upon proper occasions; others left to grow obsolete, even without the necessity of abrogation.

Scarcely an Englishman who does not, almost every day of his life, offend with impunity against some express law, and for which, in a certain conjuncture of circumstances, he would not receive punishment. Gaming-houses, preaching at prohibited places, assembled crouds, nocturnal amusements, public shows, and an hundred other instances, are forbid and frequented. These prohibitions are useful; though it be prudent in their magistrates, and happy for their people, that they are not enforced, and none but the venal or mercenary attempt to enforce them.

The law, in this case, like an indulgent parent, still keeps the rod, though the child is seldom corrected. Were those pardoned offences to rise into enormity, were they likely to obstruct the happiness of society, or endanger the state, it is then that justice would resume her terrors, and punish those faults she had so often overlooked with indulgence. It is to this ductility of the laws that an Englishman owes the freedom he enjoys, superior to others in a more popular government: every step, therefore, the constitution takes towards a democratic form, every diminution of the legal authority, is, in fact, a diminution of the subject's freedom: but every attempt to render the government more popular, not only impairs natural liberty, but even will at last dissolve the political constitution.

TABLEAU DE PARIS.

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SENTENCE OF DEATH.

WHAT boding voice is that, which with its harsh clamors fills the streets and the suburbs, forces its way to the very tops of the houses, and announces that a human being, in the full vigor of youth, is going to be massacred in cold blood, by another human being, in the name of society? It is that of one hurrying along, and in discordant tones crying for sale the sentence still wet from the press. Purchasers gather round him, anxious to learn the name and crime of the delinquent, both of which, however, are quickly forgotten. A sudden and unexpected conviction has appalled the public mind. The populace hasten from their trades and their shops, and throng to the scaffold, to observe how the sufferer will go through the great scene of dying in public, in the midst of torments.

The philosopher in his quiet retreat, shudders, as he hears the sentence cried, and sitting down again to his desk, with a heaving heart, and melting eye, discusses the subject of penal laws, and the necessity of capital punishments-inquiring at the same time, whether government or laws are themselves totally free, under this head, from all grounds of self-reproach; and while he, in his solitary apartment, is thus pleading the cause of humanity, and anticipating in imagination the prize of Berne, the executioner is wielding his iron bar, crushes his wretched victim, with eleven successive blows, doubles him upon a wheel, not (as ordained in the sentence) with his face turned towards heaven, but horribly hanging downward: his shattered bones pierce through the flesh; his hair, stiffened by anguish, drops bloody sweat: throughout his protracted agony, the poor sufferer alternately begs for water, and death. The crowd, with their eyes fixed on the dial-plate of the Hotel-de-Ville, count the strokes of the clock, shudder in dismay at the dreadful spectacle, and are silent.

But the next morning, the scaffold is again erected for a fresh offender. The horrid exhibition of the preceding evening has failed to prevent a repetition of offence. The throng re-assemble to a renewal of the scene of blood; the executioner washes his crimsoned hands, and mingles with the mass of his fellowcitizens*.

A COMMENTARY ON THE MARQUIS DE BECCARIA'S WORK ON CRIMES AND PUNISHMENT, ATTRIBUTED TO VOLTAIRE.

PUBLISHED ABOUT THE YEAR 1770.

ON THE PUNISHMENT OF DEATH†.

IT hath long since been observed, that a man after he is hanged is good for nothing, and that punishments invented for the good of society, ought to be useful to society. It is evident, that a score of stout robbers, condemned for life to some public work, would serve the state in their punishment, and that hanging them is a benefit to nobody but the executioner. Thieves, in England, are seldom punished with death, but are transported to the colonies. This is also practised in Russia, where not one criminal was executed during the whole reign of the autocratical Elizabeth. Catherine II. who hath succeeded her, with much more genius, follows her example: yet crimes are not multiplied by this humanity; and it generally happens that the criminals sent to Siberia, in time become honest people. The same is observed in the English colonies. We are astonished at the change, and yet nothing can be more natural. The condemned are forced to continual labour for a livelihood. The opportunities of vice are wanting. They marry and multiply. Oblige men to work, and you certainly make them honest. It is well known, that atrocious crimes are not committed in the country, unless when there is too much holiday, and consequently too much idleness, and consequently too much debauchery.

The Romans never condemned a citizen to death, unless for crimes which concerned the safety of the state. These our masters, our first legislators, were careful of the blood of their fellow citizens; but we are extravagant with the blood of ours.

The question hath been frequently debated, whether a judge ought to have the power to punish with death, when the punishment is undetermined by the law? This question was solemnly

fer, écrase le malheureux sous onze coups, le replie sur une roue, non la face vers le ciel, comme le dit l'arrêt, mais horriblement pendante; les os brisés traversent la chair, les cheveux hérissés par la douleur distillent une sueur sanglante, le patient dans ce long supplice, demande tour à tour de l'eau et la mort. Le peuple regarde au cadran de l'Hotel de Ville, et compte les heures qui sonnent, il fremit consterne, contemple, et se tait.

Mais le lendemain un autre criminel fait relever l'échafaud, et le spectacle affreux de la veille n'a point empêché un nouveau forfait : la populace revient contempler le même spectacle; le bourreau lave ses mains sanglantes, et va se confondre dans la foule des citoyens.

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agitated in the presence of the Emperor Henry VII. who decreed* that no judge should have such a power.

There are some criminal cases which are either so new, so complicated, and so unaccountable, as to have escaped the provision of the laws, and which therefore, in some countries, are left to the discretion of the judge. But for one case in which the laws permit the death of a criminal whom they have not condemned, there are a thousand, wherein humanity should save whom the laws have condemned to suffer.

The sword of justice is in our hands, but we ought rather to blunt than to sharpen its edge. It remains within its sheath in the presence of kings, to inform us that it ought seldom to be drawn.

There have been some judges who were passionately fond of spilling human blood; such was Jefferies in England, and such in France was the man whom they called Coupe-tête. Nature never intended such men for magistrates, but for executioners.

ON DOMESTIC THEFT†.

In countries where a trifling domestic theft, or breach of trust, is punished with death, is not the disproportioned punishment dangerous to society? Is it not even an encouragement to larceny? If in this case a master prosecutes his servant, and the unhappy wretch suffer death, the whole neighbourhood holds the master in abhorrence: they perceive that the law is contrary to nature, and consequently that it is a bad law.