tron is disposed to trace the act so much at variance with the seeming character to incipient insanity, and Celestina Sommer, who finished her life in the criminal lunatic asylum, is, for the atrocity of her crime, a notorious example in point. Where a dread of shame leads to the act, this solution is not called for. The character of a certain Elizabeth Harris, guilty of the cold-blooded murder of two children, leads to the following remarks:

"She was another of those women who, in captivity for crimes of the deepest dye, became the most quiet and best-behaved of prisoners. As a rule, murderesses are the women most apt to conform to prison discipline, most anxious to gain the good-will of their officers, and easily swayed by a kind word. They are not generally of the lowest grade-that is, not the most illiterate and mentally depraved."-Ibid. vol. ii. p. 259.

And again

"Women who are in for murder, more especially the murder of their children, are, as a rule, the best-behaved, and the most light-hearted of prisoners."-Ibid. p. 84.

they think there is no further occasion to trouble their heads about the matter. 'The deed is done,' and prison life is penance and absolution for it. Elizabeth Harris, who had deliberately drowned her two children, was ever a cheerful woman, possessing a brisk step and a bright smile."-Ibid. vol. ii. p. 164.

With Sarah Baker, who had thrown her

baby down a pit-shaft :

"The past crime did not press heavily on her conscience; I have observed, but it is a remarkable fact, that these serious acts seldom do. . . . I may add here that with all the prisoners the crime is of little account, and the sentence for it only a thing to be deplored."

Does remorse, then, mean in most cases dread of discovery? It would seem so. It is the weight of a secret-not only fear of punishment, but the burden of a mystery which human nature cannot bear. It is conscience convicting us of having sinned against human judgment and feeling; it is the horror of what men will say. When man knows and has done his worst, this aspect of conscience is at rest, though there is no repentance; though the sin is not mourned for, and there is no thought even of the Divine Judge.

And this leads to another observation concerning this class of criminals; and, indeed, the light in which crime is viewed generally by prisoners. Amongst bad and good indiscriminately, we can see scarcely a trace The chaplain, she admits, hears words of of real repentance, or even remorse. They contrition and resolutions of amendment, uniformly seem to accept the punishment but people in scenes like these are mainly, as plenary absolution; even if the more though not always reasonably, guided by thoughtful and decent see the harm of what their personal observation and experience. they have done, and recognize the duty of In one case she mentions the deep and vivid admitting their guilt. We cannot but supeffect of a rousing sermon on that most fapose that, in the case of some of these vorite of all occasions for popular emotion, a women guilty of murder, if their crime had funeral sermon :never been found out, they would have suffered agonies of remorse-possibly even made confession; but conviction and punishment seem in all cases to stand for confession and absolution; there are no traces of an uneasy conscience. Now and then, very rarely, a depressed manner leads to the surmise that thoughts may be passing within, but, whatever the chaplain may hear, the matron, at least, is not made the confidant of broken-hearted self-reproach. She speaks of the awful rule of "non-repentance," and again

"It is a remarkable fact that, with most female convicts, the sentence is considered a fair equivalent for the act committed, and

"That the chaplain's exhortations, for the most part, have little effect, may be readily imagined from the character of the congregation; but still, here and there, the good seed falls at times and bears some fruit, and preaching is not always a ceremony, even in prisons, that is dry and unprofitable and disCoy, one of the prisoners, had died the preIt happened that Julia Mcheartening.. vious week; and the minister, who chanced at that time to be officiating, took advantage of the occasion to speak of her death and of the circumstances connected with it, in simple, earnest language that struck home to those stubborn hearts, and brought tears into all eyes. It was an affecting sight; here were women, whose whole term of confinement had been an outrage against common

sense and propriety, making the chapel echo | Christmas season-no doubt, in days of libwith their stifled scbs; there were women erty, always profaned by some greater exwho had not shrunk at murder, infanticide, cess of riot-was found a period of especial and all the crimes that degrade our poor hu- turbulence. In fact, prison is a place to manity, weeping like children at the thought of their fellow-prisoner's natural death. The subject was well chosen, skilfully handled, and the right chord had been struck; there were purer, better thoughts rising from the depths that morning than it was ever guessed could have life amid such darkness."-Ibid. vol. i. p. 250.

show the supremacy of habit. We are all of us weak against temptation, but the habit of non-resistance in these wild natures turns temptation into a sort of law. "You see, miss, I did try very hard, but it wasn't to be," said one of them on her recommitment; "I was obliged to steal; I did try my best, but it couldn't be helped, and here I am.

This is pleasant to read; and good thoughts have an influence independent, It wasn't my fault exactly, because I did try, perhaps, of their immediate, perhaps physical, effects; but the sequel to this scene is curious. Something of the kind, no doubt, may often be observed after religious excitement, on its more undisciplined, unrestrained subjects:

you see, miss ;" and this is called "the common excuse "-a woman always asserts that it was not to be avoided. And there are one or two melancholy instances of women entering upon a new and creditable mode of life relapsing, not without agony of "But still, one sermon will not regenermind, at the first word from an old intimate, ate a prison; and though some good possi- or "pal," as a convict friend is always called. bly followed it, yet I cannot honestly aver The slang epithet would not be misapplied that there was much sign of general amend- to many a so-called friendship out of prison ment. Some of the women were even so walls, wherever there is intimacy without reunsettled as to break out' shortly after-spect, or regard, or confidence. Where all wards; the new thoughts troubled them, these are wanting, the necessity for companand they must shake them off or go mad. Better back to the old life than to be troubled with them; and so the glass was crashing in the wards again, and the dark cells were once more full of inmates."

poor

Thought, as such, is horrible to these creatures, and no doubt dimly full of fears. Even their compulsory schooling drives the more densely ignorant wild: "I can't stand it, miss," one exclaimed; "it only drives me silly. I'm sick of schooling; you'd better take me back to my cell, I shall only make a row here. Don't say I have not given you warning."-P. 251.

ionship makes the "pal" a very important need. The first term of imprisonment is one of solitude; it is only at rare intervals that association is allowed. After a time, two are placed together, and at Brixton the solitary system is not at all observed. But no restraint can prevent partial intercourse; the freemasonry of prisoners is a mystery which cannot be got at. They contrive means of communication, written and by signs, in their dreary single-file promenades. They even converse and concoct schemes of rebellion by silent movements of the lips from opposite galleries of the chapel, which, from various indications, must be a strange theatre for prison tactics; disorder, under the mask of an exact conformity, presenting in startling parable, what may be the con"It has struck me more than once that trast between seeming and reality amongst the best women-the good-conduct women of all classes are often grave and thought- many a free congregation, if wandering ful (on Sunday). Now and then a matron, thoughts and rebellious attention could make suddenly entering a cell, may find a prisoner themselves heard and seen by the senses. in tears; and it is always a prisoner who has had some semblance of a home in early days, or some well-meaning father or mother."-Ibid. vol. i. p. 254.

It is remarked, however, that something of benignant Sunday influence is to be found even in a prison, some little respect for the Sabbath by the most obstinate prisoners:

No woman will make her "pal" a confidant of any good thoughts or softening of heart; all this is for the matron. No doubt it would be regarded as meanness, as a giving in, by The instances of insubordination are less a society which has respect for no other qualon Sunday than on any other day through-ity but daring audacity, and which supports out the year; while, on the contrary, the the spirit by recollections of past feats and

schemes for future mischief. Yet, though when it was lost, she degenerated, became there is not much love in these alliances, violent and fierce, and her fine manners, there is a great deal of jealousy. Nothing which could at any time give place to the is more curious and noteworthy than the in- lowest scurrility of language, seemed to defluence of this passion in these narrow, self-sert her. Instances of more wholesome feelish minds. Indeed, it is a scene to show us ing are not wanting in these annals. Few the anatomy of all the vices, amongst our- women are without something of the mothselves decently skinned over. With us jeal-er's instinct, and are kind in their way to ousy may be even attractive as the morbid working of a too deep and concentrated affection; but nothing can be said for the envious discontent which will keep a woman brooding, scowling, and sullen for days, because a favorite matron has spoken a word of kindness to a fellow-prisoner, grudging another any share of a tenderness which has no value to her but as being exclusive. Yet, perhaps, as a sign of some feeling, it is better than mere indifference.

On this head of sentiment there is one curious feature which may illustrate the natural history of crime, though we can see no connection between an innocent propensity and an inherent tendency to deceit. Those who have read Mr. Wilkie Collins's last novel will remember the amiable villain Fosco (the best character by far in the story) and his pet canaries. The two female swindlers in this book show the same turn for taming animals, and the same strange fascination over them. A woman who had used her lady-like manners to defraud innumerable shopkeepers, and who in prison had capabilities of "talking over totally out of the common," established a friendship with a mouse, which she tamed to the most perfect subservience, bestowing on it that exclusive affection which natures cold towards their own kind sometimes bestow on animais. In the case of this woman, her contempt for her fellow-prisoners met with a repulsive, rough revenge, for one of them got into her cell in her absence and bit off her friend's tail. The other case of this tendency was in Alice Grey, whom our readers may remember as "the fascinating Alice Grey," as she loved to call herself, who perpetrated so many feats of swindling, perjury, and false accusation. This woman showed no spark of interest for any human being during her imprisonment, but became passionately fond of a sparrow, which she would sing and talk to in a simple artless way, wholly at variance with her manner to her fellow-men. The bird seemed to exercise a salutary influence over her, for,

their children born in the prison, of whom there are not a few; but beyond this, they are not without some sense of the sanctity of childhood, however wickedly, in many instances, this is violated. Mention is made of one child-prisoner, apparently only ten years, a pretty little girl, on whom the prison garments hung loose and incongruous. At first sight of her, at the first shock of the contrast between the look of innocence and the place,

"Women looked from one to another, wringing their hands and compressing their lips together; one woman clasped her hands instinctively, and cried, 'My God, look here!' and presently there was a deep conIt's a vulsive sob escaping on all sides. have come here!' more than one woman shame-it's an awful shame!-she shouldn't ventured to exclaim; and it became necessary to pass Lydia Camblin to her cell as quickly as possible, in order to calm the excitement of the women."-Ibid. vol. ii. p. 179.

The child herself, however, too well fitted her new sphere, and might, we are told, have been "an old prison bird of forty years of age for her coolness, presence of mind, craft," and general delinquency. Another trait of feeling is more remarkable still in such a place, and impresses us very painfully with the thought how much poetry and sentiment may lie hid and overlaid in these outcasts of society, exposed to so few bright and pure influences. One suffering common to all these women is the absence of anything to please the taste. They evidently hunger for some gratification to the eye, will tear out the pictures from the library books to stick them on their cell walls, though but for an hour or two; and will infringe the rules by snatching at the few and homely flowers in the airing-ground, which, when secured, become such objects of envy and contention, that the theft is immediately discovered :—

"I have a remembrance of looking through the inspection' of a cell some years ago, and perceiving a prisoner, with her elbow

on the table, staring at a common daisy, amongst the London-bred girls-it's so like which she had plucked from the central old times to see the shops. Women will patch of grass during her rounds-one of slily turn round in their seats, or lean over those rude, repulsive, yet not wholly bad their fellow-prisoners, to look at the playprisoners, from whom no display of senti- bills before the doors of the tobacconists. ment was anticipated. Yet the wistful look "I wonder what's out now at the Vic. or of that woman at her stolen prize was a the Surrey? Oh, what treats I have had gleam of as true sentiment as ever breathed there!' a woman once sighed in confidence in a poet's lines. A painter might have to her neighbor. Weren't they jolly nights made much of her position, and a philoso- up in the gallery at Christmas time?' Ah! pher might have moralized concerning it; it was all along o' the play I ever came for the woman wept at last, dropped her here!' I heard a woman mutter in rehead down on the table between her clasped sponse. hands, and shed her bitter tears silently and noiselessly."-Ibid. vol. ii. p. 103.

Nor are our sympathies only awakened by the transient regrets and pathetic sorrows of these poor creatures; some of their pleasures, rare, chance, and only what are inevitable, awake a strong fellow-feeling. This clear and lively writer brings before us some pleasant glimpses in the description of the matron's "escort" of prisoners from one place to another. The peep at the outer world from their omnibus is full of delight to these women, by no means so burdened by a sense of shame or guilt as not to be open to every pleasant impression, every suggestive sight. And they are able to express their thoughts. The reputed talk of these women gives us no mean idea of their intellect and power of expression, though probably it is only the more acute whose talk is fluent and connected enough, and their thoughts sufficiently distinct, to be committed to memory. Thus, as they drive through the streets, the size of everything fills their minds :

66

"Everything looks so large, miss,' was the remark of one woman to the matron; 'it isn't like the streets and bouses somehow, it's something new and BIG.'

"It's always along o' something-the play, the concert-room, the streets, the false friend who tried to lead her wrong, and she so innocent!-the bad advisers, the cruel mother, father, husband, anybody-never her own weakness, or headlong desperate plunge to ruin."-Ibid. vol. ii. p. 7.

Then come the suburbs, the flowers, the peep at the river, with the steamers, the barges, the boats flashing on the waterand the rapturous exclamation, "Isn't this firstrate! and they're all at chapel now at Brixton." Alas! that there are any excluded from these common joys, that it is necessary to shut out some while they live from all the eye craves for, forcing thought and memory to feed upon themselves. What have we done that in contrast with these cold privations the vast world of eye and ear in their immense variety and beauty should be open to us at our will, too familiar to be valued, too accessible at all times to tempt us to the trouble of enjoying them in all their fulness ?

Thus it is. We cannot write or read of men and women, whatever they are, however deeply they have sunk, but we come to pity and to feel for them at last. This very intelligent observer certainly set about detailing her experience with no romantic in"And this impression seems conveyed to tention of engaging our interest in criminals the minds of most women. What a large and their crimes. She has found the crimdog!-what a large house!-what large gar-inals too repulsive, too ungrateful, too hopedens to all the forecourts! It almost aplessly weak, too willing slaves, and their pears as if ten or twelve months' confinement to a narrow cell had diminished their power passions too troublesome and exasperating, of comparison, and narrowed their busy plotting minds.

"Spasmodic observations on the passersby are not unfrequent, despite all efforts to keep silence. That's like my brother Jack! That's like my mother!'

"At the corner of the Vauxhall Bridge Road, before the railway arch is passed under, and the Vauxhall station passed, there is an evident anxiety to see the shops

perhaps, for her to entertain other than the most orthodox and anti-French notions on the loathsomeness of evil. But it is impossible, writing in a candid and good spirit, not to temper the harsh picture with some warm, kindly touches, forcing on us such a

sense of kindred that we cannot recoil from the worst without a sense of compassion, and a thankful recognition of the safeguards

F

"The matron could not but answer in the formidable risks. affirmative.