedies is not left entirely to the convicts. Others, whose stations ought to claim some degree of respect, seem to vie with those degraded captives for the pre-eminence in guilt, many of them proudly wearing the laurels thus _honourably_ acquired: for these enormities, which depravity has made familiar, even palliation is insolently attempted, and that too on grounds sometimes unpardonably offensive to decency.

I have heard men of reputed good sense and discrimination, both here and in New South Wales, argue with much earnestness, and a feeling of exultation which I would willingly consider not real, that the females who have been under the management of the _Ladies’ Committee_ generally behave worse during the voyage, and after their arrival in the colony, than those from any other prison whatever; inferring that all the disinterested and zealous exertions of that amiable association have been unproductive of any the least good.—Among those in the colony holding, or at least professing to hold, this opinion, a general feeling seemed to prevail, that all efforts made to form those unfortunate females to habits of virtue, propriety, and industry, were nugatory, and calculated rather to injure than promote the interests of the colony. The very endeavours to prevent illicit intercourse upon the voyage were treated as if they had a tendency to render the women unfit for their proper situations in the places to which they were going! They maintained that the character of these females is utterly reprobate, beyond the possibility of being reclaimed, and that it is therefore useless to think of reforming them,—that they should be abandoned to their wretched lot.

So long as persons holding such sentiments, and acting upon them, would render the subjects of their obloquy incapable of improvement by rekindling their profligacy and contributing to their misfortune, and that such conduct can be followed as an example, so long indeed it is vain to hope that any instruction in prisons can effect permanent reformation. It would not be doing violence to probability, nor, I think, exceeding the bounds of charity, to assert that the principles by which such abettors of vice are actuated are referable to licentious propensities, which the most _liberal_ of them would, perhaps, be unwilling to acknowledge as belonging to himself. Why then would they,—for the evidence is strong against them,—desire to continue those wretched women in a state of debasement? Is it that themselves may be allowed to pass unnoticed amidst the general depravity which must be the certain consequence of such a state of things? These men would be stout advocates for the baneful principle of _utility_ described by _Hume_, or the still more pernicious one of _general good_ so strenuously recommended by _Godwin_.

While such principles are deemed the basis of moral law, it is impossible to calculate on any other than the most destructive results, as no other can be reasonably expected from a demoralized population, amongst whom honesty and decency are in perpetual violation. Can any reprobation, then, be thought too severe, of that unmanly, ungenerous conduct, which, by fostering vice in the advocacy of self-example, would render a future generation more immoral than the past, and lead to complete anarchy of all the rational powers of the mind? It has been well observed by a late anonymous writer, that “whoever weakens in society the veneration for morality, is a traitor to his country; and whoever diminishes the influence of religion in the world, as a rule of daily conduct, is a traitor to his God.”—The language is as forcible as the truth is incontrovertible.

The assertion, however, on which so much stress is laid,—that the women from Newgate behave worse than those from other prisons,—is deserving of some examination. If we reflect on the state of society in London, and how infinitely more numerous are the opportunities to crime and its consequences than elsewhere; the dissoluteness which always exists in a crowded metropolis; and the daring depravity that there marks the gradations of offence; if we carefully survey the life of “a regular London female thief who has passed through every stage of guilt, who has spent her youth in prostitution, and her maturer age in theft and knavery; whose every friend and connexion are accomplices;” one of those who are “the refuse of the capital; that is, the very worst description of criminals, committed for the very worst excesses of crime; women who had been frequent inmates of a prison, and with whom thieving was ‘their daily bread:’” if these circumstances, I say, are duly considered, they must be admitted, by every unprejudiced individual, to form grounds of difficulty in the endeavours to reclaim offenders from their wickedness in such a society, beyond, greatly beyond the less hardened habits of provincial iniquity; and should it even appear that the former behave much worse than the latter on board a ship, it can afford very little cause for ill-judging malignity to triumph. Could aught else, even then, be shown, but that the time those unfortunate women were under the guidance of the Ladies’ Committee was too short for the completion of their benevolent purpose? Is it reasonable to expect that long-rooted habits of idleness and vice, impressed on the mind from the first dawning of perception, can be broken through, and the salutary work of reformation perfected in the few weeks or months they may have been favoured with those pious attentions? But should it be proved that the conduct of the women from Newgate is at least as good, if not better than what is exhibited by those from the country prisons, to what cause shall be ascribed an alteration so rapid, and so little to be expected;—an alteration amounting to almost an entire change of natural disposition? It is impossible for scepticism, or prejudice itself, to assign any other cause than the influence of moral precept so kindly and unceasingly inculcated by the Committee.

The women from Newgate formed one third of the entire number sent out in the Morley; and I can declare conscientiously that their conduct was _not worse_ than that of an equal number of the others: on the contrary, the effects of exhortation were more observable in their manner, in a very remarkable degree; and during the voyage, whenever it was found necessary to rebuke any of them, the mere mention of any of the Ladies of the Committee had the effect of bringing them to a sense of their error, which in almost every instance was attended with profound sorrow, a circumstance certainly not always observable in their companions. I can further assert that there was infinitely more riot, wickedness, and abandonment, amongst _seven_ women who were permitted to accompany the soldiers that formed the guard in the Neptune in 1817, than amongst _all the female convicts_ in the Morley put together: nay, in stating this fact, I feel that the latter are injured by being brought into such a comparison.

In a conversation on this subject at Van Diemen’s Land with Doctor Bromley, who was Surgeon Superintendent in the _Lord Wellington_, he assured me that he had less trouble in that ship with the women who came from Newgate than all the rest. Three of these very women on their arrival were received into the service of Mrs. Governor MACQUARIE, where their conduct was so uniformly correct as to merit that lady’s approbation; a circumstance so uncommon, that she felt it a duty to acquaint Mrs. _Fry_ of the happy change. Mrs. Macquarie was prevented from writing by ill health at the time I left the colony, but desired me to communicate the fact as she had herself intended. That several of those who went out in the Lord Wellington behaved very ill after their arrival, does not militate against the system of reform adopted by the Ladies’ Committee; nor would my opinion of its invaluable efficacy be altered in the least, were I told that every one of those who were under my care has been ruined in the colony, because I know what a state of depravity prevails there. Minds much stronger than theirs have yielded to temptation; and in no country is that evil more concentrated and destructive than in New South Wales.

With respect to the rising generation in the colony, I have not sufficient data to enable me to speak with certainty; but it may be stated that, notwithstanding the boundless depravity of the parents, the children, generally speaking, are well disposed, given to industry, and of religious habits. They are represented as being passionately fond of instruction; and many of them, who are not blessed with the means of obtaining information from more direct and legitimate sources, known to make successful efforts to learn to read and write, without any assistance.

This statement so much resembles that of a bitter fountain producing sweet water, that credence to its accuracy can hardly be expected; yet I had opportunities of satisfying myself of its truth in four or five instances; and I was told of a great many others on testimony which I have no reason to disbelieve, but I would not be pledged for their authenticity. An anecdote related by the Reverend Mr. _Cartwright_, when he and I accompanied the Governor in his late excursion to the newly discovered country, may be relied on. This gentleman is the resident clergyman at Liverpool, where on Sunday evening he usually gives instruction to all the children who choose to come to his house. It happened on one of those occasions, that heavy rains had caused an overflow of the river, so as to render it impossible for any one to wade across, consequently he did not expect any of those children whose parents lived on the opposite side: to his astonishment, however, some of them came. On inquiring how they got over, it appeared that they had tied their clothes upon their heads, and swam across, intending to return also in the same manner when the instructions they came to receive were finished.

In more advanced age, these principles are further developed, and a great many of the young men show themselves desirous of avoiding the errors of their parents: but the impression on my mind, from the best information I could collect, is not so favourable with regard to the grown-up females, who, probably from want of that instruction which is more accessible to the other sex,—I speak of the lower classes,—are corrupted by baneful association and bad example. In this particular, indeed, the statements of some respectable persons, desirous rather of extenuating than magnifying, are strongly corroborative of the fact. It was not extraordinary, they assured me, to see a young woman of this description living a few months, first with one man, then with another, and so on with five or six, fixing on one at last, whom she thought proper to marry.

In this state of midnight gloom, which envelops this new and interesting portion of the world, who will not delight to find that the light of the Gospel is about to shed its refulgence, to dispel the dark clouds of ignorance and irreligion which blind the understanding, and, withering in their deadly shade the energies of the mind, pervert the noblest impulses of the heart? Bible Societies, benevolent associations, and schools both public and private, are springing up in the midst of this unhallowed chaos, by means of which the pure principles of Christianity will be disseminated, and their benign ascendency over corrupt temptations diffused through many hardened and profligate minds.

The British public generally, and the colonists individually, are under the most heavy obligations to those persons whose active benevolence and liberal contributions have laid the foundation of establishments on which general prosperity and happiness will eminently rise. It would be as unjust as difficult to conceal the distinguished leading exertions of _the Honourable Judge-Advocate_ WYLDE, in forming these excellent institutions: to his transcendent talents and unwearied zeal every lover of social happiness must hold himself indebted. For it is impossible that any man possessing the faculty of reason, be his rank and fortune ever so great, can feel indifferent as to the state of the great body politic: it is, indeed, those of large property who should feel the strongest interest in the propagation of those principles which alone can render possession even for an hour perfectly secure. What would be the consequence in that respect, were a whole community to shake off all the restraints imposed by the consciousness of moral obligation?

A retrospect of the revolution in France will furnish an answer to this question,—one which ought to fill the most insensible with awful reflection. The baneful writings of Bayle, Voltaire, Rousseau, Hume, and others of that stamp, prepared the minds of the French people for the reception of infidelity and irreligion; and their impious labours were further aided by those of Helvetius, D’Alembert, Condorcet, Raynal, Diderot, Paine, &c. These enemies of God and man achieved their hellish work under the specious pretext of LIBERTY, or “_perfecting the new philosophy_.”—Accordingly, Christianity was abolished; the existence of the Deity denied, and even the mention of His Name, except in blasphemy and execration, proscribed and punished with death, by a law which the rage of impiety kept in force nearly four years. At that dreadful period, marriage was declared an unsocial monopoly, whilst by another _law_, as if such enactments could decide the truth of the case, death was declared nothing but an eternal sleep. What an admirable salvo to the guilt of the catastrophe!—And what has been that catastrophe? They murdered their legitimate King,—butchered the nobility and clergy,—and sluiced the scaffold with the blood of thousands of every age, sex, and denomination. Property of every kind abandoned, became the spoil of those assassins, who without regard to “general good” divided the whole among themselves.

With those scenes of blood fresh in his recollection, who in this country could rest in security, or feel assured that either his life or property was out of danger, if every wretch or ruffian deaf to religion and moral duty were allowed to follow the impulse of guilty passion, without alarm, or dread of the Divine vengeance? Farewell the influence of law and justice when such is the state of immorality in a populous community, that impiety is the order of the day, and no regard is paid to the dictates of conscience and its obligations. Even Voltaire, when among his associates, used to prevent them from uttering impious and blasphemous expressions before servants, “lest,” said he, “they should cut all our throats.”

No person, surely, will pretend to say that physical power and daring intrepidity do not exist in as great a degree in England as they ever were known in France; or that an infuriated mob here would be less dangerous than in that country. This narrowed view of the question extends so far only as regards worldly prudence: if examined more broadly, the duty will be found paramount and imperative on all, to guard with jealous care the principles on which our social edifice is raised, and which under the British Constitution deservedly excites the admiration of the world. But if the bases of this glorious structure be shaken or impaired, that which is the production of the aggregate wisdom of ages must crumble into dust. Society could no longer then exist, there being no bond to link together the disunited members; there would in fact be nothing for which existence could be desirable. Odious anarchy would stifle in blood every feeling that could render our labours useful, and life a blessing: the affections between parents, children, and brethren, would be deadened, and the treasures of friendship devastated by selfish rapacity.

“Crimes of every description,” says Dr. Colquhoun, “have their origin in the vicious and immoral habits of the people; in the little attention paid to the education of the inferior orders; and in the want of some plan for regulating the morals of this useful class of the community.” No one, it is presumed, will controvert the truth of this sentiment; but while the necessity of _educating the inferior orders_ is generally admitted, very few come forward willingly to engage in that important task, nay, I will call it positive duty. Should it be attributed to the lower class as a _crime_, that their parents were too poor or too profligate to procure for them the benefits of education, sufficient at least to enable them to peruse the Scriptures, and thereby be impressed with the obligations of Christianity,—their duty to God and their neighbour?

It will be said, perhaps, that the inculcation of those duties belongs exclusively to the Clergy. Persons maintaining this opinion are, I fear, but little influenced by the true spirit of charity, although the _letter_ or external signs of it may be familiar to them. It is, in truth, the duty of every one who is qualified for the task, whether clergyman, or layman, whether Protestant or Catholic, Episcopalian or Presbyterian, Methodist or Independent, or be his Christian creed what it may, to instruct his fellow creature “in the way he should go,” and, if found ignorant or erring, to put him right if he can: no sect or denomination of Christians can, without manifest injustice, be excluded from the labour of philanthropy.

Having described the condition of the females sent to the Factory at Parramatta, it would be as unnecessary as painful to comment further on the inaptitude of that establishment, in its present circumstances, to produce any reformatory effects; particularly as a hope is confidently indulged that the existing evils will soon be lessened, if not wholly obviated, by the erection of another Factory in the same neighbourhood. This building, which was expected to be ready for the reception of the female convicts about last February, has given rise to expectations of its utility very sanguine indeed, but in no respect exceeding what I would look for, were it in the power of the local Government to ensure its success commensurately with the design. The very liberal manner in which His Excellency _Governor_ MACQUARIE has invariably come forward with his purse, as well as patronage, on all occasions to advance any measure conducive to public good, must convince every one of his devotedness to the welfare of the colony over which he presides, and which has undoubtedly acquired, under his administration, innumerable benefits highly important and imperishable. But when the character of those persons is considered, to whom of necessity, for want of better, the execution of what by them are thought _trifling_ concerns is intrusted, an apprehension will strongly intrude, that many of the evils now complained of in the old Factory will be transferred to the new, under the _care_ of the present overseers.

As matters now stand, to indulge a hope of reformation, if the present management be persisted in, would be only to court disappointment: the necessity of substituting some other more efficacious must be evident. With a view of contributing some little assistance to accomplish this most desirable end, I beg leave to offer a few suggestions, which it is hoped will be considered as given disinterestedly.

I would therefore venture to recommend that choice be made of some elderly man and woman of respectability, in England, whose moral and religious character can be steadily relied on, to be sent out and have charge of the new Factory. Two such persons might readily be found, who for a moderate remuneration would discharge the duties of that important trust with fidelity; and being independent of local connexions, prejudices and interests, their appointment would at once put an end to those iniquitous collusions by which the vile projects in speculation, and the whole tissue of existing abuses are maintained.

Strongly convinced by experience of the necessity and advantages of classification, I would advise its adoption as a preliminary and indispensable step to success, distinguishing thereby the inmates in reference to the degrees of reformation they evince. A code of rules should also be prepared, of which undeviating observance ought to be enforced. Those recommended by the Committee for the improvement of prison discipline, &c., are admirably calculated to ensure all the benefits that can reasonably be hoped for from imprisonment, and with some modification, which local circumstances will require, may be generally adopted.

Some enlightened and well disposed persons whom I had frequent opportunities of consulting on this and other such subjects, approved much of the above suggestions, knowing how greatly their application was demanded by necessity; and their approbation was gratifying, particularly that of one gentleman, who is decidedly the first authority in the colony for legal information and personal experience. This gentleman, whose name has been already mentioned, strongly advised a Factory to be established remote from every town, in the _Cow-pastures_, as being on every account most eligible; where there could be no opportunities for the persons confined to procure spirits, or be deteriorated by the seductive influence of temptation, or vicious example. In that establishment, which should be altogether probationary, the prisoners, sent from the ships as they arrive, might be detained, each individual being obliged to wear an uniform dress distinguishing her class, which ought not to be laid aside during the time of continuing at that place.

It is also recommended that none of the inmates of the probationary establishment should be assigned as servants directly therefrom; but as their advancement to reformation is proved, and they become distinguished for good conduct, they should meet with encouragement. This may be shown by removing them to the Factory at Parramatta, which ought to be made a depôt for the well behaved only, whence the settler might have servants supplied them on making proper application. These arrangements being in perfect accordance with the sentiments of persons best acquainted with the true state of affairs, and the wants of society in the colony, are respectfully submitted for consideration. The measures are few and simple; but if they be adopted in time, and duly enforced, little doubt is entertained of their producing a change beneficial to the whole community.

CONCLUSION.

From the foregoing arguments, grounded on facts, which I am satisfied are irrefutable, the following inferences may be deduced:

_First._—If the object of transportation to New South Wales be only the _punishment_ of the criminal, it is seldom effected in the proportion contemplated by the law; as many of those deserving the most rigorous treatment live there much more comfortably than they could have done at home, and realize large fortunes: while others, with not a tenth of their turpitude, are consigned to misery and ruin.

_Secondly._—In the case of Females, the _merited quantum_ of punishment is equally uncertain in its infliction, though always excessively severe, owing to their abandoned mode of life.

_Lastly._—But if the scope of transportation be, what it _ought to be_,—the _reformation_ of the offender; it has, with the greater number of males, been unsuccessful; and with regard to females, it has very rarely indeed been attained.

APPENDIX.

_Reflections on Seduction._

Seduction, in the various baneful consequences hence arising to society and its moral disposition, is so intimately connected with the scope of my present general inquiries, that I cannot forbear to give a brief sketch of some of its most obvious evils, though a full description of the character would far exceed the limits of my present purpose; and to describe the pernicious consequences of that crime in all its baseness of effect would, I candidly confess, require abilities far superior to mine.

The British Constitution, and the salutary statutes made for the protection of life and property, have for many ages, one delights to contemplate, become deservedly the boast of every true-born Englishman: under the benignant influence of their mild atmosphere, the most extensive field has been opened for the cultivation of all those virtues that aggrandize a state, or can render private life amiable; and the combined powers of both, have united to excite the admiration and call forth the envy of surrounding nations.

The politician and the moralist behold with equal pleasure the glorious era, which a few years since successfully crowned our efforts to break the detested chain that tyranny had forged for the general enslavement of the world. The lover of science and the patient investigator of nature’s hidden laws, in other countries, must acknowledge with mingled feelings of pleasure and regret, that in no climate under heaven does genius flourish as in Britain; and under the influence of this impression, and in quest of knowledge, they are travelling daily from every corner of the globe to our favoured shores.

While, however, we exultingly contemplate our advancement, and that distinguished eminence we have risen to in the scale of kingdoms, shall we inertly fail to examine if some wheel or new power might not yet be added, that would tend to the improvement and perfection of the vast machine? In the multiplicity of legislative measures prudently enacted by our forefathers for the defence of our property, and the protection of liberty both civil and religious, is it not surprising that they should have thought it unnecessary to pass some law to guard, and some barrier to fence around, that greatest and most interesting of national glories, the chastity of our daughters? To me, I confess, this oversight, as it seems to be, is utterly unaccountable.

Let any dispassionate and well regulated mind take into active consideration the injury arising from the commission of those crimes which the statutes denominate petit and grand larceny, or even felony, with the overwhelming misery into which thousands of amiable and industrious families are plunged by the destructive seducer, and conscientiously declare which of them he thinks most pernicious to the peace and general interests of society; or which of those abhorred characters he would least dread to suffer from himself:—whether he would rather be deprived of part of his property, or have a lovely daughter, the pride of his life, ruined and debauched. Let us suppose a case as every day it too unhappily occurs in real life.

The miserable father of a family, worn down by misfortune, poverty and ill health, has to look upon a virtuous wife, and an interesting group of innocent children, whom his utmost industry cannot save from the merciless pressure of squalid rags worse than nakedness, and starvation worse than death. He beholds them pining away without a friendly hand near that will supply a morsel of bread, or even administer the imaginary relief of consoling pity: their reiterated cry for food pierces his agonized heart, and in feelings bordering on distraction he rushes forth to procure for them a temporary respite from the grave, determined to seize the first eatable that falls in his way: perhaps he breaks into a neighbour’s field, whence he carries off a sheep, or a pig, to protract the immediate destruction of his perishing family. For this, on detection, the laws of his country may sentence him to death, or at best the timely mercy of his gracious Sovereign may remit the punishment to transportation.

On the other hand, mark the seducer. Destitute of the principles of religion and humanity, he may wantonly, and with relentless soul, destroy the happiness and peace of a whole family, in basely undermining the virtue of an innocent and valued daughter, the flattering, brightest hope of their life,—the prop of their age, and on whose talents or industry the whole family were perhaps then immediately depending for bread. Insidiously and cautiously has the infamous attack been carried on; and if foiled in his first cruel attempt, her faith must be shaken, and her understanding perverted by specious arguments, wicked sophistry, and the deadly poison of irreligion, before she can be led by imperceptible degrees into guilt, misery, and certain present perdition, whatever fears may belong to the hereafter. What punishment can be found for the miscreant who thus deliberately and maliciously poisons the heart’s blood of unoffending innocence? Why, in nine cases out of ten, none at all! Humanity stands abashed.—Justice answers not.—Pity, in surprise and indignation, exclaims, Can it be?—In England too?—Can it, alas! be true?

Cold-blooded monster! with refined cruelty he often selects his intended victim from that station where fortune has denied not only the luxuries but the necessaries of life; and where the want of those comforts can only be compensated and rendered tolerable in heaven’s choicest blessing, a virtuous and contented mind. The abandoned sensualist knows but too well the poor man’s inability to vindicate in a court of law the violated purity of his once innocent and happy daughter. But what redress could he obtain even were he opulent? An action can only be brought against him who has unmercifully shut out every ray of future joy, for the mere loss of his child’s personal services, quaintly denominated “_per quod servitium amisit_;” and at best recover but a paltry adjudication in money for that which is above all price:—a sorry remuneration, truly, for such a loss! It is in fact a cruel mockery of justice, and the triumph of crime.

Contrast the narrow and grovelling spirit that seems to characterize this most miserably defective principle of legal justice, with that noble independence and manly defence which dictated MAGNA CHARTA and the BILL OF RIGHTS! It is far from my intention to cast the slightest shade on the memory of our ancestors, many of whom thought no price too great for liberty, often indeed purchased even with their own blood, that they might bequeath it to posterity unsullied and unfettered, the legitimate birthright and glory of their future sons. But where our forefathers have done so much for us, shall we not, in kindred spirit, attempt to do something for ourselves, or for our children? Shall we suffer the seducer to walk forth in open day, or at the midnight hour, to carry devastation into every cottage, and to ravage with impunity the sacred sanctuaries of virtue? Forbid it justice,—forbid it humanity,—forbid it Heaven!

I cannot believe that one father in a thousand has ever turned his mind to the contemplation of the direful effects on society, of indulgence in this ferocious and unlawful passion; or the general voice of mankind would have been raised to hunt from their abodes the hellish tiger in human form: the hand of power, too, would surely have been lifted up to shield the innocent from his fell assault. Might not the seducer, in strict justice, be classed in malice prepense and principle with the most sanguinary murderer? On comparison, it is my firm conviction that the former is the author of more pain and misery to the great family of mankind.

In the sketch of such a character my labour might be in some degree facilitated by a short account of one who, a very few years since, figured very conspicuously in the gay world; and presuming, therefore, on the idea, I venture to insert it. Would to God! that the miseries I shall have to unfold existed only in imagination; but, alas! fancy will have no place in the working of the dark picture.

The detail was written by the gentleman himself, principally during a twelvemonth’s confinement from a wound received in a duel. Of this he ultimately died; but not before the hideous forms of vice and crime had been exposed to his terrified view in all their naked deformity. At the time this melancholy scene took place I was in India; and on my return a packet containing his journal, and an elegant copy of the Bible, which I had many years before advised him to peruse, was put into my hand by a friend of his. This bequest, with the following letter, was marked for me by his own hand a few days before his dissolution:

“——, May 15th, 1816.

“However widely, my much valued friend, the theory and practice of our lives may have differed, I flatter myself that at this moment our sentiments are the same. That there is a just God, I never once doubted; and that he is merciful, and willing to pardon the sins of the penitent, it is now my interest firmly to believe. My career is nearly finished—I have languished long, and been very miserable; for, until within a few months, I never dared encourage a hope of pardon from Heaven; and although my mind is become more tranquil, I still fear that I am a great way from salvation, though I feel I am but a step from the grave. I can now see that your reasons for avoiding me were just, but I think they were cruel. Great God! What have I been—what am I to be? Gracious Heaven! If the very little you knew of me could make you avoid me, what will you think after reading my journal? I have often intended to burn it—I wish you would do so: yet, it may be useful in warning some fellow-creature of the damnation which the labours of my life had industriously prepared. If you think so, dispose of it as you like.—My false shame is all gone. I care not now who knows my wickedness. But should you ever make it public—oh! spare my family—my beloved, wretched mother:—happy for us both had I never been born. I wish you were now with me; but, it was my misfortune through life never to have a friend—and I neglected Him who in death would not have forsaken me.

“I leave this, together with the journal of my perdition, and the blessed book you so long ago recommended, in the care of L. G., who promises to deliver them to you. Have I fallen so low in your estimation that you exclude me entirely from calling you friend? Alas! I never had a friend. My proud heart could never sue for any man’s pity; but I beseech you not do deny me yours. O pray for me.—May your life be as happy as mine has been miserable.—Adieu,—Adieu!

“—— F——.”

The only regret I feel in giving these interesting memoirs to the public is the fear, indeed almost the painful certainty, that the wounds of his respectable family may thus be made to bleed afresh, in the recollection of his errors. I persuade myself, however, that they will acquit me of any unworthy motive, much less wanton desire to inflict unnecessary pain: rather a thousand times would I pour into their afflicted bosoms the healing balm of friendly sympathy and pity; and whilst I pursue the dismal narrative, my own heart will remain no stranger to the feelings of sorrow due to the fate of my unfortunate hopeless friend.

Before I proceed to any extract from this curious biography, it may not be out of place just to glance at his early life and education.

F—— was the only child of a country gentleman of large fortune, and ancient family, still more distinguished for morality and virtue. At the early age of five years, this youth gave extraordinary proofs of mental energy, having in the short space of four days committed to memory one hundred and five verses of the New Testament, which he used to repeat to his father without a single mistake. With increasing years his genius expanded, and evinced a readiness and power of conception clearly reflecting talents of the first order. It was natural for parents to be proud of such a child, and to determine that his education should be fitted to his capacity. A tutor was accordingly provided, well qualified for the important task, who discharged the duty with honour and fidelity.

At fourteen, having read the whole of the classics, he was already qualified for entering the university, and made considerable progress in mathematics, logic, history, and painting. Being considered too young for college, a year was suffered to elapse, during which he was instructed in music, dancing, and fencing, and also became acquainted with French. In every thing he undertook, the utmost expectation was realized. Thus unusually accomplished, he went to college, and remained there five years; during which period his industry appears not to have relaxed; his avidity for knowledge, on the contrary, increased until he had drunk deeply of every source of information and knowledge.

On his return home he applied himself with such diligence to the cultivation of science, particularly chemistry and astronomy, that his health became impaired, whole nights being spent in a little observatory that had been constructed under his own direction.

That his mind should have all the polish it was capable of receiving, his father wished him to travel; to which, as in every thing else, he at once implicitly yielded. The short peace of Amiens furnished an opportunity for gratifying this wish, which they were the more anxious to see carried into effect, as an elderly gentleman of great scientific and literary attainments, about to proceed to Paris, offered the advantages of his experience and protection.

Dazzled with the lustre which accompanies the high-sounding term “philosopher,” the parents never inquired into the religious sentiments of the man whom they had chosen as the companion of their highly-gifted son: this sad inadvertence, in the issue proved his ruin. The religious principles, in truth, of this man, if religious principles he could be said to have, hung so very loosely about him, that he might be said to live in a sort of practical atheism: every action of his life evinced his belief that there could be no God, nor Governor of the universe; openly abjuring all dependence on that great Being by whose goodness and mercy alone he was permitted to exist.

The first lesson he endeavoured to impress on the generous mind of his pupil, was the non-existence of any omniscient eye to observe, or any omnipotent arm to punish; and that, as life was short, wisdom chiefly consisted in filling it up with as much pleasure as possible. Here it must be acknowledged he was treading upon tender ground; for though religion is by far the most important part of education, in the present case it had been the only one that had been neglected, and here alone could the assault have been made with any hope of success.

Introductory letters and other necessary documents being procured, the travellers commenced their journey. They were amongst the first from England who arrived in Paris, where their introductions, together with that politeness for which the French people have ever been remarked, and the unbounded festivity which always attends cessation of hostilities between contending nations, ensured them a reception not less hospitable than distinguished. Endowed with uncommon talents that gave an irresistible charm to their conversation, the society of both was courted; and neither of them showed much reluctance to drink deep at the voluptuous spring, which too often contaminates the morals of the unreflecting and gay in all countries, and by which the higher ranks of the French have been found to be particularly corrupted.

The accomplishments and agreeable qualities of the reputed philosopher made the pupil at first look up to him as an oracle; but, often staggered by his openly avowed sentiments of infidelity, he could not immediately reconcile that philosophy which destroys all distinctions between right and wrong: for, although his religious education had been so little attended to, still that little furnished many stumbling-blocks, which for a long time could not be got over; and he could not easily be brought to think that debauching the wife, or seducing the daughter, of a friend or benefactor, were not crimes. In maintaining these opinions, his arguments were often troublesome and embarrassing to the learned sceptic, who would either artfully evade the question, or decline the argument by some dogmatical assertion, which, if it did not convince, at least always silenced his young opponent.

Encircled by temptation in every form of allurement, seduced by pleasure the most bewitching, and blinded by passions at all times strong, but now more highly still inflamed by the sophistry and example of his vile associate, he, in a fatal moment of precipitate impulse, destroyed the peace of one who had treated him with the tenderness of a son, committing, it must with pain be confessed, the most deadly injury that human friendship can suffer, or hellish wickedness inflict—the violation of the marriage bed.

Thus was the noble faculty of reason disgracefully sacrificed on the polluted altar of sensuality. In a few hours, however, reflection returned, and conscience began to resume her empire, and remorse to sting his soul. He would have made the only reparation in his power by a speedy retreat; for he could not, as he declared, again look on the friend whom he had so injured, without the danger of annihilation. His own words are forcibly expressive:

“The sense of this crime,” he says, “was twisted round my heart like a serpent of hell, and the recollection still freezes my soul. The enormity of my guilt was magnified by the unexampled hospitality and friendship I experienced from them both. Their confidence was unlimited, and I repaid it with base ingratitude. For weeks afterwards an idea haunted me, that the first time the husband’s eye met mine, the wrath of God would consume me from the face of the earth. I would have fled from the fatal spot, as from a devouring pestilence; but I foolishly allowed myself to be overruled by W., who has been the murderer of every soul that had the misfortune to fall in his way. This is not the language of invective, nor do I think it uncharitable, for his crimes are of so deep a dye as to put all power of exaggeration at defiance. Most men endeavour to frame some excuse for their errors, but even this negative virtue W. never arrived at: he had no other motive for his villainy, than the malignant pleasure of seeing misery widely diffused.”

Upwards of a month had elapsed before this execrable old monster W. could give up a pursuit almost as infamous, though not quite so destructive in its effects, as that which scaled the debasement of his pupil, and the amiable family in which they had both been entertained for nearly three months. Several circumstances had occurred to render any longer stay in Paris exceedingly irksome, and he prudently suggested to his pupil the propriety of visiting Bourdeaux, whither they retired somewhat abruptly.

On their arrival in that city, they found that letters of introduction, which they expected from England, had not arrived: this they thought would occasion no great inconvenience, as W. was quite at home here, having formerly spent some years amongst the learned and the dissolute, to whom he now repaired: but, to his disappointment, some of them were dead, and many of the rest dispersed in various parts of the world. The travellers were therefore obliged to seek that accommodation at a hotel, which ill-requited hospitality had so readily afforded them in Paris.

The innkeeper had a young niece of interesting appearance, who was on the eve of being married to a man whom she tenderly loved. Returning from the house of God, where she had been attending divine worship, and where she had received the holy sacrament, the unsuspecting girl in a luckless moment fell under the basilisk glance of this veteran in iniquity, who immediately destined her for destruction. Flushed with the greatness of his project, _so worthy of a philosopher_, he hastened to his less hardened companion, and unfolded the grand scheme with as much self-exultation as if he had discovered a new planet. The generous mind of his pupil, once noble and pure, was not yet sufficiently corrupted to hear the diabolical disclosure without indignation. He declared that the vengeance of a guilty conscience still rankled in his heart; for, although he had used every effort to stifle or dispel the painful remembrance of his crimes in Paris, he was tormented continually. He applied the golden rule of “doing to others as he would that others should do unto him,” which for the present put an end to the discussion.

Meanwhile the expected letters from England had arrived, which procured them admission into the higher walks of life, and apparently diverted their attention from meaner objects: but this was not the case. W. was inflexibly bent on robbing the innocent girl of what could not enrich him, yet would leave her “_poor indeed_.” An unforeseen accident favoured his purpose. The intended husband was taken dangerously ill; and W., who had studied medicine not only as an amusement but also as an accomplishment, was induced, by motives of pure humanity of course, to give his opinion in consultation with other physicians. He used often to call at the Inn to console the weeping bride elect, and by enumerating the favourable changes in her lover’s complaint he succeeded in securing to himself her friendship and gratitude. Sleepless nights and anxiety of mind brought on an affection of the eyes, for which, in a friendly way, he gave her a prescription, and most kindly offered his further services. She got better; but her general health declined, and he recommended her removal to some convenient cottage in the outskirts of the city, where she might have the benefit of country air, and the society of her friends.

This was the master-stroke of his plot. The proud virtue of his pupil was now greatly subdued; but, to fit him for his infernal purpose with double certainty, W. engaged him in a party of pleasure, from which he took care he should not return sober, and, after inflaming his lustful passions, introduced him to the chamber of his unconscious victim. Thus was accomplished the ruin of a virtuous girl prepared for destruction by the _medicinal_ agency of this broker in turpitude.

During the perpetration of this outrage, the unhappy sufferer was in a state of total insensibility; but when the effects of the drugs that had been given to her began to subside, and returning day exposed her situation, in the arms of a man whom she had never before seen, her heart died within her. The involuntary instrument of her undoing endeavoured to restore her; but his efforts proving ineffectual, he dispatched a messenger for W., who on his arrival administered some stimulus, and carried his pupil to a _cock-fight_. They both returned in the evening, for the purpose, it would appear, of repeating the scene of the former night. They found the wretched girl recovered from her swoon, it is true; but they also found that her reason had forsaken the polluted tenement: a state of the most deplorable idiocy had supervened!

Here the journal is abruptly broken off, and in no part of it is the infamous W. again mentioned, except in a note on a slip of paper written in red ink and affixed with wafers to the last leaf, which may best, perhaps, be inserted here.

“The conduct of W., from the unfortunate day I quitted England with him, was such as I could not have expected from a fiend of hell. His breath was contagious, and he never opened his mouth but to wither and consume.”

How soon after this base transaction the travellers separated, I have no means of ascertaining; but it is certain they did not leave Bourdeaux together; for, about three weeks afterwards, W. returned to England, and his unfortunate pupil embarked for Marseilles, where he arrived with satisfaction after a short voyage. His time at this place appears to have been spent more rationally and usefully than it had hitherto been in France. His remarks on the state of literature and science, together with the “empty-headed, would-be philosophers,” as he terms them, of Marseilles, are strikingly demonstrative of the force of his mind when directed to any worthy pursuit. After a stay of about three weeks, (he is seldom minute in dates,) he embarked for Toulon, where he staid ten days, and made a drawing of the harbour and fortifications, unobserved by any of the officers or soldiers by whom he was always attended.

An English ship about to sail for Naples accommodated him with a passage, for which, he observes, the Master would not accept of any recompense. His own words are significantly expressive on this occasion: “This rude but worthy son of Neptune possessed the inestimable treasure of a truly honest English heart; insensible of personal danger even to hardihood, but feelingly alive to another’s woe; often bestowing a generous tear, the tribute of his manly heart, on affliction’s monument. In the breast of this unlettered man there was moral virtue enough to outweigh all I ever met in France put together.”

His voyage to Naples was tedious, and fraught with disaster. He says, “We had a fine view of Genoa and Leghorn, the weather being beautifully fine; the sky serene and cloudless, water perfectly smooth, and scarcely any wind. The prospect at midnight was inexpressibly sublime. The majesty of the moon slowly emerging from the deep, its diameter to appearance immensely increased; the peculiar brilliancy of the stars, together with awful flashes of lightning, and meteors shooting in every direction, exhibited a scene exquisitely grand.” The day following he has this remark, “The face of nature is changed, and the hand of God is now stretched out to punish my guilt.”

His fears of an approaching storm must have been unfounded; for the next day he gives an animated description of the appearance of Genoa, and the people who crowded to the beach to see the ship as she passed slowly within a league of the shore. The calms and westerly currents, which for many months in the year prevail on that coast, prevented them from making any progress for some days longer, when a storm visited them in reality. His fearful conscience represents every adversity as the finger of Providence pointed against him.

On the 9th day after leaving Toulon he says, “My evil destiny still pursues me. The enchanting beauty in which nature smiled so lately, is now changed to the alarming appearance of offended Heaven. Lowering clouds gathering from every point threaten an awful crisis to both fear and hope.

“The wind increasing to a hurricane, drives the ship with impetuosity irresistible; and the dreadful heaving of the sea, as the watery mountains recede from their convulsed pursuers, leaves a tremendous chasm resembling the abrupt valleys interposed between highest alpine summits, which speedily meeting in all the agitation of confused conflict portend immediate destruction.

“The mariners, dismayed, can no longer exert themselves for the safety of the crazy vessel; a wave has just broken over her and washed away two of them, who, but a moment before, were blaspheming the sacred name of their Maker. Alas! alas! who dares stand in his dread presence!

“An awful crash, accompanied by faint cries ‘She is sinking’, has just reached my ear, and thundered on my soul. O God! how badly prepared!—A few minutes explained the disaster. A body of electric fluid struck the foremast, and shattered it into pieces, at the same moment depriving one of the sailors of life, and bruising two others most deplorably. The flash of lightning was so painfully vivid as to deprive most of us of vision for several seconds: but, to a man stationed on the bowsprit to look out ahead, it disclosed an object quite appalling—a rock towards which the ship was driving with fatal rapidity. A frantic shriek communicated the terrific fact.

“Despair seized on every heart, for the helm had ceased to produce its wonted power in directing the ship’s course. The Master, mistaking our situation, could not be persuaded of the danger until another immense sheet of lightning again exposed the dreadful evil. The helm was moved, and endeavours made to turn a remnant of sail which had not been blown away. A ray of hope appeared for a moment to illumine the drooping hearts of the seamen by the cry ‘_She goes off_’, which was eagerly caught and repeated by all.

“The lightning now becoming more vivid and frequent, contrasted with the intense darkness of the night,—the roaring of the wind,—the foamy rushing of the sea,—the noise of the ropes, and the indistinct cries of the despairing mariners, together with reiterated peals of thunder rolling over our heads for an amazing length of time and ending in a tremendous crash, gave existence to the most frightful picture that human imagination is capable of painting, or perhaps that human nature could sustain.

“Fear, when guilt is the cause, is indeed shocking. My apprehensions of danger may magnify the evils by which I am likely soon to be overwhelmed. I have tried to pray, ‘but the Lord laughed at my calamity.’ I have tried to meet death with philosophic composure; but, shaken by the angry voice of an avenging God, and involved in chaos, what sinner can affect to be unmoved?

“Another wave of vast magnitude has broken over the vessel, which I thought had actually sunk her never to rise again;—she was certainly a long while ingulfed, and, as I thought, completely upset. The undaunted Master endeavoured to cheer us with a hope that, in the event of the vessel foundering, our lives might be saved by the boat; but in the last afflicting crush that resource was dashed to atoms, and the mainmast broken in two. The lightning serves to unveil that wretchedness which darkness had so kindly concealed, and the sight is absolutely indescribable:—every thing floating about and dashing in furious confusion. When the lightning bursts upon our view, it appears to rend the heavens, leaving in its stead a wide gaping gulf of boundless and unutterable gloom.

“The long-wished-for day begins at length to appear, and the horrible spectacle it unfolds defies all attempt at description. The fury of the wind is unabated; by its force alone, large bodies of the waves are torn off, and driven over the vessel like frightful cataracts, and in smaller quantities resembling a violent shower of snow, so completely obstructing vision, as to render it impossible to see any object distinctly at two yards distance.

“Towards 9 o’clock, the storm began to abate, and a moment’s pause was given to contemplate the wreck. It was now discovered that when the mainmast broke and fell on the deck, it bruised the intrepid Master to death. The sight of the body of this amiable man will have a place in my recollection for ever. The mast having fallen on his head, shattered the skull, several pieces of which were driven into the deck so firmly that they could not be removed; and several portions of his brain and hair were still sticking to the wood!

“Within a few feet of this fatal spot, the mangled remains of him who had been destroyed by lightning were rolling about by the violent motion of the vessel, and so dreadfully bruised that not a feature of the human being could be traced. His two unfortunate companions, who were struck at the same time, being unable to shift for themselves, were discovered drowned; the right side and thigh of one of them being literally burned to a cinder.”

In the foregoing narrative, the stinging reproaches of a guilty conscience appear to have been keenly felt, as is manfully acknowledged as well as beautifully expressed. I shall not trespass on the reader’s attention with a further detail of the miseries of this shipwreck. By means of a fishing-boat my friend landed at Leghorn, where he suffered from an attack of inflammation of the lungs, which again put his life in danger. Being little satisfied either with his attendant physicians or visitors, he was induced to embark in a small coasting vessel for Naples.

Of his adventures in this gay city the journal makes but scanty mention, though he seems to have entered freely into the dissipation of that enervated and most licentious court, and was twice engaged in duels. After four or five months spent or rather killed in this manner, his golden dreams and extravagancies were interrupted by the arrival of a special messenger with directions from his father to return forthwith; but without assigning any reason for an order so unexpected and peremptory: with the summons, however, he cheerfully complied, and in a few days afterwards embarked for England.

The winds were propitious, and the ship had a speedy passage; but the pleasure he had promised himself in visiting his native shores was greatly alloyed by the infirm state of health in which he found an uncle whom he affectionately esteemed, and by whom he had been adopted in early life. Having no family, this venerable old gentleman had promised from the beginning to make F. his heir, which pledge he was now desirous of redeeming. The regard he bore him was further shown by a desire to see him settled in the world before he himself should leave it.

There lived in the neighbourhood for upwards of forty years an old gentleman of exemplary piety and benevolence, who had two daughters, both highly accomplished. Brought up and educated in their father’s house, the uncle of F. was acquainted with their dispositions and behaviour from infancy, and was therefore well convinced that they both possessed every excellent quality that could contribute to a husband’s happiness, or ensure a blessing on single life.

With one of these it was his ardent wish to have his nephew united, and he candidly communicated to him the affair; but at the same time he assured him, that although this union would greatly tend to smooth his path to the grave, yet would he impose no restraint on his inclination: let his decision be what it might, no change should be made in his will. My friend was deeply penetrated with this noble behaviour of his uncle, and declared that it should be his study to prove himself not undeserving such disinterested friendship; and if, on further acquaintance, he did not find it utterly impossible to bestow his affections on either of the ladies, he would endeavour to make himself agreeable to one of them.

The irregularities which F. had committed abroad had reached the ears of his parents, and given them many hours of sorrow. As their love for him was unbounded, their fears lest his happiness might be shipwrecked amongst the dangerous quicksands of temptation on the one hand, and indulgence in vicious passions on the other, were painfully increased; and they zealously exerted themselves in all their influence to promote the views of his dying uncle.

The behaviour of their son left them no cause now for uneasiness. He had conversed several times with each of the ladies, and declared himself much pleased with them both; but his partiality appeared to predominate in favour of the elder. His friends constantly importuned him to expedite the arrangements necessary for the completion of their happiness: to these entreaties he would answer, that however anxious he felt to identify their wishes with his own happiness, yet while his uncle continued in so doubtful a state, he would not make that darkness which he was persuaded the loss of so good a friend would long fix on his mind, more visible by unseasonably lighting the torch of Hymen. This answer, while it demonstrated his growing attachment for the young lady, and the grateful respect he had for his uncle, was highly pleasing to all parties.

Meanwhile his time was spent either in friendly visits to the young ladies, or in attendance on his uncle, whose health declined so fast that none of his friends any longer entertained a hope, and in a few days he paid the awful debt of nature. On this occasion F. was a sincere mourner: indeed his grief was often extravagant. To divert his mind, and to dispel that darkness which he himself had predicted, a journey to London was recommended, which he consented to with some reluctance.

Under the influence of grief, that elasticity of mind and naturally complaisant manner for which he was ever distinguished, entirely forsook him. Irritable, petulant, dissatisfied with himself and every thing around him, he suddenly left the country without giving any notice to his parents, or to her whom it was thought his own voluntary choice had determined to be the partner of his joys and sorrows.

Three weeks had already elapsed, and all inquiries to discover his retreat proved unsuccessful. At length he addressed a letter to his mother, in which was inclosed another to his bride-elect, informing them of his being in London, and in somewhat better health and spirits than when he left the country; and offering some apology for his conduct. Both his letters were answered by the ladies, and each had questions to ask, which in their turn they requested to have answered: but a fortnight was suffered to pass before he could find time or inclination to reply; and when he did, his letters were evasive and unsatisfactory.

His father wrote to him and urged the performance of the promise he had made to his uncle, which he assured him was registered in heaven, and was in effect a solemn oath: he finally enjoined him to return to the country. But his condition was considerably altered since his father’s last mandate reached him at Naples; the estate left him by his uncle was more than sufficient to meet the wants of prodigality.

No longer dependent on his father’s bounty, which heretofore had been liberal even to profusion, he now ventured to treat him with less ceremony, and determined to remain in town. His father’s health had long been imperceptibly declining; and this act of unseasonable and unaccountable ingratitude affected him greatly, under the conviction that self interest, devoid of affection, had hitherto directed the obedience which had been manifested by his son.

The mind of F. had now shaken off all the gloom and sadness occasioned by his uncle’s death. He had corresponded very regularly for some months with the young lady to whom it was expected he would soon be united, and his letters of late were soothing and affectionate. She received one from him, stating that the death of a friend in Ireland would make his presence there indispensable; that he would return in three weeks or a month at most, and then “he hoped she would crown all his wishes, and make him happy.”

It is truly painful to contemplate the deep villainy this letter was intended to conceal. Instead of visiting Ireland, as mentioned in his letter, he allured an unthinking creature, “not quite fourteen,” the daughter of a respectable tradesman in London, to accompany him to Scotland, under a solemn promise that he would marry her there. He had calculated that three weeks would be sufficient to glut his savage appetite, when the credulous victim of his passion was to be disposed of to any of his brutal companions, or in any other way that he could most conveniently get rid of her.

When he disclosed his real purpose, she fell into a state that occasioned him some apprehension. She fainted away, but of this he thought little; and, having profited by experience, he was able to act the part which the infamous W. had performed for him in Bourdeaux: accordingly stimulants were speedily procured and administered. On recovering, he tried to cajole her, but his sophistry effected nothing. Frantic with disappointment, and goaded by despair, her fury became ungovernable, which he allowed to rage uncontrolled; tritely remarking, Whatever is violent cannot last long. He was not in this mistaken, for she fell senseless at his feet, and blood foamed from her mouth.

It was now deemed prudent to call in a professed practitioner, who on his arrival pronounced her dying from the rupture of a large blood-vessel of the lungs. This intelligence startled F. not a little. His humanity was not entirely dead; besides, he was by no means ambitious of being thought her murderer. He inquired eagerly whether any thing could be done; to which he was answered in the negative.

In this state of alarm he evinced more presence of mind as well as sound therapeutical knowledge than the regular practitioner; for, the medical man having given her over, F. begged of him to open a vein as a _dernier ressource_, which it appears the other never thought of, as the only means by which her life could be prolonged. Finding that the cure would be tedious, or rather that she was likely to linger long, he placed her in lodgings, and provided a more intelligent medical attendant. He was prevailed on by her tears and entreaties to remain with her six weeks, which was double the time he had at first proposed.

Arriving at his lodgings in town, he received intelligence he had not at all expected, and which he was ill prepared to bear. The very day he left London a messenger arrived to inform him, that his father was dying, and desired his immediate attendance. The servants had been instructed to inform all inquirers that their master had gone to Ireland. Day after day messengers arrived, and still the same answer was given. His afflicted mother, suspecting some cheat, determined to travel to London herself, to awaken the slumbering soul of her undutiful son: to her also the same answer was returned; nor could she obtain any hint or clue that might enable her to discover his retreat; she was convinced, however, that he had not gone to Ireland. Although fatigued and almost exhausted by the journey, she could not be persuaded to take any refreshments in town, but hastened back to console her dying husband.

Uncertain what part of Scotland he should visit, and what stay he might make at each place, he had directed his confidential servant not to send any letters after him. A large packet had accumulated in his absence, which the servant put into his hand at the time he communicated the above unwelcome intelligence. Glancing over the letters, his attention was arrested by one in deep mourning, in the hand-writing of his mother; he guessed the rest. It contained an account of his father’s death; but shuddering at the apprehension of its contents, he could not muster resolution sufficient to break the seal.

His carriage was still at the door,—he threw himself in, and ordered the coachman to drive to the country; but the horses were fatigued, and fresh ones must be procured. To fill up the awful interval occasioned by this delay, he again looked over the packet of letters, and found three from his affianced bride. He opened and read one, which was filled with sweet murmurs and gentle upbraidings for his increased delay; the other was to the same effect; but the third was serious and important. It informed him of the death of her father, who, she said, “expired in an instant, without a moment’s warning.”

This news he declared thrust into his bosom like a dagger; and, to make his cup of misery overflow, the certainty of his own father’s death, with the reproaches of his last breath which he expected, only were wanting: his mother’s letter would have removed all doubt on this subject, and no man was more impatient of suspense, yet he durst not venture on the perusal; every time he took it up his heart misgave him, and his soul seemed to die away.

In this most awful uncertainty, with the letter in his hand, he continued till he arrived at his father’s gate. From a servant who came to open the carriage he learned the fatal tidings, that his father had been buried several days, and that his mother was now exceedingly ill. This was too much for endurance,—the dreaded letter fell from his paralysed hand, and he sunk down overwhelmed by racking remorse. The servants conveyed him to his chamber, where he lay some hours in a state of stupor, which was succeeded by a fever, or some disease that entirely deprived him of sense for upwards of three weeks. The journal, however, was discontinued for as many months.

The following is the first paragraph written after his recovery. “My dear mother and the angelic E. visited me this morning, and neither of them upbraided me! Their forgiveness and pity were in effect refined cruelty. I was prepared to hear their keenest reproach,—but their kindness took me by surprise, and wounded me to the soul. My mother wished to amuse me and attempted to be gay, while tears insensibly rolled down her cheeks. She said I must now look upon E. as my own, for her father had bequeathed her to me, and appointed me sole executor of his will. She was going to say something of a last wish of my father’s, when she fainted away.

“Miserable, infatuated wretch that I am! not all the guilty pleasures of a thousand years could compensate for the torture my soul endured at that moment.—Sainted father! methinks I hear thee in the clouds thundering thy abhorrence of my ungrateful and impious neglect, and threatening me with the vengeance of indignant Heaven. With what crimes am I not debased?—Innocence murdered—human happiness wantonly sacrificed in every spot I could meet with it—my family dishonoured and my life defiled by every species of hellish debauchery—the end of my being perverted—the intention of my Creator defeated by my own monstrous deeds—Alas! alas! I see nothing but an interminable gulf before me—God frowning from above—and the jaws of death and hell extended wide, ready to receive me—and close upon me for ever!”

Who, after reading this soliloquy, would expect to find the author of it again resuming those vicious practices which had occasioned him such intense misery? How humiliating to a proud but virtuous mind is the contemplation of human nature and reason so degraded and debased!

Notwithstanding his remorse and apparent repentance, which there is every reason to believe were sincere at the time, poor unhappy F. had not resolution to relinquish his licentious mode of life; not, he said, that it afforded him any pleasure, but because the presence of virtue confused, and in his own imagination reproached him. The remembrance of earlier days, when his growing accomplishments not only put forth the tender buds of hope, but exhibited fair flowers approaching fast to perfection—the joy of his family, and the admiration of his friends—now withered and decayed, his heart became callous, and he ingloriously yielded to the empire of sin and the slavery of passion without a struggle. Brooding over a thousand evils real and imaginary, his mind assumed the darkest gloom, and gradually sunk into savage melancholy.

Accompanied by his mother, the “angelic E.,” as he used to call that young lady, visited him often, for he had requested her to consider herself his betrothed wife. They tried various methods to engage his mind in some useful or even amusing pursuit, but he could endure nothing that did not present novelty at every instant. The visits of the ladies at length became irksome to him; and determining to rid himself of their importunity, he one morning bade them carelessly farewell, and set out for London.

Here he found that some of his old associates had been obliged, from different causes, to decamp; but some he still found hovering round those infamous sinks of lust and misery to which men of pleasure resort to kill time and escape from themselves: to those pests of society, and those haunts of dissipation, he now attached himself.

The shock he had sustained by his father’s death had greatly impaired his health, and the mode of life he now absurdly made choice of was rapidly destroying his constitution. After several months passed in the senseless bustle, and deeply engaged in the _important nothings_ which occupy so much of a rake’s time, he applied to me with a mind and body both wofully diseased.

I must here beg to obtrude myself, not through any motive of personal vanity, but an anxious desire faithfully to depict the errors that caused the ruin of my once excellent and happy friend. Knowing the expectations he had raised, and the engagements he was under to the lady whom his uncle had recommended, I inquired whether he had made any definitive arrangements: to this he replied, “My engagements with her and every other woman will last while I can feel myself happy in their society, and not an hour longer.” He freely acknowledged, that his mind was made up never to marry, but that he neither could nor would relinquish E. I expostulated with him seriously on the enormity of seducing any virtuous woman; but any injury done to E. would in my opinion be the most heinous crime he could commit, and one which, I was convinced, God would never pardon.

My arguments produced very little effect; for he gravely replied, “I have long been moving in a magic circle, and however full the poisoned cup might have been which the enchantress Pleasure offered, I always drank to the bottom. My soul is dead, and what have I now to fear?” Our acquaintance had been of some standing, and my friendship for him was sincere and disinterested. During the period of his cure I generally conversed with him every day on the cruelty of his design, and the unqualified execration with which the world would load the author of such wanton barbarity; but nothing could turn him from his stern and cruel purpose. “The die,” he said, “is cast;” and more than once did he declare that, should it cost him an eternity of perdition, E. must and should be his on his own terms.

While confined to his house by ill health, he regularly corresponded with the young lady through his mother, both whom it was equally his wish to deceive. His health being restored, he disclosed to me his deep plan for the destruction of E., whose confidence in him was unlimited; and as the assistance of a confidential friend would be indispensable, he now implored my good offices. I assured him that I was very ready to do him any _good_ in my power, and that I would now give a proof of my friendship by laying the whole matter before his mother and E. that very evening; and this pledge I carefully redeemed.

In my letter to his mother, the scheme he had formed to entrap the innocent and confiding E. was fully developed, and they were of course confounded and ashamed at its baseness. His plan was, to invite them both to town, having furnished a house fit for their reception, where, under his own roof, under the protecting eye of his amiable mother, the laws of hospitality, the ties of heaven, and the sacred commands of God, were to be violated and profaned. Unwilling to believe, yet hardly knowing how to doubt my statement, they were consulting what step was most proper to be taken, when they received a letter from F., couched in the most dutiful and affectionate terms, inviting them both to town. This tended to confirm their suspicions, and they decided on inclosing to him my letter, with a request that he would explain its meaning.

On this occasion his self-possession entirely forsook him. He called on me with the letter, and used the most unjustifiable language. Led away by the fury of disappointed passion, he would not listen to reason; his behaviour became indecently insulting, and I determined on withdrawing my friendship, and discontinuing his acquaintance. Almost immediately after this, professional avocations in the service of my country called me out of England, and I lost sight of him for upwards of four years.

The following remarks, which I think were written about the same time, stand in his journal: “Never was meanness equal to mine—never was contempt expressed with more poignant insult. This is the damning consequence of unlawful pleasure.—Pleasure do I call it?—It is pain equal to the severest torture of hell. How intolerably slavish are the galling chains with which sin binds her hopeless victims!”

Amid the multitude of vices by which his life was so foully stained, and his heart so deplorably corrupted, still there were some traits in his character that strongly demonstrated original nobleness of mind. When brutal passion was not to be gratified, he was feelingly alive to the tale of sorrow, and his purse was ever open to relieve the distressed, and administer comfort to the afflicted. His style of living was proportioned to his ample fortune, and in money matters he was always open, liberal, and generous, sometimes so even to profuse extravagance. But his mind, long neglected and vitiated, was now incapable of entertaining a single virtue, or even a shattered remnant of self-dignity. His disposition became so entirely changed, that the original intention of nature appears to have been inverted. That generosity which formerly excited admiration, gave place to the most niggardly and despicable turn of mind, so that he could not bear the idea of parting with money even to discharge his lawful debts.

Those ephemeral friends to whom crime only had attached him, now treated him with coolness, and in many instances with the most cutting contempt. Despised by all his former acquaintances, both sober and dissipated, he exhibited the melancholy picture of a man possessing an excellent understanding, a mind amply stored with elegant and useful knowledge, and a princely fortune, isolated in the world, and scornfully driven, by the common consent of mankind, from that society of which, had he made a right use of his natural endowments, he would have been a distinguished ornament.

Meanness, marked by dishonesty, was strongly exemplified in his refusing to honour a bill which the unhappy girl he left in Scotland, as he supposed on a death-bed, had drawn to discharge the expense of the lodgings he had procured for her. The physician’s bill, too, he refused to discharge. The poor forsaken creature wrote to him, describing her situation in terms that ought to have moved the most obdurate heart; but his, now completely imbruted, was dead to the description of her misery, and deaf to her entreaties. She wrote again, but he would not pay the postage of her letter. The family in which he had placed her, trusting to the debt thus incurred for the payment of their rent, which they could not in any other way make up, were turned out of doors, and with them the wretched patient, now in the last stage of consumption, without a penny to procure a morsel of bread.

In this deplorable condition, with no shelter but the canopy of heaven, she must have perished, had not the compassion of a poor waggoner been moved and extended to her. Through the means of this humble and humane individual she was enabled to reach London, where languid and sinking she sought the abode of her father, once her happy home, the scene of youthful innocence and joy. But, alas! what a sad change!—No home was there. Her father’s dwelling-house was now a prison! After her elopement he used every possible endeavour to find her out, by which means he incurred expenses, neglected his business, and ultimately became insolvent. The benevolent waggoner did not, however, forsake her: he procured her admission into an hospital, where, within a week, she yielded her last breath.

Despised and detested by all who knew him, F.’s stay in London grew every day more irksome, and he seriously meditated a return to the country, where he could gratify his new grovelling passion for saving money, now indeed his ruling one, though a residence there he knew would compel him occasionally to encounter the reproaches of his amiable mother; and the deadly injury intended for E. made him by no means anxious to come under her indignant glance.

The ancestors of F. had inhabited an elegant mansion for time immemorial, and the eminent virtues by which their lives were distinguished rendered it venerable. This mansion had fallen to him on his uncle’s decease, and thither he determined to repair, and make it his residence in a manner corresponding with the late change in his disposition. He therefore made up his mind to turn hermit, and accordingly disposed of his horses, equipages, and entire establishment; returned to the country, and shut himself up in complete seclusion.

The _honour_ of disgracing the family name, hitherto unsullied, and of polluting this venerable mansion, where his ancestors had long maintained an untainted reputation, was reserved for this their parsimonious representative; nor was he long in a state of inactivity, notwithstanding his mode of life was so different from the splendid hospitality which formerly rendered this residence celebrated.

In a village at a short distance lived the widow of a medical gentleman, with three daughters, the eldest of whom was “not quite twenty.” This interesting family managed to live genteelly and comfortably on a small annuity, until the arrival of F., whose pestilential influence proved as destructive, and almost as widely diffused, as the fabulous accounts of _privileged_ travellers represent that of the Upas tree.

It would be horrible and inexpressibly painful to describe the arts he used to ensnare these innocent, industrious and unsuspecting females. In somewhat less than thirteen months he plunged them into guilt and misery, and kept them all living in his house at the same time! His next triumph was over the daughter of a clergyman, for whom he succeeded in procuring a living in the neighbourhood, to enable him the more easily to execute his infamous designs against innocence and peace.

The facility with which the ruin of these four young women was accomplished, encouraged him to make another attack on the much injured E., an attempt which must certainly be considered as a master-piece of impudence and hardened villainy, inasmuch as he endeavoured to make his mother an efficient agent in the destruction of her beloved and amiable young friend. He wrote a long letter to his mother, expressing penitence and remorse for his former behaviour to E., with an anxious desire to make all the reparation he could; and finally, that, if she could forgive him, he was ready to marry her when and where she pleased.

The poor mother, thinking him sincere, was very desirous of taking him at his word, as she believed it the only chance that was likely to offer for reclaiming him. She was persuaded in her own mind that his disposition was originally good, and if his affections could ever be fixed, she would fain think that he was capable of making any woman happy; and accordingly her best offices were employed with E. in his behalf. On the first introduction of the subject, the amiable girl shuddered involuntarily, as if she had unexpectedly been met by some furious beast of prey, which she apprehended would instantly destroy her; and although she had every desire to oblige the mother of F., she candidly declared that it was utterly impossible for her ever to look upon him again with favour.

The mother did not, however, despair that she would be made to relent by time and assiduity. But, while this negotiation was going on, F.’s attention was attracted by the wife of an industrious young man who rented a farm on his estate. They had been married only a few months, and F. describes the wife in the following glowing terms: “She was lovely as an angel, a perfect model of exquisite beauty, of unspotted purity, young and modest.” But virtues like these had lost all influence, unless to stimulate his guilty and savage appetite: to every present incitement E. herself was now postponed. Contrary to his expectations, her virtue was not to be easily shaken; but every repulse and difficulty he experienced only tended to stimulate him to greater exertions.

His thirst for money had now considerably abated, and he was fast emerging from that obscure solitude in which he had remained upwards of three years. His establishment was splendidly increased, his marriage with E. was seriously talked of, and his mother had prevailed on her to consent to see him; but, before the day fixed on for the interview had arrived, he suddenly disappeared, and it was soon discovered that the farmer’s wife was missing also. He had artfully managed to get the farmer into his power, by means of a pecuniary accommodation which he knew it would be impossible for him to discharge: he wrote an infamous letter soon after to the deluded man, desiring him not to be uneasy about the money, and scarcely noticing the deadly wound he had inflicted by seducing the object of his affections,—the partner of his cares,—the friend of his bosom.

In a few months he returned with her, and kept her in his house, _a fine lady_, for nearly a year. Her agreeable person and artless manner had hitherto kept alive in his bosom something like affection; but still, like every other with whom he conversed, she was ultimately doomed to experience his fickleness and neglect. He sent for the afflicted husband, and told him with unblushing effrontery, that he must take her back, as he himself was about to quit the country, and could no longer _protect_ her. The unhappy man was about to remonstrate on the hardship of his case, when he was effectually silenced by the other blustering out, “You shall obey my directions, or rot in gaol.” He was forced to comply, and take to his cheerless home a contaminated wretch, whom he must ever behold with lacerated and abhorrent feelings.

Fortunately for those who were yet uncorrupted, this was the last exploit of F. in the neighbourhood to which he was indebted for his birth, and where, instead of bringing misery and ruin into the peaceful cottage, his rank, property, and influence, ought to have constituted him the legitimate local guardian of its general happiness, morality, and virtue. With frigid indifference he forsook all those whom he had debased by making them subservient to his lustful appetite, and set out for London in quest of new adventures.

In this great metropolis he instituted and organized a system of infamy and abomination for which it would not be easy to find an appropriate appellation: it was, in fact, a kind of repository for vice and crime, where the most odious scenes that could disgrace human nature were continually acting. Not less than five _procurers_, or agents, were employed; and the aggregate of human happiness slaughtered in this temple of hell is truly astonishing, and would hardly be believed. The concern became too extensive to be conducted by a single manager, and F. yielded to the pressing solicitations of an all-accomplished young gentleman to admit him as a partner. The expenses and pleasures were to be mutually shared between them, and their acquaintance became matured into as close a friendship as vice is capable of admitting.

The junior partner had four sisters in the bloom of life, to whom he introduced F., who, after several visits, expressed his partiality for the third, and begged permission to pay his addresses in an _honourable_ way of course. His large fortune was a sufficient inducement for granting his request, and in somewhat less than five months he prevailed on her to elope with him to France. Her brother, who had no knowledge of the world, except what is to be acquired at a theatre, a gambling-house, or a sink of vice, would not at first believe that his “_dear friend_” F. could meditate any mischief against his family, much less the deadly injury that was apprehended by the more sober and experienced part of his relations. He said F. was an eccentric dog, fond of frolic, and he had no doubt was gone to Gretna Green, whence he would return with his sister, and marry her according to the established English custom. The mother of the young lady was by no means of this opinion, and urged her son to make further inquiries; which he did, and was soon convinced that he had overrated his “dear friend’s” generosity.

He lost no time in following the fugitives to France, and after a few days’ search found them in Paris. His first inquiry was, whether they had got married? To which being answered in the negative, he insisted on having that ceremony performed without delay. His dictatorial manner was exceedingly offensive to F., who declared the visit both unseasonable and impertinent, and, without further ceremony, ordered his quondam partner out of the house.

A duel the following morning was the consequence of this interview, and both were wounded. F. was from the first moment sensible that his wound was mortal, and, after lingering nearly fifteen months, the apprehension was confirmed by his death. During his confinement, remorse for his past crimes appears to have seized and constantly agitated him, till he became completely miserable, and life grew so insupportable to him, that it forced him more than once to meditate self-destruction.

The tradesman, whose daughter he had seduced and abandoned in Scotland, hearing of his situation, waited on him, and related to him the account of her sufferings and death, as stated before. The contrition of F. for the injury he had done the daughter, was exemplified by his conduct to her father, whom he raised above the power of want for the remainder of his life. He employed several persons to search for all the unhappy women whose innocence and peace of mind he had destroyed; and every one he discovered of that number had her sufferings alleviated, as far as pecuniary settlements were capable of soothing her sorrow. But this he considered very insufficient reparation, and his unhappiness till the last moment of his life was extreme.

His concluding paragraph is a terrible picture of his feelings. He says, “My life has been pernicious to my fellow creatures, and a foul blot on the characteristic purity of my family. Would to God, that by my death I could make some reparation to society!—but all is now nearly over.—What do I say?—To me, alas! O alas! all is only beginning.—My soul is parched, burnt, and consumed.—O God! save me from eternal death—for the sake and merits of thy beloved son Jesus Christ. Amen.”

* * * * *

A retrospect of this man’s life and death must forcibly recall to the virtuous mind the following beautiful and apposite observation from the chaste pen of the enlightened Dr. Blair:

“Who but must drop a tear over human nature, when he beholds that morning, which rose so bright, overcast with such untimely darkness; that good humour which once captivated all hearts, that vivacity which sparkled in every company, those abilities which were fitted for adorning the highest stations, all sacrificed at the shrine of low sensuality; and who was formed for running the fair career of life, in the midst of public esteem, cut off by his vices in the _middle_ of his course; or sunk for the whole of it into insignificancy and contempt!—These, O sinful pleasure, are thy trophies! It is thus, that, co-operating with the foe of God and man, thou degradest human honour, and blastest the _fairest_ prospects of human felicity!”

In the gay and fashionable circles in life, too frequently originate creatures like that whose progress in crime has just been sketched. Like the cubs of the lion or tiger, harmless and playful, though sometimes heavy and insipid, when young they are fondled and caressed, until the hellish ferocity of their nature becomes developed and matured; when with remorseless gripe they seize upon and destroy not only the unsuspecting but the confiding victim.

Like most beasts of prey, the seducer is not found to be fond of a gregarious life, although conformity to specific laws is indispensable. The principal of these, the _law of honour_, is to be obeyed indeed with scrupulous exactness. This law was first framed by a number of these _elegant_ monsters, who, without having any settled or fixed design, merely as a mark of distinction designated themselves “_men of the world_,” and, having heroically dubbed one another in this manner, agreed thenceforth to look down with contempt on the peaceful, moral, and industrious habits of their less ambitious neighbours.

To deal no longer in metaphor, though the analogy may be considered both close and applicable, it may be allowed me to make an attempt at an explanation of this all-prevailing _law of honour_, an aristocratical code, not less preposterous in conception than dangerous in tendency. This iniquitous system has for too long a time served as a nursery or hot-bed for the propagation of the most odious vices, generated and nurtured, it may be asserted without its truth being questionable, equal to the most sanguine expectations of its infamous supporters. At the head of these vices stands irreligion: and when once a total disregard for the attributes of God takes place; when this great barrier to human presumption is trampled down; when this invaluable link, which unites civilized man to his christian fellow, is once broken, the infatuated votary may well consider himself fully qualified to become _a man of the world_. Vain thing! how short-lived is his mad career!

His situation in the world very much resembles that of a leaky ship in the middle of the ocean, without compass or rudder, gently wafted in the wished-for direction for a short time while the propitious breeze continues; but no sooner does this change, than she is left defenceless to the mercy of the elements, to be driven by every wind, buffeted by every wave, and ultimately sure to perish in the gathering storm.

As this law was made exclusively for the convenience of these redoubtable sons of pleasure, it imposes no obligation but what tends to facilitate that _refined_ intercourse they wish to subsist between themselves; nor does it proscribe as criminal, or mean, any thing that has not a similar tendency. It inculcates the unbridled indulgence of licentious passions, which the polished rake alertly may pursue at times when he ought to be employed in cultivating his understanding; and, after a longer or shorter tutoring, according to his capacity, he bursts forth upon the world a scourge and pest to society.

An anonymous writer of distinguished talent has given an account of one of these pampered beings, which, so far as it regards the uncultivated state of their minds, is admirably descriptive. This writer says, “There is not in the world a more useless, idle animal than he who contents himself with being merely a gentleman. He has an estate, therefore he will not endeavour to acquire knowledge: he is not to labour in any vocation, therefore he will do nothing. But the misfortune is, that there is no such thing in nature as a negative virtue, and that absolute idleness is impracticable. He who does no good, will certainly do mischief; and the mind, if it be not stored with useful knowledge, will certainly become a magazine of nonsense and trifles. Wherefore a gentleman, though he is not obliged to rise to open his shop, or work at his trade, should always find some means of employing his time to advantage. If he makes no advances in wisdom, he will become more and more a slave to folly; and he that does nothing, because he has nothing to do, will become vicious and abandoned, or, at best, ridiculous and contemptible.”

It seems doubtful whether it would not prove more disgusting than interesting to the delicate mind, to be made acquainted with some of the artful contrivances and base stratagems those _fine gentlemen_ practise every day for the allurement of the innocent into their fatal snares. But an attempt, perhaps, to unmask these assassins of virtue, these prowlers after human blood, even should it not be very successful, might still be useful to some credulous creatures, thus to apprize them of the precipices they are standing over, and the inevitable destruction to which they are continually exposing themselves in listening to the wily tales of well dissembled but profane love, delivered either with all the ardour of fervent passion, or that whining softness which practised villains know so well how to command.

First, then, I would affirm that the character of the seducer is cowardly, dishonourable, and base; and I defy the united sophistry of the whole fraternity to refute the assertion. Is it not cowardly, I would ask the most brazen of these unblushing champions, to invade the retreats of innocence and peace, and, after trampling down virtue, change them as it were into the abodes of infernal spirits, because the inhabitants are poor and unprotected, and consequently without any means of punishing the violator of their happiness? What prevents them from at least attempting their ungenerous designs on families of rank, but the _fear_ that a father or brother would wash away the insult with the heart’s blood of the foul assailant? Or is it that the tinsel logic they were taught in the school of “_honour_,” succeeds better in blindfolding the understanding, weakening the faith, and warping the principles of the unenlightened mind, that they thus prefer to attack poverty and weakness, and to lay in ruins that sole refuge of the poor girl—purity and virtue? What a dignified employment for “a man of the world”—“a man of honour”—the last, graceless hope, perhaps, of some ancient, noble, and _truly honourable_ family!

I think the world are pretty well agreed in their abhorrence of a swindler, though his arts are surely not half so infamous as those of the seducer; and the effects of the one, as they are felt in Society, dwindle into insignificance when compared with the overpowering misery produced by the conduct and practices of the other. The swindler at most only deprives us of our money, which perhaps his own wants, or those of a starving family, may urge, and for which at some future opportunity, as instances have occurred, he may be able to make some reparation. But the seducer places his victim out of the pale of earthly happiness, and, it is feared, in this consigns her to eternal ruin.

What excuse can he plead? One of two only. Either, envious of her happiness, he wantonly destroyed it, or esteemed the short-lived gratification of his own brutal lusts equivalent to the endless torture which he could not but have so much reason as to believe would thus be visited on her. An elegant writer likens the hearts of these men to a stagnant and putrifying lake, which sends forth its poisonous exhalations to corrupt and wither every plant that grows on its banks.

“The morality of a man of the world amounts to little more than prudence, and does not always come up to that; he is aware of the allowance that is made for him, and sins up to the full extent of his measure; he must be always ready to sacrifice his own life, or to take that of another; in gaming, he must observe the strictest faith, and in general must abstain from all vices that are neither elegant nor interesting in their estimation: with these limits, he is let loose upon society and public happiness, to plunder and debauch without penalty or shame. Take for instance the happiness of a private family, as it depends upon the unsullied dignity and spotless life of its females:—Are there any of those whom we call men of the world, whom any thing but fear would prevent from poisoning the heart, and laying waste the principles and virtues, of women? Is there one who has religious magnanimity enough to scare this licentious cruelty from his soul? Is there one who would not blush to be suspected of such a virtue? and how often would the indulgence of the vice meet its punishment in the anger and the execrations of the world?”

The heart sickens in contemplating the waste of human happiness which is produced by this deadly evil—Seduction. Almost all the scenes of shameless depravity, and outraged decency, met with in the streets of London, and other populous towns, are produced from this vile unhallowed source. The hapless female who falls into the clutches of one of these plunderers, eternally on the watch for prey, soon forgets that natural modesty which forms the brightest gem in the character of the sex, and, lured by the villain’s wiles, too easily slips aside from the path of purity, and becomes consigned to ruin and disgrace, most probably for life; for too rarely does it happen that a return to virtue dries up this source of all misfortunes, or brings back the influence of those virtues which innocence alone can diffuse over the soul.

The smooth-tongued seducer, like him that tempted our first mother, is every moment at her ear with dangerous suggestions to wile away her scruples, whilst by costly presents and too grateful favours, which he can easily command out of his ready means, or fruitful speculations, the poor girl is persuaded of a fixed attachment, of which no thought was ever entertained: he nevertheless, by his crafty persuasions and false promises, contrives fully to secure her credulity, and the unsuspecting victim is left entirely at the mercy of this ruthless enemy to her peace and happiness. Mercy!—Has the tiger mercy?—as well might that heavenly attribute be expected to beam forth in full influence from a demon, as to suppose that even for a moment that callous heart could be sensible of mercy, or even of pity, towards his harmless prey. No—gloating over the spoil, and exulting in his success, the licentious savage enjoys his feast until it palls upon his gross appetite; and then neglect, insult and base ingratitude prove to the wretched mourner how misplaced has been her weak confidence, how false her expectations, how baseless all her fond hopes of happiness, for which she had sacrificed her all to her relentless destroyer.

The child of shame and remorse, devoted now to misery, no relief appearing to alleviate her distress, no soothing sound bespeaking a heart sympathizing in her sorrows, is totally given up to affliction: the displeasure of relations, if she have any living, the cold neglect of former friends, and the unfeeling scorn of the world, forbid approach to consolation; employment in the common walks of industry even is denied; and poverty, or the dread of actual starvation, leaves no alternative but the last direful one—_prostitution_.

The haunts of lewd revelry are ever with open doors, and the detestable bawds who preside over those disgusting receptacles are constantly on the look-out for girls in such a desolate situation. The unhappy creature quickly gets involved in the snare, sinks into the mass of corruption, and is carried along in the odious and deadly flood of intoxication, impiety, and uncurbed licentiousness, which adds another and another miserable female to the herds that infest the public streets, and walk in open day the disgrace of human nature.

“Seduction is never accomplished without the most villainous frauds, falsehoods, and often perjuries. No man ever enticed a simple, innocent female from the paths of virtue, without a complication of lies and false oaths, that would have rendered him infamous in the eyes of any virtuous person, had they been known. The injury he inflicts is aggravated by the consideration that it admits of no reparation, and can only terminate with the life of the wretched sufferer.”

It would perhaps be impossible to form any thing like a correct comparative estimate of the quantum of misery endured by a creature whose native purity of soul and moral principles have been thus ruined. Few men, however, are so ignorant as not to know something of the passionate fondness of a mother for her offspring; and from this some idea may be conceived of the agonized and outrageous feelings that can urge her to its destruction to conceal her guilt and the shame it occasions. Will any one pretend to say that this barbarous and unnatural murder is not often occasioned by seduction? Nay, further, let me ask, Is not the seducer by profession very frequently provided with _drugs_, which he hesitates not to administer to the wretch whom he has ruined, for the purpose of producing abortion? and if they fail, have not mechanical means been at times resorted to to effect the same damnable purpose?

These are facts which they cannot, dare not deny. What must we think, then, of the man who thus deliberately covers himself with innocent blood,—who wantonly takes away the life of a creature that was utterly incapable of ever having offered him any offence,—a life, too, of which he himself was the guilty author, and which by every tie of nature he was imperiously bound to cherish and protect? I do not mean to say, that every man who commits the crime of seduction, would at that same time also commit murder; but I do affirm, that there is no vice whatever, that so speedily corrupts the heart, debases its inclination, and so entirely depraves the mind, as an illegitimate intercourse between the sexes: it is a melancholy fact, not to be controverted, that even in the ordinary occurrences of life, the commission of one crime will often require and lead to many more to conceal it. The seducer, therefore, of a virtuous woman, to the enormity of that first offence, will and has been led on from one criminal act to another for the necessity of concealment, till murder has been added to the list of his foul transgressions.

The finest feather in a seducer’s plume, and on which he most prides himself, is the facility and indifference with which he can abandon his degraded victim. In this respect, indeed, it must be allowed that all of them evince considerable coolness and dexterity, consigning them in a month, or sometimes less, to rags, hunger, and infamy, leaving to perish the unhappy objects, whose confidence they had gained by solemn declarations and plighted oaths of love and regard, with the most sacred promises of never-failing protection.

Who can withhold the heartfelt, justly-merited tribute of approbation, from the poor industrious parents who are seen struggling cheerfully with want, enduring the chilling blasts of winter, and, after toiling through the day, retiring at night to a miserable ill-covered pallet, to stifle the cravings of hunger; and all borne without a murmur, that thus they may save a pittance to procure for a beloved child the blessing of ever so little knowledge, and thus infuse into her young mind a love of virtue? Who would dare the presumption that these humble honest people do wrong in cherishing the fond hope that she may contribute something hereafter towards the support of their declining years? Or would the seducer rather advise the mind of the child to remain unenlightened, that she might the more blindly fall into his snares? In that, will any man, however depraved and hardened in wickedness, lay his hand on his breast, and answer fairly, whether he does not think the ruin of such an innocent being a more heinous crime than murder, in almost any of the aggravated circumstances in which it has hitherto been exposed to public abhorrence? Will not the shame and sorrow of the parents be infinitely more afflictive than if they had seen their child deposited in the silent grave, if but unpolluted? And finally, will not the friends of human happiness sympathize more with the heart-broken parents, than if a robber had carried away the whole of their little property, and even left them without the last remains of sustenance—a morsel of bread?

That amiable Christian philosopher and excellent moralist, Dr. Paley, has expressed his sentiments on this subject in pointed and forcible terms. “Upon the whole,” says he, for I must be allowed to quote them, “if we pursue the effects of seduction through the complicated misery which it occasions; and if it be right to estimate crimes by the mischief they knowingly produce; it will appear something more than mere invective to assert, that not one half of the crimes for which men suffer death, by the laws of England, are so flagitious as this.”

There are cold-blooded mortals in the world, self-denominated sages or philosophers, who can excuse and even sanction the most disgraceful excesses, under the specious plea of what they term reasonable allowance for youthful levity—the summer of life, when all the passions flow impetuously through the free channels of the vital system, though, like other violent streams, if left to themselves they will soon become exhausted and dried up. If this sophistical mode of reasoning deserve not the name of genuine philosophy, it claims at least the peculiar merit of novelty.

Is it not fair to infer, that persons who advocate principles so hostile to the true interests of society, have themselves been profligates through life, and are still in reality the enemies of mankind? Does it follow, that because the vices of early life in themselves have in a premature old age brought on their punishment, other fountains are to be suffered to exhaust themselves in like wickedness? Whence, it may be asked, has any man derived the right to destroy the happiness of his fellow creature? or what reparation will he be able to make for unprovoked injuries so wantonly inflicted, so irreparably endured?

But unfortunately the perpetration of such crimes is not confined, in virtuous indignation it must not be concealed, to the young alone; they are practised also by men whose hoary locks and tottering steps would beguile one in charitable thought to hope, that sentiments of a far different nature should influence them to prepare for that other world, on the verge of which they seem already standing. So great indeed is the general regard I have for grey hairs, that it sometimes amounts to veneration. How much more congenial, then, would it prove to screen the foibles of that so much honoured period, than to expose any of those failings from which no part of our earthly existence is entirely free!

But when we see an old man voluntarily stripping himself of the dignity of years, and meanly descending from that eminence on which reverence and regard had placed him, to vicious indulgences which exhausted nature and the many infirmities of a debilitated frame render him incapable even of enjoying,—when we see him, I say, still hovering around those criminal gratifications which poison his every sober joy, and of which he cannot now, except in prurient imagination, be a partaker, what can or should save him from just contempt and merited indignation?

How many are there in high life, several of whom I could mention, (and were it done, it would be perhaps but the discharge of a christian duty,) who live in a state of unconcealed adultery,—fathers of families taking up with women young enough to be their daughters! At the present moment of writing, I know of two men who have grand-daughters some years older than two country girls they have under protection, as it is called, and whom they doubtless pay enormously for pampering their feeble appetites, and feeding their silly vanity. Can reformation of the young be reasonably expected, while the old continue to set such an example?

Suppose some of the sparks of the present day, who infest and dishonour every place of public amusement, were to commit the utmost extravagance, even to indulge in a seraglio, how awkwardly would the fathers of many of them remonstrate, themselves in the daily practice of like crimes, differing only in degree? In obscene conversation, too, such antiquated sinners have left their juvenile rivals far behind. What indeed can be more shockingly disgusting, than to contemplate an old wretched offender of this description seated at his own table, entertaining a large company of old and young with the infamous exploits of his licentious villainy? Silence and shame should displace the boasting that proves him only dead to principle and character.

It is an evil of no inconsiderable magnitude, that vice, be it ever so odious, will find some one or other of rank to countenance, if not to flatter it. On what rational principle shall we attempt to account for the reception which the most notorious seducers find in society of the first distinction, where they are not only allowed to make their appearance, but are generally treated with polite and even marked civility, not unfrequently the kindest attention, too, paid them by females who have been considered eminent for religion, piety, and moral virtue? What is to be said of such conduct, particularly when many who in this manner appear to make themselves partisans of seduction, are themselves mothers of lovely daughters, on whose loss of happiness those monsters would revel without a single feeling of remorse, and reduce to the same degraded level with all the rest of their credulous victims, some one or other of whom, perhaps, might have that very day been abandoned to shame, poverty, and misery?

An able writer of deserved celebrity has well observed, that “the confederacy amongst women of character to exclude from their society kept mistresses and prostitutes, contributes more perhaps to discourage that condition of life, and prevents greater numbers from entering into it, than all the considerations of prudence and religion put together.” Why, in the name of justice, should these unhappy objects, who are too often only deluded agents, be excluded from society, while the real authors of their errors, the men who have betrayed, and still keep them enslaved in the vilest thraldom, are received and countenanced without opprobrium or animadversion?

It is really with infinite reluctance and painful feelings that a single reprehensive glance should be cast at any part of the conduct of my fair countrywomen, and nothing but an anxious wish to see every female, rich or poor, mantled in the pure robes of captivating virtue and modesty, could induce me to assume the presumptuous language of reproof; but when the ruin of an innocent soul is threatened, who can be silent and offend not?

Britain is the only nation, perhaps, that can boast (as enviously conceded even by sister countries) of women in whom are united the three uncommon qualities of beauty, talents, and virtue. Who would not, then, have them nobly maintain this dignified superiority? Let their morals not be corrupted by the frivolous example of their volatile neighbours. Let them unanimously drive from their presence the notorious and plausible rake, who, however he may flatter, would betray and destroy. If enthusiasm can be applauded in any case, it is where the glory of a nation is the object; and let it never be forgotten, that from the earliest periods of the world, those countries have always been the greatest where the female character was the most virtuous and unsullied.

PROSTITUTION.

If we refer to the most obvious consequences attendant on the crime of seduction, we shall observe, that in almost every case the victim is reduced to the dreadful necessity of seeking a desultory and precarious subsistence by _prostitution_, which can never fail to expose the ill-fated object to a degree of wretchedness too painful for sensibility and virtue to picture even in imagination.

Before pronouncing a sweeping sentence, however, of unqualified condemnation on the horrid life these miserables lead, it would be just to pause a little, and inquire whether an alternative is left to them.—Forsaken and disowned by their relations; cruelly deserted by their seducers; shunned and despised by those who formerly were proud, perhaps, to cultivate their acquaintance; they stand, as it were, alone in the world, an awful memento of the loathsomeness of sin.

If to this state of unhappy feeling be added the resistless calls of hunger, the effects of cold and wet on a delicate frame, but thinly clad, and ill-protected against the severity of season, with the melancholy prospect of being compelled to perish in the streets, we may have some idea of their deplorable condition. But even this picture, dark and dreary as it is, presents a faint image only of the indescribable gloom, terror, and dismay, which lower over the tempestuous visitations of the heart-rending conflict of shame, want, and misery!

What exquisite, what pure felicity must enliven his heart, who in this extremity of vice can become the instrument, with the divine aid, of restoring to a sense of religion and virtue, and of bringing back and restoring to her family, in the spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation, a poor deluded young female, ere her mind has been depraved in vicious intercourse with the abandoned of her sex, who vengefully in turn have become seducers, and practise upon man the same vile arts by which they themselves had been betrayed! If any period indeed of their wretched career be favourable for reformation, this appears to be the most propitious; and surely the salvation, the happiness of a fellow creature are objects too sacred, too glorious to be given up without at least an effort. But too often, unfortunately, is this opportunity suffered to slip by; for the benevolent few, who would promptly and joyfully extend the hand to save, know not the dangerous situation in which the object of such benevolence is placed, while the general mass of mankind looks on indifferent as to the destructive consequences inevitably to result!

Is it not as humiliating as distressing to reflect, that for one who has true greatness of soul sufficient to pity and assist such a poor bewildered girl, there are a hundred heartless sensualists that would take advantage of her misfortunes, and plunge her still deeper in a foul guilt? But she is not allowed long to hesitate between virtue and vice. Some veteran harpy not far off, ready to satisfy her keen hunger with a tempting feast, and cover her naked, shivering limbs with decent dress, soon fairly enlists her under the banners of _prostitution_, where she is compelled to endure insults the most degrading, to hear oaths and imprecations, and suffer obscenity the most revolting, to which a little time speedily familiarizes her.

Endowed perhaps by nature, for better purposes, with talent, she becomes easily a proficient in all the arts and tricks of practised criminality; she gains the favour and confidence of her mistress, or more properly her gaoler, who sends her forth to levy contributions on all whom she can entangle in her toils, particularly spread with malicious enmity for the open generosity of unguarded youth. In this manner bankers’ clerks, apprentices to shop-keepers and tradesmen, and other young men in trust, are often entrapped, and lavish away money which these females induce them to pilfer from their masters or parents: neglect of business, or other irregularity, at length rouses the suspicion of the hitherto confiding employer, who now deems it necessary to resolve on dispensing with the young man’s further services, and turns him upon the world to live as he can. How often has it happened, that a desperate effort to regain that respectability thus justly forfeited, brings him to an untimely and disgraceful end, or consigns him to distant exile for life! Hence arises another pitiable waste of parental affection.

Many a valuable young man has thus been lost to his family and the world: nor is the fate of the poor unhappy females generally much more enviable. Some of them, it is true, do occasionally succeed in obtaining settlements from old dotards; and others in appearance enjoy all the conveniences of ease, luxury and affluence; but truth will allow the suggestion, that there is not one in a thousand who does not on some occasion or other experience every sorrow and anguish that can contribute to fill up life’s bitterest cup. Where is there, or ever has been, a woman of this abandoned class, who did not feel at some sad hour of reflection most acutely the degradation of her state? Which of them has not in the cravings of hunger, houseless and friendless, in feelings of heart-consuming and unavailing sorrow, tacitly acknowledged the slavish chains and bondage in which she was inextricably trammelled and held down by sin?

A lingering sense of shame, perhaps, drives some other of those unhappy and forlorn beings to a lodging of such a description as suits her scanty means. There, in a room which is seldom half furnished, the degraded and desolate object, with a forced and pitiable cheerfulness badly harmonizing with the settled marks of sorrow in her countenance, induces the visits of companions of the other sex, unknowing or careless that, by this wretched means of obtaining to herself a subsistence, she is leading him, in whom centre the cherished hopes, perhaps, of some respectable family, from the paths of duty into future and unavoidable iniquity. Thoughtless youths of this description find it easy to purloin money and articles from home, to secure the good opinion of their attractive mistress. The still unhappy creature, though above the dread of want, puts on a new character, becomes prudent from necessity, and loses no chance of improving her present harvest.

Too often, however, will pity say, the picture is reversed. Some low, designing wretch, struggling with want and subsisting by the meanest schemes, contrives to gain the fair one’s notice, is permitted to visit, and by dint of assiduities and moving representations of his altered fortunes, in a well tissued tale of distress he wins her compassion; and the generous girl (for the generosity of the confiding female heart is boundless) admits the plausible miscreant to her table, and shares with him her purse; nor has the worthless vagabond the slightest sense of shame or compunction in subsisting wholly on her miserable gains. Soon, then, she begins to feel misfortune keenly; her favouring visitors fail, the sources of her sad emolument are dried up; her clothes and trinkets go to the pawnbroker’s; her ingrate _protegé_, no longer to batten on her miserable resources, robs her; and the unfeeling landlord, or his vociferous drunken wife, pretends now for the first time to have found out her way of life, and, under the pretence of conscientious abhorrence, turns her into the street without an article save what is on her person.

O happy, happy daughters of virtue! when you contrast your situation with that of this frail and wretched sister, be grateful to Heaven for the blessings you enjoy; guard your every step with prudent vigilance, lest at any moment you be tempted to go astray from the ways of “pleasantness and peace.” Perhaps the misfortune of this wretched girl has drawn her from a state once as delightful as your own; education and the seeds of early virtue may have been implanted in her bosom, and were lovely in their growth, until blasted by the seducer: observe now her once beautiful form, worn down and emaciated by want and sickness, nay worse, tainted with that destructive disease which is ever attendant on such a course; see her, in short, pining and wasting away under multiplied sorrows, and sinking rapidly into a premature grave!

Yet, even before that relief arrives, her wretchedness is too probably increased by associating with depraved females of the same class; (for how can she avoid those amongst whom she must live?) their habit of drinking spirits becomes familiar to her; the delusive poison affords a temporary relief, but hastens on a painful, lingering death, which takes place, perhaps, in some forsaken shed, or unfurnished weatherbeaten room: there, without fire, light or comfort of any kind, there see the emaciated, diseased, starving, and desolate being sigh out the last breath of a miserable life;—no friend is nigh to comfort—no accustomed voice is heard to sooth or cheer her last awful moments of existence, or, by once pronouncing her name, to seek assurance that as yet her soul may not have taken flight!

In this faint sketch, which, mark! is from very life, I have endeavoured to point out some of the innumerable evils which follow the baneful footsteps of those flagitious traders in female virtue and happiness. How many a poor sorrowing female, who has once listened to the destructive tempter, and suffered her good sense to be blinded by seductive art, has been obliged to tread in such a painful road of thorns, debasement and affliction!

From the humble, bashful servant-maid, who has been seduced by the fellow servant, in order to win her over to a diabolical design laid by another as low in infamy if not condition as himself, for the ruin of her young mistress, and which too often through her persevering wicked agency becomes successful, up to the dashing woman of pleasure, maintaining a proud establishment by the base traffic and barter of female innocence,—all is a bloated mass of wickedness and falsehood. Most unhappy indeed, and lamentable, is the lot of those innocent, unpolluted girls who are drawn within the incantations of such licentious syrens, smiling but to destroy, while their execrable purpose is always enveloped in blandishments and charms, to lull the apprehensions of the modest and virtuous victim, led along as unsuspecting of danger as the lamb that licks the slaughtering knife.

The humble but industrious and virtuous girl apprenticed to a respectable dress-maker is marked down by another class of prowlers, more showy, specious and experienced. These, to dazzle at once the eyes of the hapless virgin, make a grand display of equipage, servants in livery, splendid house and luxurious table; the softest protestations, the most alluring promises, and apparently fondest expressions possible, are ever at hand. Thus, with the aid of presents, and by force of ever-renewed compliments, against which how few female minds can be duly guarded! the giddy creature in an unlucky moment forgets all the precepts of an anxious mother, and of a revered father whose grey hairs and sacred profession should have protected from the insult,—all vanish before the wily tempter’s skill, and disappear until woful experience opens the eyes of the infatuated girl to a sense of her lost reputation, and despair prepares her for the worst, the dernier fate of those in such condition.

Turn, inhuman destroyer!—take the last look at your heart-bleeding victim before you leave her to utter destruction. If a spark of honour, of even self-regard, lurk yet among your base unbridled passions, pause for a moment,—let recollection flash on the youthful days of your amiable wife;—such a villain as you have now become would have separated her life from yours:—You have daughters—cast a father’s look on them, and judge from your own feelings, if a father’s feelings can be yours, what you must have inflicted, in the disgrace of that ruined girl, who, now fallen and by you debased, clings around your feet, upon the hearts of a peaceful, respectable, and hitherto happy family.

Can this man make any recompense for his barbarous crime? He titles as a Lord; but vain are his immense treasures, his glittering equipages, to restore her lost innocence: no—no effort of his can sooth the remorse of her whom his guilt has made so miserable. Poor is the refuge from a worrying conscience, in the thought that ample provision has been made for the sorrower’s support, whose early death will relieve her at once from his odious bounty and her intolerable misery.

Endless as distressing would be the undertaking to particularize the detestable variety of iniquity thus practised; or to enumerate all the suicides, child-murders, and secret crimes which hence originate, in all their turpitude. Of this one deplorable fact I have had assurance in the case of the female convicts late under my care on board the Morley, who invariably acknowledged, when on the subject of their misfortunes, that _seduction first led the way to guilt_, and that the baneful career in which the sentence of the law had arrested them, might be decidedly dated from the fatal moment of their fall from virtue.

To arrest the progress of female prostitution, various expedients and measures have been proposed, and as numerous arguments urged in favour of their efficacy. The most ingenious British writer on the subject seems to be Dr. Colquhoun, whose zealous labours have long indeed been meritoriously directed to his country’s benefit. While his active vigilance has in many cases been successfully devoted to the investigation and repression of crime, his opinions in the main are correct and luminous.

In the remedy, however, which he proposes for female prostitution, his love of police system appears to me to have carried him beyond his depth, further perhaps than he intended. The measure he recommends is modestly covered by a few superficial, ingenious arguments, but, when divested of this learned covering, presents an appearance not very satisfactory to an English eye, and to that of stern virtue is even truly frightful—_granting to prostitutes legal licenses_!

The learned Doctor first endeavours to soften the scruples of his timid readers by argument both speculative and specious; after which he gravely asks, “Where then is the objection?” and then immediately answers his own question, “In vulgar prejudice only.” He continues, “By those of inferior education, whose peculiar habits and pursuits have generated strong prejudices, this excuse may be pleaded; but by the intelligent and well-informed it will be viewed through a more correct medium.”

It might have the appearance of presumptuous temerity to oppose an opinion to this sweeping dogma of the learned Doctor; for, agreeably to his definition, I must confess that I am one of those _of inferior education and vulgar prejudices_ whom he so designates. It may however be permitted me candidly to state, that I have viewed his proposition in every possible light, and have had some few opportunities of observing the effects of such a system, but somewhat modified, in several parts of the world; and that, after reflection as close and intense as my mind is capable of giving to any subject, I have decidedly formed an opinion, that the result of such an arrangement would be the very reverse of what he pronounces. It would, I firmly believe, be impossible for ingenuity to invent any thing that could contribute more effectually to vitiate the public opinion, and entirely extinguish the moral principle, than the open toleration or licensing of public brothels.

The Doctor surely must have forgotten that indulgence in this sin, more than any other, prepares the mind for the admission of every vice, and is generally the forerunner of the most diabolical and desperate depravity in vulgar life; and in the higher walks even leads to dissoluteness, profligacy, and total disregard of moral and religious obligations: or would he venture with confidence “to prescribe rules ‘_Thus far shall you go, and no further_?’” Under the superintendence even of so able a magistrate as himself, would it be possible to apply this rule? But of this I am confident, that no plain honest man who wishes to promote the cause of morality, and the general welfare of his country, will ever desire to see this experiment tried in England.

In support of the propriety of this salutary measure, the Doctor adduces examples drawn from Holland, Italy, and India. In the first of those countries my own observation has been rather limited, though quite sufficient to convince me, that under no circumstances or modifications whatever could the Doctor’s expectations of the system in its consequences be realized. That the morals of the people of that country were formerly as pure, or “the purest of any in Europe,” as he states, I am nothing loth to admit; but that their corruption and degeneracy have been in a great measure occasioned by this very sanction, or connivance, cannot, I think, be disputed.

In Italy, it is true, the system has had a wider range, and its effects have been fully developed. The Doctor’s intercourse with that country must have been limited indeed, else he would have known, that long established habits of libertinism had indisposed and incapacitated the majority of them for all useful intellectual pursuits; and that their minds generally were too enervated to give birth to, much less sustain, any of those noble virtues which only and irresistibly command admiration.

Of the Italian women it is really an ungracious and painful task to be compelled at all to speak: but although I cannot in justice give them my unqualified approbation; and although censure, if it deserve that name, be given in gentleness, yet it must be declared that that prompt and resolute decision against guilt, and its indulgence, which forms so amiable a portion of the English character, is not often, I fear, to be met with in the women of Italy.

Against the opposition which he expected would be raised against his favourite plan, the Doctor urges “_Plus apud me ratio valebit quam vulgi opinio_;” but in proposing Italy, where morals and chastity have long dwindled to a name, and are now deplored as nearly extinct, as a model for British imitation, does he keep in sight the best part of his own maxim?

The introduction of Italian manners and customs amongst our females, might certainly gratify the utmost wish of _the man of the world_, and every professed rake or libertine; but it would be leaving the husband most probably no other security for his wife’s fidelity than the want of a paramour and suitable opportunity. The people of that country are notoriously licentious, practising without a blush, in open day, the most immoral and disgraceful excesses. I regret as deeply as any one, the vicious propensities of our own countrywomen, which it is grievous to observe are so extensively a subject for reprehension: yet it is far from gratifying or honouring to our nature, to entertain a conviction which follows from the lamentable fact, that the degradation of female chastity is, beyond all proportion, greater in Italy than it is at home.

I shall detain the reader with only a remark or two on the unhappy class of females in India, to whom the Doctor alludes as being devoted to indiscriminate intercourse, but whose morals in other respects, he says, are strictly guarded, and whose minds are not susceptible of that degree of depravity which prevails in Europe. It is with much reluctance, and no small degree of diffidence, that I feel it necessary to differ from one whose shining talents have contributed so eminently to the public good. However, as I have reason to presume that he never was in India, he must have had his information from a second, who probably had his from a third, and who most likely felt himself authorized to take advantage of the traveller’s privilege. Be this as it may, I am well assured that the purity he speaks of as there existing, is no where to be found, and that the behaviour of prostitutes in that country is marked by all the depravity of mind, and corruptness of manners, that can tend to imbrute the feeling, and fill the mind of the observer with the most sickening disgust.

But allowing the Doctor’s notion of the subject to be correct, and admitting all the force of his political maxim, “_Qui non vetat peccare cum possit, jubet_,”—still, I think, it would be extremely difficult, and attended with the utmost danger, to apply them to practice[32]. If the positive commands of God, and the awful denunciations of his wrath, can be violated and disregarded in one case, what is there to ensure obedience and respect to them in any other? In the 13th chapter 4th verse of the Hebrews it is declared, “whoremongers and adulterers God will judge.” If the Legislature can grant a license to commit this crime with impunity, and thus far neither judges nor condemns, why may it not also, as moral principle alone is concerned, give one for committing murder, or any other deadly sin? In short, what would there be then to defer from trampling on the Decalogue, or the Bible itself, provided the countenance of Government, upon some view of mere policy, could be obtained in the shape and denomination of a license?

Having thus expressed an entire and unqualified disapprobation of any measure that could be construed into a public sanction of brothels, and their wretched inmates, it may be expected that I should myself substitute some efficient proposition on the subject. I should indeed consider such a task a duty, and feel pleasure in its performance, as far as my competency might extend, were I not fully satisfied that there are many, very many, in the country, whose zeal and abilities more eminently qualify them for a disquisition so important, while their political influence is such as to give them a hope, to me not in prospect, of successfully advocating the cause of innocence, virtue, religion, and social happiness.

Footnote 31:

A Government order _now_ exists, requiring the Surgeon Superintendent of every convict ship to establish a school, and perform divine worship regularly during the voyage.

Footnote 32:

The above observations were written during the voyage to New South Wales, when the Author was ignorant of the heavy loss sustained by the public in the death of that highly talented Magistrate.

THE END.

Printed by R. and A. TAYLOR. Shoe Lane London.

ERRATA.

Page 21, line 7 from bottom, for _banisheh_ read _banished_

67, line 12 from bottom, for _the many_ read _them any_

71, line 12 from top, for tA. M. read A. M. Same line for _weathe_ read _weather_

114, line 9 from top, for _human heart_ read _human beast_

241, line 7 for SORRELL read SORELL

296, line 14 from bottom, for _th mmonness_ read _the commonness_

343, line 1 for _ha_ read _had_

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